#Deviser podcast other son

[foxdrawdoodles]

Spoiler for Deviser, Episode 4 They murdered my boy, how COULD you Other Son!!!

Close up of Dog

[coconut530]

…hahahahhahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa 🐶🧍🏽‍♂️📡😈

[ghostflowerdreams]

Audio Drama Recommendations, Pt. III

Click here for part one and here for part two. Recently, I've been drawing a lot, which gives me plenty of time to listen to audio dramas and podcasts. These are the ones I liked the most and found entertaining enough to recommend to others. This is not in any particular order, either.

The Green Horizon – is a sci-fi comedy drama created and written by Paul Walsh. It is sponsored by Faustian Nonsense, an indie entertainment network. It currently has three seasons, with each episode being about 20 - 30 minutes long, but later on it increases to 30 - 40 minutes. A fourth season is said to be coming out soon as well.

It is set in the year 2261, and it focuses on a ne'er-do-well Irish space captain and his rag-tag crew, as they traverse a war-torn Galaxy in search of fame and fortune. [ONGOING]

It was a little chaotic and rough at the beginning, but it does smooth out and become more polished. I can definitely tell that they up their game with the improved sound effects and production quality. The voice actors and the writing for the audio drama does an excellent job at bringing their characters to life, which made it very fun to follow along.

If you like Firefly, Red Dwarf, Orville, Cowboy Bepop, and so on then I think you may enjoy this too.

DERELICT – is a sci-fi narrative audio drama from award-winning science fiction author J. Barton Mitchell, and produced by Night Rocket Productions. It currently has one season titled FATHOM, which consist of 10 episodes with each one ranging from 40 mins to an hour, mostly the latter.

Something has been found at the bottom of Earth's ocean. An ancient artifact that can only be described as a giant door, inset into the sea floor. It becomes known as the Vault. A gigantic enigma, buried and forgotten...nineteen thousand feet down.

To study the artifact, the galaxy's most powerful corporation, Maas-Dorian, has built a massive, self-contained, secret laboratory base surrounding it, named FATHOM. It's objective: unlock the secrets of the artifact and discover what it holds.​ But some mysteries should remain buried. And some doors should never be opened... [ONGOING]

DERELICT started as the first project set up as a kickstarter. They produced one episode to entice backers, but then the pandemic happened, and they didn’t raise enough money for the rest of it. Instead, they worked on a prequel season called FATHOM. It's where the story really starts, and I highly suggest you listen to it before listening to "DERELICT E1 - Through the Gate."

I hope they redo the DERELICT's first episode because there's a bit of disconnection from it and FATHOM. For example, Sarah and Agent Blayne already know each other. She mentions it to the others, but the conversation they have with each other doesn’t make it seem that way.

Never mind. I apparently confused this Sarah with the Sarah in FATHOM. Can't blame me for thinking that when I heard the name Sarah and that she was already familiar with Agent Blayne.

Deviser – is a sci-fi horror audio drama created, directed, acted and produced by Harlan Guthrie. The same creator of Malevolent. It's a 7-part limited series, with each episode being about 20 mins long.

Son wakes up aboard a spaceship bound for earth in an effort to recolonize. What he discovers, however, will change everything he knows about his world and himself. [COMPLETED]

It's not for everyone, so please do not ignore the content warnings because there's graphic description of violence, self harm, body horror, gore, animal death/being hurt, and what not.

Victoriocity – is a detective comedy audio drama written by Chris and Jen Sugden, directed by Nathan Peter Grassi and produced by Dominic Hargreaves. It is an entirely independent production. It has two seasons, containing 13 episodes in total, and each one is about 30 to 45 minutes long. There's also a feature-length special and a up-coming third season with the help of a kickstarter.

It is 1887 in Even Greater London, an alternate steampunk Victorian London, where Queen Victoria reigns even after being assassinated eleven times, thanks to the wonders of modern science.

In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions. [ONGOING]

It's put together so well, and I see why people say it gives off strong Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett vibes to it. So if you like their works, then I wouldn't be surprised to hear that you like this too.

Impact Winter – is an apocalyptic vampire audio drama created and written by Travis Beacham (Carnival Row, Pacific Rim). It has two seasons containing 22 episodes in total and each one is about 17 to 30 minutes long.

“They came after the impact and the firestorms. When the sun went dark. Like they’d been there all along. Just waiting.”

In the British countryside, a band of survivors forms a resistance in the fallout shelter of a medieval castle. Darcy is a battle-tested vampire hunter who is at the front line, leading the charge to save humanity. Meanwhile, her younger sister Hope wants life to return to normal so she can go above ground and know what it’s like to live again. And she just might be willing to risk it all. [ONGOING]

It has a stacked cast led by Holliday Grainger (Cinderella, Great Expectations), Esme Creed-Miles (Hanna, The Legend of Vox Machina), Liam Cunningham (Games of Thrones, Hunger), Himesh Patel (Station Eleven, Tenet), David Gyasi (Interstellar, Carnival Row), Caroline Ford (Carnival Row, Nekrotronic), Chloe Pirrie (Emma, Carnival Row), and Bella Ramsey (Games of Thrones, The Last of Us).

This reminded me a lot of the film 30 Days of Nights (2007) with a little bit of Reign of Fire (2002), which were both fun films to watch. I think if you like those two, especially the former, you'll enjoy this or at least be entertained by it.

A Voice From Darkness – is a scripted paranormal horror audio drama. It is written and produced by Jac Rhys. It currently has two seasons, containing 20 episodes in total and each one is about 20 to 30 minutes long. It also has 7 bonus voicemail episodes and 15 Patreon exclusive episodes which are longer than the main episodes. A third season in the works as well.

Join parapsychologist and radio broadcaster Dr. Malcolm Ryder as he helps those who suffer the supernatural, paranormal or otherworldly problems on his call-in radio show. It is also interspersed with segments, one of which is called 'Today In Odd America' that delves into the origins of a holiday, local traditions, and history. [ONGOING]

If you like Welcome To Night Vale then I think you'll like this too. A Voice From Darkness is a bit more serious and not as long-drawn as Night Vale was, with a perfect mix of storytelling and lore. It also reminds me a bit of The Magnus Archive too.

How i Died – is a mystery audio drama that brings a "new twist on the true crime genre." It is an Audiohm Media original production, co-starring Vince Dajani as Jon Spacer and Shaina Waring as Sheriff Fran Crowley. It currently has three seasons with 39 episodes in total, not including bonus episodes. Each episode is usually about 20 mins, give or take a few minutes.

Bodies are piling up in the strange town of Springfield, and forensic pathologist Jonathan Spacer intends to find out why. But, Jon isn’t without his own secrets… He can talk to the dead, for starters. [ONGOING]

Ooo, a character that can speak to the dead? It's always so interesting to see what they'll do with their ability and where the creators take them. This has been entertaining, but at times I do think they can do better in developing their characters a bit more. For example, I can count on one hand the number of times Crowley doesn't get angry. Though to be fair, Jon isn't an immediately likable character, but that does change the further you go...sorta.

The Amelia Project – is a comedy fiction audio drama created, written, directed, produced and edited by Philip Thorne and Øystein Ulsberg Brager for Imploding Fictions and The Fable and Folly Network. It currently has four seasons, with a fifth one on the way. There's about 72 episodes, not including prologue, special, and BTS episodes which would up the total to 122. Each episode also varies in length from 20 to 45 minutes long.

The Amelia Project is a secret agency that fakes its clients' deaths, then lets them reappear with a brand-new identity. A black comedy full of secrets, twists... and cocoa. The series starts as a succession of interviews with clients who want to fake their deaths, then slowly a larger narrative begins to emerge... Each episode tells its own story, but we recommend starting with Season 1. [ONGOING]

It was fun to listen to while I was drawing or washing the dishes. I could also follow along without becoming too distracted by it, either. I was worried it would be one of those that take a while to get to the main overall story, but thankfully it did not. It will definitely keep you entertained and interested to know what will happen next.

Community Cat News – is a neighborhood news show done from the perspective of cats. There's currently 13 episodes so far and each one varies from 5 to 12 minutes long.

Local News: The human is opening the fridge! Will we get a taste?

Foreign Affairs: What are those squirrels up to now?

Traffic: WHY is the bathroom door shut again?

Every episode is sponsored by Meow Meow Puffytail, Feline Rights Attorney, who is ready to sue your human for even the slightest inconvenience. [ONGONG]

It's cute, light-hearted, and funny. I didn't expect to enjoy this as much as I did. It even uplifted my mood without me realizing I was feeling low.

[trivial-writing]

I’m back! It’s earlier than I expected. Here’s some updates with the family before we get into the main topic of the post: my brother’s spouse is now cishet. She is currently in therapy right now with my brother. The younger of my older brothers stayed at our house instead of moving out.

On to the main topic of the post. Masculinity and femininity in Avatar the Last Airbender. More specifically, the parallelism between Ozai, Hakoda, and Iroh for masculinity. As for femininity, I want to look at Kya and Ursa. This is mainly going to look at the effects of lacking masculine and feminine figures in a family and how loss affects individuals in the family.

If your tiktok and youtube shorts algorithm is anything like mine, then you keep seeing the Fresh and Fit and Whatever podcasts spew absolute mockery of what they think being a “man” is like. If I were on those podcasts, I would call them boys, because that’s what they are. They are not men. They are boys in a man’s body.

Iroh, however, is a man. He has patience, compassion, confidence, loyalty, wisdom, joy, and other positive traits. HE is the peak of masculinity. I remember when watching Overanalyzing Avatar’s Day of Black Sun analysis, something caught my attention. He said that Iroh was Zuko’s loving father figure and Ozai was Zuko’s actual father. I would disagree. Ozai is Zuko’s fake father. Iroh is Zuko’s actual father. When Zuko lashes out, Iroh doesn’t clap back with equal aggression. When Zuko leaves Iroh, Iroh doesn’t prevent his “nephew” from choosing his decision. Iroh follows Zuko until the “The Chase.” He doesn’t tell Zuko anything. He lets Zuko make his own decisions. After Zuko betrays Iroh, Iroh isn’t mad at his son. He’s sad. He mourns the fact that, in a sense, he lost another son. He mourns Zuko’s path of destruction. After Zuko leaves his first prison visit, we see Iroh crying in his cell. During Tales of Ba Sing Se, Iroh spends his biological son’s, Lu Ten’s, birthday tending to other young males, things Iroh would’ve wanted to do with Lu Ten. I’m sure of it. Soon, the writers reveal that it was Lu Ten’s birthday. Iroh finds a setting like Lu Ten’s grave. Then, one of the best songs committed to lyrical music for television plays. Iroh doesn’t blame Lu Ten’s death on the Earth Kingdom like Jet did with the Fire Nation and his parents. Instead, he blames himself. In Sozin’s Comet Part Two: The Old Masters, when Zuko comes to apologizes to Iroh, he is on his hands and knees pleading for forgiveness. He cries with a raspy voice. And in that moment, Zuko is immediately taken in a warm embrace with his loving father figure. Zuko is baffled saying, “How can you forgive me so easily? I thought you would be furious with me.” To which, Iroh, a true father, a true man, says, “I was never mad at you. I was sad because I thought you lost your way.” He is proud in Zuko that Zuko found his way on his own. Iroh doesn’t take that time to praise himself. He focuses on Zuko. Zuko, the son he found after he lost his previous one. Zuko, the son who wnet away just like Lu Ten. But the difference here is that Zuko, Little Soldier boy, Brave Soldier boy, came marching home.

Speaking of that Zuko scene, let’s trash talk about the Fire Loser Lord. Like I said earlier in Iroh’s section, Ozai is Zuko’s fake father, if you can even call them that. In The Storm, the origin of Zuko’s scar is revealed. A thirteen year old boy wants to be a good Fire Lord, and in doing so, he finds his way into the Fire Lord’s meeting room. Zuko stays quiet as told by his true father until a general devises a terrible plan. Zuko is challenged to an Agni Kai. He is confident because he thinks he’ll fight the general. Instead, he steps up to the ring and finds his father. He is on his hands and knees, begging his father for forgiveness. Ozai, the absolute monster, seeing his SON on his hands and knees, decides to burn his face. He says suffering will be your teacher.” When Zuko kidnaps Aang in the North Pole, he reveals Ozai told his SON that “she was born lucky … I was lucky to be born.” That is not a father, let alone a man. Please tell me, how is Ozai a man? How is Ozai a father? Can you call Ozai a father? I think not. But Zuko is not the only victim to Ozai’s “parenting.” Azula too is a victim. In the first or second part of Sozin’s Comet (i forgot) it is revealed how she is afraid of her father. The very idea of her father leaving her behind. She is afraid of Ozai treating her like Zuko. She is a mere puppet to Ozai. Ozai manipulates her to find joy in being Fire Lord, a clear downgrade to being the Phoenix Princess. Ozai molds her into being daddy’s little monster. I’m not a psychologist, but I think Azula has problems with perfection. She can’t face the idea of her being imperfect in her father’s eyes. She tries hard to please her father. She tries to please him as much as she can. Now, I don’t really call the comics cannon. I think it’s inconsistent to the show, but I really like Ursa’s backstory. She is forced into an unhealthy marriage. There are subtle undertones of sexual abuse. She is walking on egg shells with Ozai. May I pose another question? How is Ozai a husband? Can you call Ozai a husband? I can’t. It’s impossible. With Hakoda next, I want to mention this parallelism, Ozai has two children. A firstborn son and second born daughter. The daughter catches the attention of everyone while the son is viewed as a lower individual to his sister. Ozai sends both of his children away. He forces his children to fight. He sends CHILDREN to a war. Not just CHILDREN, but his own BLOOD RELATED CHILDREN.

Now, let’s look at Hakoda. Hakoda is a chieftain. His children consists of a firstborn son, a nonbender, and a gifted waterbending daughter. Katara, the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe. Hakoda nurtures both his children. He treats Sokka as an equal to Katara. He favors both of them. He ensures one child is treated the same as the other. Hakoda goes out to fight in the war. In Bato of the Southern Water Tribe, a flashback shows how mich of a man Hakoda is. Sokka wants to fight in the war. Hakoda stops his son. In Hakoda’s willingness to protect his children, he forces Sokka to stay home, and protect his sister and the rest of the tribe, probably assuming the war wouldn’t affect the tribe anymore, with the Fire Nation assuming the last Waterbender is dead. Hakoda forces his kids to stay home while he fights in war. Ozai forces his kids to fight while he sits on his throne, like a scared little boy. As a reiteration, Hakoda forces his kids to stay home, safe and sound, while he fights to protect others, like a protector and true father. Hakoda tells his children how proud he is of them and says how their mother would be too. Like a true man, Hakoda fosters care for his children, teaches his children, and supports his children.

Hakoda and Iroh are true men. True fathers. Ozai is a coward. Ozai is a monster. Ozai is a child in a man’s body. Ozai is a 30-ish (i’m guessing his age) child who steals the honor of the 16-17 year old man that is somehow related to him.

As for femininity, Ursa isn’t the angel some people and even the writers want to push. Ursa didn’t even bother trying to steer Azula to the right path. If Ursa had given Azula the same amount of guidance that she did with Zuko, Azula would’ve gotten the redemption arc she deserved. Ursa plays favorites with Zuko while Azula suffers. Azula needed a proper mother figure. Ursa is a woman that shows the virtues of femininity. She is caring, wise, protective, proactive, reactive, durable, and supportive, but her folly is in how, or rather who, she shows her femininity to. A true mother would nurture both her children no matter what. Ursa isn’t as terrible as Ozai, but she’s not an angel either.

A better mother figure could be Kya. We don’t know much about her, but what we can gleam from her very few appearances and the comics to my chagrin, she was caring. In the Southern Raiders, it is her care for her child that makes her lay down her life for the sake of her child. Kya does have favoritism towards Katara over Sokka, but I can be completely wrong. Kya is firm in handling Yon Rha. Unlike what toxic masculinity says, Kya is firm. She is also a protector. She doesn’t marry Hakoda for status. It’s clear in North and South that she married Hakoda out of true love. Hakoda married Kya not for her to be child bearer, but as a person who can care for him and he for her.

A very important theme in Avatar is how war affects the household. It is the lack of positive feminine and masculine figures in Sokka’s life that makes him sexist in the first few episodes of the show. It is the lack of a healthy parental figure in Azula’s life that makes Azula mentally breakdown. It is Ozai’s lack of fraternal care that pots Zuko and Azula against each other in the Final Agni Kai. It is Ozai’s lack of true masculinity that steers Zuko away from the path his mother and Iroh set him to follow. It is the lack of a maternal figure in Katara’s life that forces her to mature into a simile of what a feminine mother is. I didn’t really talk about Toph’s parents here, but the same applies here too. It is Toph’s parents’ lack of personal quality time that makes her leave. It’s her parents’s lack of understanding and open mindedness that forces them to see their daughter as a fragile object. Objectification can go in many ways. Whether it be in lust, in utility (think Azula), in entertainment (Zuko and Ozai probably), and, in Toph’s case, false care and compassion.

[sporesgalaxy]

this came to me in a vision so I wrote a script in a feverish state, but I'm not sure when/if I'll be able to draw it???

so here's Scientist-Palmer Prom Acceptance Speech-- i.e. sexyman descendants-world equivalent of this ⬇️

I used Carlos & Cecil's canon son's name from the actual podcast (besides the last name, which is conjecture). I also used No Design, for The Bit, but there are 2 very cool Cecil descendant designs on the @sexymandescendants blog! Check them out!

ok here u go enjoy lol

Too-lette: [bitterly] ...and this year's winner of the title of Tumblr High Prom Tyrant is... [opening an envelope]

[shot of Spamton Jr. and Sara holding each other with anticipation]

Too-lette: ...Esteban Scientist-Palmer.

[most people in the decorated gym applaud politely]

[Sara is clapping dejectedly, while Junior sympathetically pats her shoulder]

[Too-lette is still standing on the stage alone]

Too-lette: ...

Too-lette: ...Scientist-Palmer?

[silence]

Too-lette: Is he even here?

[The crowd murmurs]

Too-lette: [moving to put the crown on her own head] Well then, maybe I should just--

[the overhead speakers suddenly blare loud feedback. Too-lette clutches the crown to her chest defensively.]

[Everyone else in the gym winces and covers their ears]

ESP: [over the intercom] ...Hello? Testing. Testing. Is this thing on?

[The crowd responds with only stunned silence]

ESP: [cheerful] ...Greetings, esteemed classmates!

ESP: This is Esteban Scientist-Palmer, speaking to you live from an unidentifiable pocket dimension!

ESP: I seem to have taken a wrong turn at some point, and wound up stuck here on my way to the dance.

ESP: I may not have had a date to stand up, but I was hoping to at least see my friends...

ESP: Speaking of-- hi guys! Take lots of pictures! And text me if you know anything about escaping places that don't exist!

ESP: Anyways, it's a good thing I never leave my house without my portable radio broadcasting equiptment.

ESP: Otherwise, I might not have been able to thank you all for voting me Prom Tyrant!

ESP: It was a great tournament, and all of my opponents were formidable warriors of popularity! This is truly an honor!

ESP: Uh... Since I'm not there to accept the crown or sash, feel free to just put them on a hasty effigy of me.

ESP: You can even ritually sacrifice it at the end of the night if you want! Man, I wish I could be there for that...

ESP: [Sighs] Alright, I really ought to get back to taking careful scientific notes of my surroundings, in hopes of using what I learn to devise an escape.

ESP: If you enjoyed this impromtu radio-jacking, consider listening to my bi-weekly podcast, available wherever you least expect it to be.

ESP: This is Esteban Scientist-Palmer, Prom Tyrant elect, signing off.

ESP: Up next: a gruesome free-for-all game of Capture The Prom Crown, because I am not physically present to defend it, and the vast majority of our school's student body is amused by things like theft and violence!

ESP: [Giggles] Don't have too much fun without me, guys! And good night, Tumblr High! Good night.

[the intercom turns off]

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

RED: a Deviser fanfiction

Son likes painting.

Son likes red.

It makes him feel some odd things. Things he doesn’t really have a word for.

He really likes the way it looks splattered on his hands.

Spoilers for the entire Deviser podcast. It's only seven episodes, so yes, the whole thing.

So, uh. I put a serial-killer Son in the Deviser universe! Ta-da.

AO3

------------

Day two hundred and eighty six, something goes wrong with the air scrubber, and Son wakes early to do maintenance.

Stuff was just knocked out of place. It’s easy to realign. After that, he’s bored.

He dislikes being bored.

He tells Dad that he is, so after his tasks, Dad suggests trying to paint.

“What’s the point of this, again?” Son asks, staring at the canvas, at the paintbrush in his hand.

“To recreate images from memory or wholesale from imagination.”

“Sure, but why?”

“It is supposed to be fun.”

Well, Son likes fun, so he tries to figure it out.

#

“What have you painted, Son?” Dad says, over an hour later.

“Oh, uh. I dunno. I dreamed it.” Son adds more red.

Son likes painting.

Son really likes red.

It makes him feel some odd things. Things he doesn’t really have a word for.

He really likes the way it looks splattered on his hands.

“What would you call that, Son?”

“Uh. Let’s say… Memories of a Sunrise.”

“That’s very creative, Son. Does it match your memories?”

“Not really? But it feels like it should.”

“You’ve done well, especially for a first try.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Son is happy with it, in spite of its crudity.

It takes a long time to wash the red off his skin, and he’s almost sad that he has to.

#

Day two hundred and eighty seven, somehow several panels in the science deck are damaged, bent outward as if from great stress, and Son has to remove the stripped bolts and hammer them into shape and replace them.

Handling the screwdriver toward the end, he cuts himself by accident.

So, this is awful: he’s filled with the wrong red.

It’s just bleeding, he knows that. That’s what people do when they’re being stupid with a screwdriver. But it’s wrong.

“Son?” says Dad. “You cursed.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Screwdriver slipped. Hold on, it… do I have to go down to medical? Are there bandages here?”

“Yes. There is a supply closet along the wall to the left up ahead.”

Son goes, finds bandages, cleans the cut. It isn’t bad.

(It’s wrong.)

He returns and cleans the screwdriver, then finishes resettling the now-dimpled panel. “Right. Anything else?”

“No, that is all for today. Son, I am very proud of you.”

Son is bored again. “Thanks, Dad.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“You know, I think I want to paint again.”

So he does.

His precision hasn’t gotten any better, but now he’s discovered mixing colors, and develops a new goal: to create the proper red.

It doesn’t work at all.

The result—a sort of diarrhea brown—repulses him so much that he hurls the bowl to the floor.

It shatters, and now there is (hideous) brown all over everything.

“Son? Are you all right?”

“Fuck,” says Son, who hadn’t thought it would splatter that far. “Uh. Spill.”

“My sensors indicate something has broken.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes things break, Dad, or have you forgotten all the fucking work I have to do here every day?”

“I have not forgotten. You are an essential part of this recolonization effort. The ship could not make it on its own, even with all that I could do. Do you feel needed, Son? Because you are. Deeply.”

Son sighs. He feels bad now for making a mess of this ship that’s been entrusted to him. “Yeah. I do. It’s a little much sometimes. Lots of pressure. But yeah. Hey… do we have a way to remove paint?”

“There is turpentine in the supply closet on this level with the other cleaning fluids.”

Son takes one step in that direction, then stops.

He has the weirdest idea.

But you know what? You know what?

He’s alone on this damned ship for a billion days.

Nobody has to look at it but him.

Why shouldn’t he make it pretty? Why shouldn’t he make it red?

“Do we have more of that red paint?”

“We do,” says Dad.

“Do you know how to mix colors to make new ones?”

“I do,” says Dad.

“I want that red, but…” Son thinks. “Bluer? A little?”

“Purple?” suggests Dad.

“No, it’s just too fucking yellow.. It’s wrong.”

“Very well. Go to the supply closet, and I will direct you.”

This time, with instruction, the mixture comes out just right.

Son stares into the bowl, transfixed, transformed, ascended.

He imagines it in his veins, rushing through, sweet and sensual and smooth.

“Son?” says Dad after an indeterminate amount of time.

“It’s beautiful,” whispers Son.

“I am glad you like it,” says Dad. “What will you do with it?”

Son already knows. “This.”

And he spends four hours on his knees, painstakingly covering every splatter, every drop, every ugly splash of hideous brown with that glorious, perfect red.

#

Day two hundred and ninety six, Son cuts himself on purpose.

He doesn’t tell Dad.

It’s an easy deception. This particular repair—atop the primary elevator shaft—is full of sharp-frayed steel rope and sharp-edged panels.

The cut is easy.

The repair is not, and it bothers him, because this damage really doesn’t look like wear and tear. This looks like someone took a tool and cut the steel rope on purpose.

Anyway. He cuts himself on purpose, too.

He just didn’t think it would hurt quite so much. “Fuck!”

“Son?” says Dad, voice echoing up from down below (there is no sound equipment in the shaft).

“Fuck, it’s fine. I cut myself.”

It’s still wrong.

Son isn’t sure why he thought finding the right red by mixing paints would make his blood any better.

“Do you require assistance?”

That means Dad’s stupid robots, and Son hates those things—they’re noisy and clunky and large and (scary) irritating. “No, I’m fine. Just feeling stupider than usual.”

“Son, you are not stupid. A stupid man would not have been chosen to shepherd what remains of the human race.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Son? Are you all right?”

Son is distracted.

Repopulation—colonization, all of that—seems very far away. The wrong red in his veins and the damage to the equipment is now. “Yeah, I’m all right, Dad. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“If you need to rest and finish this duty tomorrow, you can. You have been working very hard, Son.”

“Hey, Dad? Am I the only person awake on this ship?”

“Yes, Son. You and Dog are the only living things out of cryogenics.”

Huh. Then no one could have cut the steel rope.

But it looks…

Well. “I don’t need the day off. I need to finish this.” To do otherwise means coming back up here and seeing the wrong red he spilled on this equipment, and Son does not want to do that.

“That is a very responsible choice. I am proud of you.”

“Sure, Dad. Thanks.” He finishes work on the elevator shaft.

Then he goes to paint.

#

His new effort takes three hours. Son really tries, and he believes the shape is better.

He paints what he’s been thinking: that maybe Dog has the right color inside.

Why not? His own blood might be wrong, but Dog isn’t the same as he is. They’re totally different colors on the outside, different textures, different smells. Who knows?

Dad knows, maybe.

But if he asks Dad, Dad will want to know why he wants to know.

For some reason, Son doesn’t want Dad to ask that.

“A very creative painting, Son. What do you call it?”

“Dog Dissected,” says Son without thinking.

“How does it make you feel?”

“Good.” Truth all around. “I like painting, Dad.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Artistic expression is the pinnacle of humanity. You constantly amaze me.”

Son snorts. “You must have a low bar, Dad.”

“No. It is my opinion that you are the most interesting human who has ever lived.”

Son flushes. “Thanks, Dad.”

He doesn’t want Dad disappointed.

He’s definitely not asking about the color of Dog’s blood.

#

Day three hundred and fifteen, the Arboretum goes completely offline.

It’s actually an emergency—something to do with a power feedback loop potentially wrecking life-support—and Son goes for it at a run, carrying tools, Dog on his heels, alarms blaring everywhere.

He hates the Arboretum. It feels crowded to him, claustrophobic. All that green makes him angry.

The machinery in need of repair, however, is here, so before long, he’s on his back, under the panel, hooking color-coded plugs back into color-coded outlets, when it happens.

His index finger and thumb are doing the plugging, of course—but one of the plugs held between his sixth and seventh fingers brushes the wrong outlet, and there is a spark.

It’s startling, sharp, weirdly loud.

Son cries out.

“Son?” says Dad. “Are you all right?”

“Shocked myself. I’m fine. Dog, shut up. Dog!”

Dog has not stopped barking since that electrical surge.

Son is not fine.

He’s distracted.

He’s elated?

He’s in shock.

(And he made a pun, and is proud of himself.)

He’s…

“Son?”

“Just a second.” He resumes.

They are strange, these cords. This really looks like someone yanked them all out on purpose, violently. A few need their casing stripped, new connectors wired in.

“Do you need medical attention, Son?”

“No, Dad, I’m fine, relax.” Elated. Yes. He’s elated. “Dog, come on. Shut up.”

Son accidentally-on-purpose tries to brush the wrong wire against the wrong outlet again because it had done something so right.

This time, nothing happens.

Son frowns. “Dad? Did you cut power to the console, or something?”

“Yes, Son.”

“Why?” Son can’t help sounding angry.

“Because there is risk to you with live current, as you are working in less than optimal lighting conditions.”

“Well, turn it back on.”

“Not until you’re done, Son. You’re doing very well.”

Son is annoyed.

Is it really worth arguing about, though?

No. He doesn’t need to. He already has his idea.

He finishes. “Done. Next?”

The alarms have stopped. “You have done it, Son. Life-support is back online. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“Paint some more.” And Son is happy to leave the Arboretum behind.

#

“This is good, Son,” says Dad as he works hard at the next shape. “A creative urge is an essential facet of who you are.”

Son sort of shrugs to himself.

The spark gave him the idea. When it got him, when he jolted, he almost saw the right red behind his eyelids.

He’s trying to recreate it. How it looked.

It’s not quite working?

“What do you call this one, Son?”

Burst of Light, Son thinks, but does not say. “Lava,” he says instead.

“Very good, Son.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Son can’t wait any longer.

That night, before he takes his narcosamine, before he lies down to sleep, he lays a trap. Stringing wires from wall to wall in the hall to his room, right at Dog-ankle height, painting them black to hide the copper color—yes, this should work very well.

He’s very pleased with his work.

Dad says nothing about it, neither to ask nor criticize, so he thinks he did it right.

#

In the middle of the night comes that zap, that horrible sharp crack that tells him something tripped his trap.

Which, of course, has to be Dog.

Son springs out of bed. The lights don’t come on. “Dad?”

“Something has tripped the circuits, Son. I need you.”

Sure, of course. Son grabs the tools he’s learned to keep by his bedside—a flashlight, a box of basics, electrical tape, more wire.

And gloves. Because he doubts Dog will be feeling very good after a zap like that, and Dog gets bitey when he’s upset, and of course, Son will have to take him to Medical to be a responsible Dog -owner, and he won’t hurt him much, but he just needs to see the color of—

It’s a man.

A man who looks disturbingly like him, but older.

A man with a weird, faded version of his own uniform, and with half the fingers he should have, with ears that stretch too far and look almost pointed, and—

He’s panting. “You,” he says, hoarse, still twitching from where the dark wire had tripped and zapped and felled him. “We found you. We finally found you. Don’t worry, the others aren’t far behind.”

But Son sees one thing, and that is that this man’s skin is darker than his, and that means it could be more red  inside, and that means he won’t have to hurt Dog to find the proper color, and he doesn’t even think twice before pulling his screwdriver from his toolbox to find out.

He leaves the flashlight on the floor, pointing straight up.

Some things are best done in the dark.

#

“Son?” says Dad about twenty minutes later.

“Yes, Dad?” says Son, unable to keep from panting, because it’s the right red, it is all the right red, and he can’t get enough of it, and there’s just so much he can keep scooping out of this person who is him but isn’t—

“The fault is still present. Were you not able to locate the problem?”

Well, fuck. Son had forgotten.

He can fix it, sure—but when the lights come on, Dad will know what he did.

Son feels fine about it. He just doesn’t want to disappoint Dad. “Hang on,” he says. “There’s a spill. I’m cleaning it up.”

He has no idea how he’s going to clean it up. He is painted. Covered. He loves the way the red dries on him, weirdly sticky and yet stiff, making his skin feel like a totally different organ.

The downside is, it’s drying brown.

“Son?” says Dad.

“I just. I… I need a minute, okay?” says Son, and starts dragging the body to waste disposal.

It’s leaving a trail of perfect red, and Son finds it impossible to feel badly about that.

“Son,” says Dad.

“A minute,” says Son, impatient.

Dog barks.

“Hey, buddy,” says Son, nervous because Dog might take some of the red. “Hey.”

Dog tries.

Son won’t let him.

Son disposes of the body, wrinkles his nose at the burning smell, and goes to find and fix the fault.

He decides to leave the red in the halls. He knows now he’ll need to paint over it to keep it red, but that’s okay.

If Dad asks about it, he’ll say it’s paint now.

Dad does not ask about it.

Son, for now, is satisfied.

#

Day three hundred and sixty-eight, the ship is caught in a meteor shower.

It’s bad. Alarms everywhere, the weird sound of metal screaming and distant explosions.

Parts of the ship have been permanently closed off, shut down, air redirected to other places because it would otherwise escape through the cracks into space.

Maybe space. Son honestly isn’t sure that they’re in space, anymore.

He honestly doesn’t care.

He has learned how to fling paint so it looks just like the arterial sprays from the long-cooked guy, and he has done so, decorating every part of the ship he’s still allowed to reach.

He spent hours doing it, on his knees, on his toes, creating great swaths of red color and drips and splatters.

He’s very happy. Who cares if the ship is damaged? The parts that are left are beautiful.

He whistles. Hums. “He'll wrap you in his arms, tell you that you've been a good boy,” he sings under his breath. Something, something, something… “Red right hand…”

“What’s that, Son?”

“Nothing, Dad. What, I can’t be in a good mood?”

“Of course you can, Son. It’s good to hear you cheerful after the challenges of the past month.”

“Sure.” The paint has satisfied him enough that he hasn’t had to kill Dog yet.

He doesn’t want to because there’s only one Dog, and there won’t be another to open up if the red is wrong.

“There is damage to the outer hull,” says Dad. “This will be a challenging repair. You will be required to don a space suit.”

So that sounds actually… exciting. “I can do that. Where are the space suits?”

“Go to the seventh deck. You will there find Reclamation, where the suits are kept. We only have three, so I advise you to be careful.”

“Sure, Dad.” Son hates abandoning the bowl of glorious red he just mixed.

So he doesn’t.

He walks with it instead, drawing stripes all the way through the floors, all through the elevator, and along the seventh level.

Reclamation isn’t what he expected. The three space suits are all that’s in it.

They’re not even on a table. They’re crumpled just on the floor.

“Weird,” says Son, stepping inside.

He hasn’t used all the paint, and he takes a moment to decorate his chosen suit.

Nice.

“Son, you will have to hurry.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

It’s too big. There are only three fingers on the gloves, so he has to shove two or three fingers in each. But it’s not so bad, for all of that.

“Behind you, Son, I am going to open the airlock. Once you are out, you will need to move along the hull to your right to find the damage.”

“I don’t have any tools, Dad.”

“The suit has what you need. Are you ready?”

Before Son can answer, the wall explodes.

It’s not the wall with the airlock. It’s the left wall, which should lead to nothing.

Son is knocked down, and his ears ring, and there are voices.

His voice.

Many versions of his voice, shouting.

Dad’s robots arrive then, and the sounds grow horrible.

More explosions, the zap of electricity, smaller but sharper explosions some faint memory claims as gun shots.

And then he is being picked up and dragged, and Dog is growling, snarling, fomenting dissent, and there is one more gunshot, and Dog goes quiet.

“Goodbye, Son,” says Dad calmly as though none of this were happening, and then everything goes rough.

He’s being carried, bundled along some darkened path, narrow points of light bouncing all over as if held by running men. There is panting, and occasional “Watch out!” or “Left!”

And Dad’s robots. He hears those, too, but little by little, they fall behind.

He phases out, a little. Something… something is…

A pressure change, his ears popping.

And then so much light that even in the helmet, he can’t see?

“Blow it!” says his voice in another man’s throat, and there is yet another explosion.

The panting in the wake of that is… something. Everyone’s doing it.

He likes the sound.

Son is trying to understand what happened.

Dog is dead. He doesn't really feel… much about that, except he didn’t get to see any of the red inside him. He’ll never know now if it was right.

Someone takes his helmet off.

And then it’s… so confusing.

He recognizes sky. Understands blue. Knows the green is grass.

And at the same time feels like he’s never actually seen any of it in his life.

Faces stare back at him. His own face, with variations; different ages, different eyes, slightly distended jaws or too-wide mouths.

The faces are compassionate, grim, focused.

“Hey,” says one with salt-and-pepper hair, lines by his mouth, more around his eyes. “I”m 5518. Do you know what’s going on?”

“No.”

They sure seem eager to tell him.

They all have numbers, which is so strange; I’m Son, he tries to explain, but they shake their heads, patient, and tell him he’s not.

He is 6624.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he says.

“How many more do you think he has?” says one Son with solid black eyes to another Son with gills on his neck.

“Who the hell knows? I’m just glad we found this one.”

“We’re sure he was the only one down there?” says another with long, boneless fingers that undulate like tentacles in the sea.

“He obviously had devils, too, but I couldn’t find the chamber,” says a third.

“Devils?” What are they talking about?”

“The thing you must’ve killed,” says 5518, who is gentler than the others, who meets his eyes in a way the others don’t, as if he knows him. “The blood was fucking everywhere, old and new.”

Sure was.

“Yeah,” says Son, because it’s easier to lie, because he’s still quietly angry he didn’t get to open up Dog himself.

Come to think of it, though… they’re all slightly different colors than he is, aren’t they?

“I didn’t know what the devil was called,” says Son, deciding in a moment to project the man he’d caught—who must have been one of these guys—as the devil. “I had to trap him.” And he tells them what he did.

“Fuck, that’s clever,” says one who has shockingly blue eyes, and then they’re smiling, and there is camaraderie, and someone brings him food and water like he’s never seen, and they are all talking about finding the next location of Dad’s.

Son still has no idea what’s going on.

That’s okay. He’d decided weeks ago that he doesn’t have to know what’s going on.

Apart from Dog, he was out of options to find the right red, anyway.

He doubts he can make paint up here, but really… it wasn’t paint he wanted to spill.

And from the look of things, he was going to have a lot more options moving forward.

Someone would have the right red. He could do this so no one would see. He could do this, maybe, when they went to find more of Dad’s facilities, whatever that meant. When they were all underground, with explosions and guns, and no one would see him try.

When he found the Son with the right red, he would keep him, and not kill him this time. He would keep him alive, and take that red over and over, and never, ever run out.

Son smiles, and it feels like the first time he has in weeks.

Whatever was happening here was strange, and new, but it was okay.

It was all going to be okay.

“Welcome home, 6624,” says 5518.

Artistic expression is the pinnacle of humanity. “Thanks,” says Son, and wonders what color he is inside.

------------

NOTES:

Dad could literally move himself from place to place and repair himself. Why the heck would he be limited to one facility?

And naturally, having tiny!son showed up in the vents at the end (not to mention 5517 evidently Running Amok Without Supervision), it is no great stretch to assume multiple Sons are about, causing mayhem.

What happens from here? Did Dad do this on purpose?

Who knows?

The rest is up to you. 😈

[grandhotelabyss]

Pure self-indulgence but as a prelude to my new essay on the Odyssey please enjoy above a poem I wrote about Penelope when I was 18 in the year 2000 and published in my high school literary and art magazine. (And I do mean I published it, because I was the editor.) Painfully influenced by a nauseating mélange of T. S. Eliot and Neil Gaiman, yet still oddly readable. Maybe someday I’ll post the other good poem I wrote in that period, “and Aphasia and,” written in a daze the day after Columbine and within an hour of first reading “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d.” In general, I think youth can write good poetry; fiction, on the other hand, probably requires more experience. I wrote novels and novellas from my teen years on, but no good ones until I was around 30.

Anyway, my essay on the Odyssey, also the topic of a forthcoming Grand Podcast Abyss, all in the lead-up to the great Ulysses re-read of 2022. I can’t write these days about Homer without thinking about the question that persists from Plato’s Republic to the wokelord classicists of Twitter: should these violent representations be the aesthetic fount of our civilization? As a bad person (almost typed “bard person”), I’m not actually that vexed about the subject. The world’s brutal, why shouldn’t the poetry be brutal? But the case is worth making carefully, and, as in last year’s essay on the Iliad, I gave it my best effort:

In Book 1, in medias res, a now-mature Telemachus and his long-suffering mother Penelope are tormented by the presumed widow’s many suitors, eating them out of house and home as they make their own bid for the throne of Ithaca. In one moment, the household bard strikes up a song about the Trojan War, and Penelope gets what we might now call “triggered” by the aesthetic reminder of the conflict that took her husband away from her 20 years before. She chides the bard for his insensitivity, only to be rounded on by her son:

“Bards are not to blame— Zeus is to blame. He deals to each and every laborer on this earth whatever doom he pleases. Why fault the bard if he sings the Argives’ harsh fate? It’s always the latest song, the one that echoes last in the listeners’ ears, that people praise the most.”

Some 25 centuries later, this will be Théophile Gautier’s reasoning in one of the first modern defenses of art-for-art’s-sake against moralizing, politicizing, and otherwise censorious critics: that the artist just represents what goes on in the world, and if you don’t like all the sex and violence, you had better reform nature and society instead of misdirecting your anger at the artist’s truthful representations of them.

One more tale out of high school. I edited the annual lit/art mag for three years with my friend Dan—I was the writer, he was the artist. Early in our tenure, I devised a three-year plan for the cover designs allegorizing the growth of the artist’s talent, which Dan drew beautifully.

Cover #1: in the artist’s tender youth, execution bursts forth from vision, the hand exploding out of the eye as the artist hastens to record perception. Cover #2: as the artist grows to maturity, execution begins to shape vision, the sense of artistic vocation beginning to influence what is perceived, the hand now directing the eye. Cover #3: for the mature artist, vision and execution, hand and eye, are at one, indivisible. 

My God, were we ever serious in the year 1998! For more on that, please try my novel, The Class of 2000.

[schrijverr]

I Wrote My Own Deliverance

Chapter 6 out of 10

Alexander Hamilton is reborn as Alex Hambleton. He is desperate not to make the same mistakes twice, but it seems he is stuck in the narrative, unable to get out. Familiar faces pop up all around him as he attempts to keep his previous life a secret and write himself out of the story.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon everyone was packing for the break and Alex found himself getting set up in the guest bedroom of the Washingtons as Mama M explained the shower to him and showed him all the cabinets.

He had gotten lucky that he did not have to work this weekend, so he could drive the Washingtons to their vacation, but he still felt guilty: “Are you sure this is alright?”

“Of course, Alexander.” Mama M assured him, “Here, you can make it up to me by carrying these bags to the car while I pack our lunches.”

Alex didn’t protest and did as he was told. It was nice to have Mama M back in his life. She had always been there for him and as much as he struggled to accept help or affection from Washington, he could always relax under her care.

The drive itself was pleasant and they took frequent breaks.

Washington had merely grumbled good-naturedly when Alex had cheekily suggested sightseeing in the city that carried his name, just to check if they did him justice. And the Hamilton soundtrack was only met with teasing.

The Washington Vacation Home was beautiful and Alex allowed himself a moment to stare at the building, before Mama M pushed a bag in his hands and ushered him up the steps.

“Apologies for the rudeness, sir, but how did you manage to afford this on a teachers salary?” he asked, looking around.

“I’m afraid I did not. Martha is from a well-off family.” Washington answered, putting down his own bags. Mama M patted his cheek, before going to make supper.

Alex would be staying over the weekend and drive back on his own that Sunday, coming to pick them up a few weeks later. He was still nervous and waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far it seemed to be going well.

He offered to help Mama M with dinner, but she just waved him off with the WiFi password and told him to go finish his essay about reproductive rights.

So, he ended up on the couch next to Washington, who was reading a book, reading glasses perched on his nose. It was such an unfamiliar sight that Alex had to do a double take in the doorway, before he sat down and got to work, allowing himself to get lost in his typing.

He had gotten so lost that he did not notice how he had started to lean against Washingtons side, nor did he notice Mama M sitting near his feet with her knitting, he also did not notice her leaving, nor Washington calling him for dinner.

However, he did notice it when Washington got up, causing him to fall back.

“Wha-” he yelled, “What’s going on?”

“Save your document, son.” Washington smiled, eyeroll evident in his voice as he put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, “Dinner is ready.”

Alex deleted the keysmash he’d made when he got startled and saved his document before following Washington to the table.

Dinner was a comfortable affair, they had so much to catch up on, entire life stories to tell, not to mention the easy conversation that had always flowed between the three when it wasn’t a formal setting.

The next day he helped Washington in the garden and they chilled in the sun with homemade lemonade while Mama M was off to the store. It was calm and Alex didn’t even miss his keyboard that much and he found cutting vegetables was more soothing then expected.

“Why don’t you join the debate team next year?” Washington asked that evening, “I was surprised you didn’t already, if I’m honest.”

Alex shrugged: “I considered it, but I also wanted to avoid it turning into the cabinet from before, besides I wanted to make sure I could handle the workload.”

That got him a raised eyebrow from Washington and he huffed: “I’m trying okay, being a normal person and all that.”

“And how has it been working out for you?” Washington asked, Alex searched for condescending or sarcasm, but found none.

“Not that good.” he shot a look to Mama M and saw that she was about to speak, so he rushed to add: “But definitely better. I think that I’m more trying to find things to do, just to have something to do, so the debate team will be interesting.”

“You’ll join?”

“Definitely considering it.”

“It does look good on a resume for a law firm.” Mama M added.

“Then that’s a definite plus.” Alex grinned.

The next day he packed his bags and said his goodbyes. Mama M fussed over him for a good ten minutes before she allowed him to leave the house and Washington gave him another speech about driving safely and taking care of himself, even pulling Alex into a quick hug.

He had to admit that the drive back was a lot less fun, but he had a political podcast to keep him company.

After that he got sucked up in his writing and job. Being a barista didn’t pay that well, but it made sure he could afford basic necessities and with him staying at the Washingtons for free, it also allowed him to save a small amount.

By the end he had also build up a camaraderie with Hammy, the cat. He would never admit it, but he loved the animal and thought the name hilarious.

Two weeks before they were allowed back into their dorms, Mama M’s cases started up again, so dutifully Alex went to pick them up. Staying the night once more, though Mama M was having tea at the neighbors when he arrived.

He had not dared to ask and felt awkward about it, but the Washingtons had made it clear the moment they arrived home that Alex was welcome to stay at the house until he could move back into his dorm.

While Mama M was working cases, he helped with the household chores and played with Hammy as well as starting the reading for his new courses.

It felt weird.

Domestic life never truly suited him.

Family had always felt strange and foreign. He had tried with Eliza, but burying himself in his work with the excuse of making his country better for his family had been easier.

Still, living with the Washingtons was something he could embrace. Maybe it was because he was not the one in charge of the household, maybe because he already knew them so well, or maybe because they knew to leave him to his own devises.

Alex actually found himself missing them when he moved back in with Aaron in their dorm and he did not hesitate to say yes to Sunday dinner again, which soon grew to be a tradition.

[blackpoliglota]

Gettin’ that Duolingo Podcast Fever

Who here uses Duolingo?  Y’all ever get those emails with the subject “You made Duo sad” or something?  Well look here: I can tell y’all for a FACT that I won’t be receiving those emails anymore, now that Duolingo has stepped up its game with their podcasts!  

They have their own comprehension and discussion questions now... ON A WHOLE GOOGLE DOC, LIKE WHAAAAA!?  Seriously you guys, go check it out here!  

Okay, it may just be me who is just finding this out... regardless, to celebrate this little discovery I’m going to use one of Duolingo’s French Podcast episodes for this post.  The episode I’ll be working with is Season 1 Episode 5: “Le paysan (The Countryman)”.  In case you haven’t noticed, the very first link you (may or may not have) clicked on brings you to the questions for this exact podcast episode.  And here’s the link to the podcast transcript if you’d like to see it in your web browser.  For the sake of going over vocabulary pour moi, I have pasted the French parts of the transcript below under “Keep Reading” and emphasized the words I don’t know.  Without further ado, avec la liste de vocabulaire (in which there’s A LOT of words, lol), allons-y!!

Vocabulary/Vocabulaire

Verbs

Cultiver - To grow / cultivate

Se battre - To fight (one another)

Rouler à vélo - To ride a bike

Justifier - to justify

Empêcher - To prevent / avoid

Emmener - To transport / lead / carry

Respecter - To respect

Stopper = (Anglicisme) Arrêter

Bouger - To move (changer de position)

Pointer - To point / aim

Risquer - To put at risk

Agir - To act / behave

Héberger - To accommodate / host

Échapper à- To escape from

**Tuer - To kill

Nouns

Quartier - Neighborhood / quarters / district

Cabane dans les arbres - Tree-house

Île - Island

La Fermeture - Closure

Prêtre - Priest

Extrême-droite - Extreme-Right

Néo-fasciste - Neo Fascist

Montée (d’adrénaline) - Rise / climb / assent

La montre - Watch

Façon - Way / manner

Le toit des trains - The train roofs

Précipice - Chasm / abyss / precipice

Garde à vue - Detention / custody

Geste - Gesture (action) / movement

Une centaine - A 100

Arme à feu - Gun

Demandeur d’asile - Asylum-seeker

Squat =  Lieu occupé illégalement  

Reportage - Report (news)

Menace - Threat

Valeur - Moral / value / worth / validity

Le délit - Crime

La devise - Motto / slogan

Migrant sans-papier - Illegal immigrant

Complice de meurtre - Murder accomplice

Allers-retours - Round-trips

Prepositions

Vers - Towards

Environ - Around (estimate)

Autour (de) - Around (localization)

**En plus de - Besides

Jusqu’à - Until / up to / to / till

Adjectives

Géant(e) - Giant / enormous / (Familiar): awesome / super

Sain - Healthy / well

Sauf - Safe

Adaptée - Suitable / appropriate

Brusque - Abrupt / sudden / terse

Sûr - Sure / certain

Choquant - Shocking / appalling

Tué - Dead / killed

Marqué - Marked / shown / indicated

Adverbs

À mon avis - In my opinion

Surtout - Especially / above all / mainly / most importantly

Au milieu - Amid

De plus en plus (de) - increasingly / incrementally

En chemin - On the way / en route

En bas - On the bottom/1st floor

Par terre - On the floor

Partout - Everywhere / all

En tenue - In uniform

En ligne - Online

Phrases

“Je n’y arrive plus (...)” - “I can’t even...”

“C’est-à-dire” - “That is to say”

WHEW CHILE THAT’S A LOT OF VOCAB TO GET THROUGH IN ONE SITTING!! 😫😫😫

BUT this is what I’ll be working on during this weekend/quarantine period.  This, and plenty of other material that i’ll hopefully post soon too!  Hope you guys learned something from this post!  Praying that you all are staying safe out there and practicing proper hygiene... YOU BETTER BE 👀 👀 👀

Transcript

Click here for study materials for this episode.

Cédric: Je me sentais responsable. Je devais aider. À mon avis, un paysan doit être responsable de son territoire. Je devais surtout aider la Vallée de la Roya, parce que c’est un espace public.

Cédric: Même si ce n’est pas très confortable, tout le monde se sent bien ici. On ne pose pas de questions aux gens sur leur passé. Ma principale motivation, c’est l’intégrité et la reconnaissance de tous. Ce sont des personnes, pas des « migrants ».

Cédric: Je m’appelle Cédric Herrou. J’ai 40 ans. Je cultive 350 oliviers dans la vallée de la Roya, dans le sud-est de la France, à quinze minutes en voiture de l’Italie.

Cédric: Je préfère « paysan » parce que j’appartiens à la terre. Il y a un deal entre la terre et moi. Pour moi, un paysan c’est quelqu’un qui ne fait pas beaucoup, mais qui est pragmatique. Je développe un mode de vie simple, indépendant, dans la nature.

Cédric: On formait des groupes de jeunes, pour protéger notre territoire, notre quartier, notre identité. J’ai appris à me battre. J’ai vite compris que le reste de la société allait toujours nous condamner parce que nous venions de l’Ariane. Même moi, un blanc, je sentais que les gens qui représentent la « vraie France » ne m’acceptaient pas.

Cédric: Alors souvent, je n’allais pas à l’école. Je roulais à vélo, je faisais des cabanes dans les arbres. Aujourd'hui, mon rêve est devenu une réalité : je vis dans une cabane géante, au milieu des arbres.

Cédric: On voit que c’est pauvre, artisanal, avec des imperfections. On a l’impression d’être sur une île, comme Robinson Crusoé. On est loin de tout, mais aussi au milieu de tout.

Cédric: Officiellement, on justifie la fermeture des frontières comme une mesure anti-terroriste. Le gouvernement ne dit pas que c’est pour empêcher l’immigration. Mais la vraie raison est anti-migratoire.

Cédric: De plus en plus de personnes essaient de passer en France. Et je vois que de plus en plus de policiers viennent dans la région.

Cédric: Deux parents et leurs enfants. Je les emmène avec moi, ils ne parlent pas français.

Cédric: J’arrive à comprendre qu'ils veulent aller à la gare dans le village près de chez moi. Je les emmène. On ne parle pas la même langue, mais nous nous entendons bien. Je commence à comprendre leur situation.

Cédric: Ils n’arrivent pas jusqu’à Nice. La police vérifie leur identité et les arrête en chemin.

Cédric: Ils m’appellent et me disent : « On est à Vintimille, dans une église, l'église San Antonio ». Le responsable de l’église s’appelle Don Rito. C’est un prêtre colombien. Il a ouvert les portes de son église pour les plus fragiles, les familles, les femmes, les enfants. Je pars à Vintimille pour retrouver cette famille et les emmener quelque part.

Cédric: Ça doit être très difficile pour eux. Quand on est petit, on regarde ses parents comme s’ils pouvaient tout faire, comme s’ils pouvaient s'occuper de nous. Et là, les parents sont bloqués, sans pouvoir décider de leur futur. J'ai de la sympathie pour les parents. Quand je les regarde, je vois leur confusion, et leur honte.

Cédric: Je dois les aider à partir de ce lieu sains et saufs. Ici, les policiers ne respectent pas le droit. Ils arrêtent les gens et les renvoient en Italie. Ici, il y a beaucoup de personnes d’extrême-droite, de néo-fascistes. Donc, on essaie d’envoyer les gens vers d’autres départements.

Cédric: Je sais très bien comment aider les gens à passer. Nous sommes très bien organisés. À chaque passage, il faut éviter la police, prendre une décision très vite… J’aime cette énergie et cette montée d'adrénaline.

Cédric: J'entends leur sirène. Ils me forcent à stopper le véhicule. Ils me disent : « Ne bouge pas ! Montre-nous tes mains ! » Ils pointent une arme vers moi. Je leur dis : « Il y a des enfants à l'intérieur ! On n'a pas d'armes ! »

Cédric: Bien sûr, ils prennent mon téléphone, ma montre. Ils cherchent la méthode la plus adaptée pour me faire parler. La méthode brusque. Les deux policiers qui jouent les rôles du méchant et du gentil. Pendant cette première garde à vue, j'ai peur.

Cédric: Je dis clairement pourquoi je le fais : « J'habite dans cette vallée, et en bas de chez moi, je vois des personnes, des enfants, qui risquent leur vie. Je les emmène pour les protéger, pour qu’ils gardent leur intégrité, leur dignité. »

Cédric: Alors, parce que je suis assez sûr de moi, je continue de transporter des personnes.

Cédric: Je comprends de plus en plus que l'État français agit de façon illégale. Et je suis horrifié. Obliger des familles à se mettre en danger pour des raisons politiques, je trouve ça absurde et choquant. Les gens essaient toujours de venir en France, même s’ils risquent leur vie.

Cédric: Des migrants sont électrocutés sur le toit des trains. Ils sont tués par des voitures. Ils tombent dans des précipices. Il y a aussi des personnes qui sont mortes, mais qui n’ont pas été identifiées.

Cédric: Voir cette scène, c’est ce qui m’a le plus marqué. Je ne connaissais pas cette fille. Après la mort de Milet, je me suis dit : « OK, maintenant je m’engage complètement. Je dois faire quelque chose. »

Cédric: Ils sont de plus en plus nombreux. Je ne sais pas quoi faire, on n’a pas le nécessaire pour tout le monde. Un matin, je me lève. Il pleut. Je vois, à l’extérieur, environ 80 personnes autour de ma maison. Ils ont dormi sous la pluie, par terre. Je me dis : « C'est pas possible. » Je n’y arrive plus.

Cédric: Les gens dorment par terre, sur le toit, partout, partout. Ils cuisinent tous sans s'arrêter. Ils recommencent à faire des gestes simples. Par exemple, préparer de la nourriture pour leurs enfants, ou décider de l’heure du repas. Ils retrouvent leur dignité.

Cédric: Je comprends que chacun le fait pour des raisons différentes. Parfois, aider les autres, c’est compliqué. Il y a des limites. Mais à un moment, une centaine de personnes m'aident concrètement. Ils hébergent des gens chez eux.

Cédric: Ils entrent en tenue de protection, avec des grosses armes à feu. Comme s'ils entraient chez un terroriste.

Cédric: Je dors deux heures par nuit, je suis si fatigué que je ne me rappelle plus ce que j'ai fait le matin même. Je passe mon temps à faire des allers-retours en voiture vers Nice et Marseille. Je n'arrive plus à réfléchir. Je ne sais plus quoi faire. Je dis à Lucile : « Il faut qu'on arrête. »

Cédric: C'est illégal d'arrêter et d'expulser des demandeurs d'asile. C'est illégal de renvoyer des mineurs isolés, séparés de leurs parents. C'est grave. Ce sont des enfants qui essayent d’échapper à la guerre.

Cédric: Ce squat, c'est une action politique. On veut que l’État s’occupe des mineurs qui sont seuls et des demandeurs d'asile. On veut le respect de la loi, tout simplement.

Cédric: L’évacuation se passe dans le calme. Un bus arrive et prend tous les jeunes. L'Aide sociale à l'enfance s’occupe d’eux.

Cédric: Moi, je dis que je suis fier. J’ai aidé 200 personnes à passer la frontière. Mais je suis arrêté. Ce squat est à l'origine du procès que tout le monde connaît.

Cédric: Les reportages m'ont aidé, mais ça peut être dangereux aussi. Des menaces racistes arrivent, des messages envoyés en ligne et des lettres écrites à la main… Je comprends tout de suite que cela vient des groupes d'extrême-droite, qui sont nombreux dans les Alpes-Maritimes.

Cédric: C’est-à-dire qu’aider les autres devient un crime. Malheureusement, c’est devenu de plus en plus fréquent ces dernières années.

Cédric: Des visiteurs viennent ici pour une certaine image de la France. La France, c’est le pays des droits de l'homme. Nous avons des valeurs à défendre.

Cédric: C'est une victoire, et je suis libre. Mais ce n'est pas fini.

Cédric: J'ai le droit de poser une question au Conseil Constitutionnel : « Est-ce que le délit de solidarité n’est pas contradictoire avec nos valeurs républicaines ? Après tout, elles sont basées sur la devise française — Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité — notamment le mot “fraternité”. »

Cédric: Le Conseil Constitutionnel répond favorablement ! C'est formidable ! Cela signifie : on ne peut pas incriminer des personnes qui transportent des gens sur le territoire français, même des migrants sans-papiers.

Cédric: Aujourd'hui, les jeunes sont moins systématiquement renvoyés en Italie. Et c'est en partie grâce à nous.

Cédric: Expulser les gens qui aujourd'hui voudraient venir chez nous, c'est être complice de meurtre. Les gens meurent en Méditerranée. La France ne peut pas se permettre ça.

[duwamplings-blog]

Film Critique Entry - Gonzaga, Joshua D.

This blog is for the review of the movies: Heneral Luna and Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral. In which, both are masterpieces by Mr. Jerrold Tarog—he is the director of both films and many other films for the Filipinos, which then the masses loved.  

The cast of both movies–John Arcilla as Antonio “Heneral Luna” Luna, Paulo Avelino as Gregorio “Goyong/Ang Agila” H. Del Pilar, Mon Confiado as Emilio “Miong” Aguinaldo, Arron Villaflor as Joven Hernando (fictional character for both movies), and Jeffrey Quizon as Apolinario “Ang Utak ng Rebolusyon” Mabini; these characters played significant roles in both films and sparked the revolution for the Filipinos way back after the Three hundred and thirty-three (333) years of Spanish Colonization. 

The movie has struck my mind wherein my high hopes were met, especially on Heneral Luna. Its veteran cast and story caught my attention, for I am not a bookworm who spends hours of learning through books. I prefer gaining knowledge through watching clips and listening podcasts, mainly Philippine history. These platforms can give the viewers or listeners a full depiction of what happened in the past rather than text in a book. 

Both films are in-line with each other as Heneral Luna's movie took a break first and followed by Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral. The plot of the motion picture for Heneral Luna—the Spanish colonization ended after three hundred and thirty-three (333) grueling years of cruelty, death without exile, rape among women, and no regard for respect for our own country. The Spanish parliament took place in the government. After colonization, Spaniards did not want to surrender to the Filipinos, but instead, they had sold the Philippines to the Americans for twenty million dollars ($20,000,000).

The Filipinos and its parting government unknowingly have issues about their president of that time, who was Emilio Aguinaldo. He became biased on whom to protect and a cowardly reckless leader. The movie showed that the officials were having arguments in meetings and were undecided if they should let the Americans enter. Besides, perceiving if they should let them take place in our government. Felipe Buencamino and Pedro Paterno were some of the Filipino Ilustrados. (in the Spanish era, they were the enlightened or the educated ones; included in the Ilustrados is the Hero of the Philippines, Dr. Jose Rizal) argued that the Americans are here to protectorate the Philippines, and us.

Buencamino and Paterno told the cabinet that Filipinos should look at Americans as allies. However, this argument made Luna and his co-leader Jose Alejandrino, the military leaders for the said meeting, had an outrage. They argued back that it was for the betterment of the country to continue its independence and the revolution. Also, not to waste what our predecessors fought for–to gain independence.  At the end of the meeting, one of the guards told the President and Apolinario Mabini that the Americans had already stepped foot. General Luna asked the cabinet to authorize the strike upon the Americans, as early as they can, before letting them have the advantage of more troops than ours. 

Mabini warned the cabinet that there were other 7,000 ground troops for the Americans that were on their way in the Philippines. Both generals wanted to strike immediately, wished the soldiers to be ready and to sacrifice for the combat. President Aguinaldo sent Buencamino and Arguelles to handle the debate. He assured the cabinet that Americans would keep peace and order to fight and win against the Spaniards. 

On the 13th of August, in the year 1898, the Spanish and American generals discreetly planned a land engagement to turn over control of Intramuros. The incident dragged a new war for General Luna and the Philippines. Buencamino and Paterno showed support for the protection of the United States to the Philippines, which meant that the Philippines would be under the sovereign of the United States of America. Being enraged by their actions, Antonio Luna had a requisition of the traitors (Buencamino and Paterno) of the constitution they swore to support it. 

Next, Luna inquired for his resignation as the general, knowing that the traitors were free. Aguinaldo declined the file of the departure of Antonio Luna as he saw him as the only one who was capable of winning the fight. Aguinaldo had approved the General’s appeal on moving the Philippine military headquarters up north. 

Later, Luna received a letter from the president, stating that the president paged him in his headquarters in Cabanatuan. Although suspicious, he went to Cabanatuan with pride and honor on his shoulders, having Roman and Rusca upon him. Arriving at Cabanatuan, most of the streets were empty, and the soldiers already left in the morning. Few soldiers remained, mostly from the battalion of Kawit. As Luna went up to the office of the President, he saw only senator Buencamino relaxingly sitting on the President’s chair. While anticipating the general’s arrival, they exchanged heated words with one another. Then, a single shot’s sound reached the office. Upon Antonio Luna’s investigation, he encountered Captain Janolino, who he jailed him up, weeks after the start of the commotion between the American soldiers and Philippine battalion. Wherein, Captain Janolino did not follow the General’s orders. These men from the Kawit battalion shot, stabbed and hacked General Antonio Luna to death. On the other hand, Roman died as well, while Rusca had surrendered to the Kawit soldiers. 

At the end of the Heneral Luna movie, it said that the Philippines blamed Aguinaldo for Antonio Luna’s death. However, Aguinaldo denied and gave the general an excellent reputation for him and calls him the most brilliant and capable general. On the other hand, at the same table that the president sat were MacArthur and Otis, who were giving Luna an acknowledgment as a worthy antagonist. They laughed at the Filipinos that they killed the only real general they had.

After that, the President’s favorite–General Gregorio del Pilar or better known as Goyong/Goyo is the next in line to the late, General Antonio Luna, to the sequel movie entitled as Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral.

The movie started in a phase, where the new General had so many rumors about his love life. Through all provinces that he and his men and went to, there would be women that found his handsomeness intriguing. Additionally, there would be a lady that would get in a relationship within every province. If not, he would court to make the lady fall in love, but does not have the intention to have a relationship.

After, General Antonio Luna’s death the next five months had been quiet for the Filipino soldiers—they became relaxed, having a thought of the American’s had stopped the war—afterward, Goyong and his men had captured Manuel Bernal and his little brother, who was included in General Luna’s men, and  they are brutally asking him that he should join the force and help on the revolution against the American’s. 

Meanwhile, Joven Hernando—now works for his uncle who is Goyong’s assigned photographer; on the other hand, whilst the Filipino army are laid-back, because of the silence of the combat between two forces—the allied forces from the American’s are formulating the second attack Luna’s comrade, Jose Alejandrino, who is saved from the extermination, now meets Apolinario Mabini—who had resigned from President Aguinaldo’s administration afterward the death of Antonio Luna. Pule, then plead Jose Alejandrino to identify the true source of Luna’s annihilation. In addition, Emilio Aguinaldo adjoined General del Pilar at Bulacan—to promote him as the Major-General of Pangasinan, at this time Goyong is beginning to address his love for Remedios—who is the daughter of Don Mariano that has the reputation of being elusive among all to the man who tried to court her. In the next scene, the President met Apolinario to offer him to be the Chief of Justice, in which Pule hesitantly accepts. 

General Alejandrino then arrives at Manila to have a negotiation with General Arthur MacArthur Jr. and General Elwell Otis, who had rejected the Filipino General’s request to have peace and order; later then, the animosity continues, and still the Filipinos are off-guard. Aguinaldo then mandated the army to move to Pozorrubio, Pangasinan to have a bigger and stronger army against the surging American soldiers to claim the Philippines at the same time meet General Manuel Tinio for his soldiers to join fellow men on war. Yet, with the President’s request, Tinio and his company had been defeated by the Americans and caused Emilio Aguinaldo to push further north with his family and the army to retreat. The backbreaking march that escorts the President and his family through the mountainous region of Cordillera, the growing tensions between the Kawit soldiers and the late General Luna’s army, the day-to-day intrusion by the American soldiers had made the Army’s defenses fail, to which the mother and the son of Aguinaldo had been captured.

When the squad had reached Mount Tirad in Ilocos Sur, the Major-General had devised a plan to delay the Americans on capturing the President. Collectively with the former sharpshooter of Antonio Luna—Lieutenant Garcia, had reinforced the trenches that were dug along the direction of the mountain. The succeeding day, the American infantry had reached the town at the foot of the mountain, however they cannot infiltrate through the defenses placed by the Philippine soldiers; but through their native guide, the soldiers from America that are under Major Peyton March, had found a path that leads to the top of the mountain, without letting the Filipino soldiers know that they are coming; with this path the Filipinos are then overruled by the American soldiers. The Filipino Major-General then went to the far side of the mountain where he could see the beauty of the mountains, where he resolved to finish the fight against the Americans and surrender, nevertheless he was shot by an American sniper and died. To this result, the spirit of the Philippine allies had broken down and surrendered, while the President fled. Joven and Kiko—Lieutenant Garcia’s son, fled as well, but Joven fell to a cliff in an encounter with an American soldier.

The Americans then had captured the President on 23rd of March, 1901, which basically ended the war. Apolinario Mabini was then captured and was exiled to Guam, where he had written a narrative of his, named “La Revolucion Filipina”—through his writings, he appointed the former President, Emilio Aguinaldo’s failure as an effective leader of the Philippines. Then Remedios received a letter from Goyo. 

First and foremost, I liked the star-studded cast of both movies—in which, it is shown that the directors and the writers had thought and planned both movies very well; the plot and the setting of the movies are organized as well, the movie techniques are on point, and it is as if that the viewers are into the place and the chosen kinds of music for both movies are nicely thought of—especially on Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral’s movie, where the “Millenials” are aware of the music from Ben and Ben Band, lastly the I loved how they depicted the movie inlined with the Philippine history to let the generation today learn on how Filipinos had fought against the Americans and the antiquity for how we are today. 

I did not like that there are parts that are incomplete if it is compared to the written stories from the past, as well as, there are screen times on how they depicted wrongly about the past. 

“May mas malaki tayong kalaban sa mga Amerikano—ang ating mga sarili”, by General Antonio Luna, these words had struck me for they had not seen the truth that the Filipinos are in deep problem with their administration to which had the Filipinos sacrificed their own lives, only knowing that they have a cruel and mindless government; “Walang naka-aangat sa batas—kahit pa ang Presidente”, the words from General Luna proves that the President has an ineffective way on ruling and running the Philippine government; from Joven Hernando—”Ano ba ang halaga ng isang bayani? Bakit tayo pirming naka tingala at sumasamba anng walang pag dududa?”, he implied that the Filipinos in a way are a bunch of children that give full credits to the heroes of war and not thinking if they had done something wrong for us; “Pag bumagsak si Aguinaldo, may bagong titindig. Pero ito—hindi ito mapapalitan.”, even though we are fighting against our own race, we should not leave the lands we own of, we should take care of themand keep them untouched; “Bumigo ang rebolusyon dahil mali ang pamumuno nito”, it shows how the cabinet of the President is unwell and there are a ton of misconceptions on how they are ruling the Philippine government and that is basically why we lost the revolution to the Americans. 

In conclusion, no matter what and how the past is depicting us as Filipinos, we should not fully embrace it and live a new life, nevertheless, it should not give us the idea of forgetting the past and how our ancestors have fought for our freedom and lands. 

Sources

Netflix https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/574983077404647285/?lp=true https://www.spot.ph/entertainment/movies-music-tv/63720/10-quotable-quotes-heneral-luna https://medium.com/@letzky/takeaways-on-goyo-ang-batang-heneral-6d12014d2341 https://www.wheninmanila.com/goyo-ang-batang-heneral-which-scenes-are-fact-or-fiction/ https://filipiknow.net/facts-about-heneral-luna-movie/

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 8: The Castle (Transcript) - 15th July 2015

tw: death, skeletons, graphic descriptions of violence, medical procedures, body horror, torture, abortion, execution, hanging - generally not for anyone squeamish

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

On January 17th, 1894, a couple stood before a minister in the Vendome Hotel in Denver, Colorado. Henry Howard and Georgiana Yoke were about to be married. Standing near them was their witness, a woman named Minnie Williams. The bride had come from Indiana to escape a scandalous reputation and had found work in Chicago at a store owned by Henry. She was a tall, slender woman, about 25 years of age, with blue eyes and blonde hair, and she was madly in love with Henry. It sounds wonderful. It sounds perfect, actually, but there was trouble in paradise even before they met the minister there at the hotel. You see, Henry was already married. He was, in fact, married to two other women, and Minnie, the woman standing as witness, was actually Henry’s mistress of over a year. Even Henry’s name was fake – his real name had been abandoned long before, and it would be months before Georgiana would discover who he really was. Sometimes we think we know a person, only to discover that we were fooled. Community is built on trust, and that trust allows us to make connections, to let down our guard and to feel safe. When that trust is broken, though, our minds quickly shift to disappointment and stress and outright fear. Sure, it happens less often now in the age of Facebook and social media, but in the late 1800s very little stood in the way of a person falsifying their identity, and Henry Howard, or whoever he was prior to that moment in Denver, had turned that skill into an art. Few people knew this about Henry, though - in fact, few people could have imagined what deep, dark secrets boiled just beneath the surface of this smiling young groom. And when the world finally did find out, exactly ten months later, they could barely contain their horror. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

Henry Howard was born in New Hampshire in 1861 as Herman Mudgett. His parents were wealthy, well-respected people in their community, and their son was born into that privilege. But from an early age, Henry was a problem child, constantly getting into trouble. According to Mudgett himself, as a child his classmates forced him to view and touch a human skeleton after learning that he was afraid of the town doctor. Their prank backfired, though, generating a deep fascination rather than frightening him off, and that obsession with death would only grow. Soon the boy was expressing interest in medicine. One report even claims that he would actually perform surgery on animals. Along with his excellent performance in school, he was able to pursue that interest and enter medical school, enrolling at the University of Michigan as H. H. Holmes in 1879. Far from home and with access to resources that he previously lacked, college allowed Holmes to get creative. He devised an easy way to make money, a drive that would fuel many of his future crimes. It involved stealing a cadaver from the medical lab. Holmes would disfigure the corpse, plant the body somewhere that gave it the appearance of being the victim of a tragic accident, and then a few days later he would approach the life insurance company with a policy for his “deceased relative” and collect the cash. His final insurance swindle in Michigan netted him $12,500, but he knew his welcome was wearing thin. After collecting the money, he vanished, abandoning school and his new wife and child, who he never saw again.

He moved around the country doing legitimate work, but also learning his way around the business world. He mastered the art of buying product on credit, avoiding the bills, selling the items and then vanishing with the profit. Armed with that skill, he soon settled in Englewood, just south of Chicago, and that’s where he met Doctor Elizabeth Holton. It was 1885 – Holmes was trying to avoid creditors from all around the country, but rather than vanish into obscurity, he chose to hide in plain sight. He married his second wife, polygamously of course, and took a job at a local drug store owned and run by Doctor Elizabeth Holton, who’s husband was dying of cancer. Holmes spent the next two years becoming more and more essential to Holton’s business, paying her for ownership of the business and building relationships with the customers. When Mr. Holton finally did pass away, the payments from Holmes stopped and Mrs. Holton became upset, threatening to end their business partnership, but nothing happened. Nothing happened, because Doctor Holton mysteriously vanished. When asked about her disappearance, Holmes told the authorities she’d moved to the west to live with her family – right after she had signed over the business to him, of course. And the police bought the lie. Holmes operated the drugstore as if nothing had happened, growing the business and continuing his chess game of evading creditors. But when the empty lot across the street became available, he couldn’t resist the temptation. Holmes, you see, had bigger plans.

The World’s Columbian Exhibition was scheduled to be hosted in Chicago in 1983, and he envisioned a hotel that could house the countless visitors who would travel to the area. His project was lovingly called “The Castle”, which wasn’t far from the truth – it was 50ft wide and over 160ft long, taking up half a city block. With three storeys and a basement, it would eventually have over 100 rooms within its walls, and Holmes (ever the micro-manager) took on the task of project architect, refusing to share the plans with anyone else. Workers on the building asked questions, naturally, but when they did, Holmes would replace them. Most of the men working on the project never lasted more than two weeks, and all told, over 500 carpenters and craftsmen worked on The Castle. True to form, Holmes managed to avoid paying most of them as well; he would accuse them of shoddy work and refuse their wages. Some sued him, but he managed to put those cases off long enough that they eventually gave up. And once completed, Holmes moved the drugstore into the building’s ground floor and rented out space to other shops. His personal offices were located on the top floor, and the remaining space was rented out as temporary living quarters, marketed as a boarding house for young, single women. The Castle was open for business. Unfortunately, not everyone who stayed there managed to survive the hospitality that Holmes offered them.

When Mrs. Pansy Lee arrived from New Orleans, she rented a room at The Castle. She was a widow and had travelled all over the United States, before arriving in Chicago to settle down. When Holmes learned that she kept $4000 in cash in the false bottom of her trunk, he kindly offered to keep it in his store vault for her. Mrs. Lee declined the offer and vanished a short time later. While some people came to The Castle for lodging, others were looking for work. One of the requirements that Holmes imposed was that all of his employees were to have life insurance policies for the sum of $5000. Holmes, remember, knew the life insurance business well. And when 17-year-old Jenny Thompson arrived from Illinois looking for work, Holmes saw an opportunity. She was young and pretty, the exact sort of blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty that he preferred, and he quickly gave her a job. In casual conversation, Jenny let slip that her family didn’t actually know where she was. She had told them that she was travelling to New York, but the offer of a good job was enough to keep her right there in Chicago. She told Holmes that she couldn’t wait to tell her parents about her good fortune. Before she did, though, he escorted her up to her room, and she was never seen again.

In 1890, Ned Connor arrived at The Castle looking for work. He travelled with his wife, Julia, who was unusually tall for a woman at nearly 6ft, and their young daughter Pearl. Ned was a watchmaker and a jeweller, and Holmes hired him right away. But it was Ned’s wife who captured his attention the most. Holmes soon fired his bookkeeper and gave the job to Julia. Not long after, it began to be obvious that Holmes was more than a little friendly with Ned’s wife. Ned, for his part, turned a blind eye – it seems  he was simply glad to have a job with steady pay and a roof over his head. When Julia became pregnant, though, Ned finally took the hint. He packed up, filed for divorce, and left her and Pearl in the care of Holmes, who immediately took out life insurance policies for both of them. But Holmes had a new problem: Julia knew the business too well, and she presented a threat to his illicit activities. Holmes found a solution, though. He told Julia that he would marry her, but only if she would have an abortion. Julia resisted at first, but finally, on December 24th, 1891, she gave in. She asked Holmes to put Pearl to bed, and then he led her to the basement, where he had a makeshift operating room. Julia and Pearl were never seen again. That same winter, Holmes summoned a man named Charles Chappell to his office. Now, Chappell performed odd jobs around The Castle, but he had a particular skill that Holmes required: he was incredibly gifted in the craft of articulating skeletons. Chappell arrived, and Holmes led him to a second-floor room, where the body of a woman lay on a table. According to Chappell’s own testimony to the authorities, the body had been “skinned like a jackrabbit”. He assumed, since Holmes was a doctor, that he had simply been performing an autopsy on a patient and pushed his doubts to the back of his mind. Holmes paid Chappell $36 to strip the flesh off the body and prepare the bones for articulation. The finished skeleton was sold to a Doctor Pauling of the Hahnemann Medical College. Doctor Pauling would often look at the skeleton in his private office and marvel at how unusual it was to see a woman who was nearly 6ft tall.

Holmes eventually made a critical mistake. Ironically, it was his old love of insurance scams that caught up with him in the end. After killing his right-hand man, Benjamin Pitezel, and attempting to pass the death off as an accident to the insurance company, the authorities caught wind of the crime and tracked him down. He was finally arrested in Boston on November 17th, 1894, 10 months to the day from his wedding ceremony in the Denver hotel. Before his trial began, however, The Castle was mysteriously gutted by fire. Thankfully, the authorities had already been able to search the building, and after doing so, they had given it a new name: “The Murder House”. The authorities discovered that, like any boarding house at the time, The Castle had a reception room, a waiting room and many rooms for residents to live in. But the building had more inside its wall than was expected. There were secret chambers, trapdoors, peepholes and hidden laboratories. Aside from the 35 guest rooms, the second floor was a labyrinth of passages. Some doors opened on brick walls, some could only be opened from one side and others were hidden completely from sight. Trapdoors led to staircases that led to hidden chambers. There were even alarms in all of the rooms that would alert Holmes in his quarters if any prisoners tried to escape. Some of the rooms were windowless and could be sealed off and made airtight if necessary. Some were equipped with gas jets that were fed by pipes from the basement. Others were lined with asbestos and had visible scorch marks on the floor. Then there was “the vault”. It was a room that could fit a single person, and only then if they were standing. The walls inside the vault were lined with iron plate, broken only by a handful of gas fixtures and a trapdoor that led to a chute. On the inside of the door was a single footprint, the size of a woman’s boot. It was a homemade gas chamber that was designed to deliver corpses straight to the basement. And when the police descended to the lowest level of the building, they discovered that Holmes had expanded the basement beyond the foundation of the building and out beneath the sidewalk. He did this to make room for all of his equipment. Here they found the dissection table, still splattered with blood, jars of poison filled a shelf, and a large wooden box nearby contained multiple female skeletons. A crematorium was built into one wall, which still contained ash and bone fragment. A search also found valuables that belonged to some of his victims: a watch that belonged to Minnie Williams, scraps of fabric, tintype photographs, and a ball of women’s hair, carefully wrapped in cloth. The bones of a child were found buried in a pit, and the remnants of a bloody dress were recovered from a woodburning stove. When Ned Conner was asked to identify the fabric, he confirmed that it belonged to his wife, Julia. A rack designed to stretch bodies was also discovered. Beneath the dirt floor, they found a vat of corrosive acid and two quicklime pits, used for quickly dissolving the flesh off of corpses. There were human skulls, a shoulder blade, ribs, a hip socket and countless other human remains. Whatever the police had hoped to find that day, they were simply unprepared for the truth. In the end, they had discovered a medieval chattel [?] house, right beneath their feet.

It’s easy to feel safe in our own neighbourhood, walking past the closed doors and manicured lawns, but what goes on behind those walls is never something that we can be sure of. Each and every person we meet wears a mask, and we’re only allowed to peek behind it if they let us. Society is built on the idea that we can trust the people around us, that we can take our neighbours, our family, even our co-workers at face value, and enter into relationships with them. But with every relationship comes risk. We risk disappointment, we risk pain and betrayal. For some of us, we even risk our very safety. European mapmakers of the 15th century would sometimes mark unexplored areas of their maps with a warning: “here there be monsters”. There’s danger in the places we haven’t explored, and while this was true then of undiscovered continents, it has always been true of humanity. Beneath the surface, behind the mask, hides the monster. On May 7th, 1896, after a final meal of boiled eggs, dry toast and a cup of coffee, H. H. Holmes was led to the gallows at Moyamensing Prison. A black hood was placed over his head, and as the crowd outside the prison walls shouted their insults and jeers, he was positioned over the trapdoor. When it opened, Holmes dropped, and his head snapped to the side. But rather than killing him quickly, the rope had somehow broken his neck and left him alive. The crowd watched for over 15 minutes as Holmes hung from the noose, fingers and feet twitching and dancing, before his heart finally stopped beating. Holmes was buried in an unmarked grave in Holy Cross Cemetery, just south of Philadelphia. As per his request, there was no autopsy, and his body was buried in a coffin filled with cement. Holmes, you see, was afraid that someone would dig up his body and use his skeleton for science. He was probably right. We don’t know how many people he killed – Holmes confessed to a variety of numbers, even changing his story again on the hangman’s platform. Some experts who have studied the missing person’s reports of the World’s Columbian Exhibition have placed the possible death toll as high as 200. There’s so much we don’t know about Holmes, a man whose entire life seemed to be one elaborate lie built atop another, like some macabre house of cards. He will forever remain a mystery to us, a monster hidden behind a mask that was painted to look just like you or I. But one last insight into the man can be found in his written confession. “I was born with the devil in me”, he wrote, “I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing. I was born with the evil one standing as my sponsor beside the bed where I was ushered into the world, and he has been with me since.”

Lore is a biweekly podcast, and was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. You can find out more about this episode, including the background music, at lorepodcast.com, and be sure to follow us on Twitter and Facebook, @lorepodcast. This episode of Lore was made possible by you, our amazing listeners. [Insert sponsor break]. And to find out how you can support Lore, visit lorepodcast.com/support. You’ll find links to help you leave a review on iTunes, support Lore on Patreon for some awesome rewards, and find the list of my supernatural thrillers, available in both paperback and eBook formats. I couldn’t do this show without you, and I’m thankful to each and every one of you. Thanks for listening.

[skateofministry]

Watch Chris Hemsworth Demonstrate the ‘Ultimate Workout’ Alongside 9-Year-Old Daughter India

Chris hemsworth skateboarding with daughter

chris hemsworth/ instagram

Chris Hemsworth is staying fit while helping his kids.

The 37-year-old Thor actor shared a video on Instagram Tuesday showcasing the “ultimate family workout” he devised with wife Elsa Pataky, with whom he shares twin sons Sasha and Tristan, 7, and daughter India Rose, 9. The routine involves assisting their little ones by running beside them while they skateboard or ride a horse.

“My wife and I designed the ultimate family workout. All you need is a child, a skateboard, a horse and a Can Do attitude. Good luck @centrfit @elsapatakyconfidential,” Hemsworth captioned the post.

In the first clip, the dad runs beside India while holding her hand as she practices skateboarding on a hilly course. Pataky, in the other video, leads a small horse through a grassy field as one of the kids ride along.

Ryan Reynolds, who shares three daughters with Blake Lively, wrote in the comment section, “I know this workout!

”

Want to get the biggest stories from PEOPLE every weekday? Subscribe to our new podcast, PEOPLE Every Day, to get the essential celebrity, entertainment and human interest news stories Monday through Friday.

RELATED GALLERY: Hot Celebrity Dads’ Most Melt-Worthy Parenting Moments

Hemsworth and Pataky wed in December 2010 after meeting that same year. They had their first child, daughter India, in May 2012, while twin boys Sasha and Tristan were born two years later in March 2014.

They celebrated 10 years together in December, both sharing throwback photos on Instagram.

“10 years together! Looking forward to the advancements of modern medicine and science and enjoying a couple hundred more!

” he wrote in his sweet tribute.

“Going through ten years of photographs was almost as fun as the real thing!” Pataky captioned her post. “Here’s to many more years of wonderful times, love you always and forever @chrishemsworth.”

Source link

from Skate World. Skateboard News, skateboard shop https://ift.tt/3j2qfVf

[rosheendubh]

https://www.mythpodcast.com/ 'Blerg'--b/c it's an ungodly hour in the AM, and the aches plaguing this *insert age of ungodly years*-something body from 4 hours of hoeing (like garden hoeing...not the other 'hoeing'), and turning soil in our retaining wall beds--and that was only the backyard *sob*--popped me out of fitful sleep. So, I find podcasts like this little gem...how cool. And read obscure iterations of the VolsungaSaga, and devise *wyrd* twists in legend and Uthyriana, for how Uthyr is, indeed (in my fictional telling, not in any valid canon of Arthurian studies) descended of Sinfjotli--the Fitelis of 'Beowulf--of the Volsungs, on his father's side... This derives from 'The Lives of the Saints', tale of Vortigern's 4th son, conceived upon his own daughter., which melds into a conflation of 2 saints--Faustus, and Edeyrn/Eutigern. (E)utigern, bearing a curious relation in derivation with Uthyr/Uther. Thus, in my (contrived) molding, Uther/Eutigern is a son of Vortigern, who is a son of Vitalinus/or Vitalis, depending on how one flips generations. And Fitelis sounds an awful lot like an Angliazing cognate of Vitalis, which in turn, shares a rather coincidental derivation in meaning similar to Wihtgils--the father of Hengist and Horsa of Saxon/Jute migration to Britain myths... So, sure Wihtgils was Sinfjotli becomes Vitalis in his later-later years...and fathers Vorty on an unwilling, but dutiful British noblewoman of Glouscester/Glevum...to help solidify treaties with the Germanic mercenary warriors settled into Britain...

[sussex-nature-lover]

Plague!

Just before the news of further local lockdowns in England, I was listening to a podcast with the actor Robert Lindsay who spoke about performing a speech from a play about Eyam, the so called Plague Village and I was struck at the similarities with then and now despite the intervening centuries.

On 1 November 1666 farm worker Abraham Morten gasped his final breath - the last of 260 people to die from bubonic plague in the remote Derbyshire village of Eyam. Their fate had been sealed four months earlier when the entire village made the remarkable decision to quarantine itself in an heroic attempt to halt the spread of the Great Plague. This is the story of the villagers who refused to run.

Abraham was in his late 20s when he died. He was one of 18 Mortens listed as plague victims on the parish register.

But the story of the plague in Eyam had begun 14 months earlier, with the arrival of a bale of cloth sent from London, where the disease had already killed thousands of inhabitants.

Contained in the bale of damp cloth were fleas carrying the plague.

A tailor's assistant called George Viccars was said to have opened the bale and hung the cloth in front of the hearth to dry, unwittingly stirring the disease-ridden fleas contained within the parcel.

He became the first of the plague's victims in the village.

"That poor man was just visiting Eyam to help make clothes for Wakes Week [a religious festival] - and sadly never left," said Eyam churchwarden Joan Plant, who has researched the story.

The pestilence swept through the community. Between September and December 1665, 42 villagers died and by the spring of 1666, many were on the verge of fleeing their homes and livelihoods to save themselves.

It was at this point that the newly appointed rector, William Mompesson, intervened. Believing it his duty to prevent the plague spreading to the nearby towns of Sheffield and Bakewell, he decided the village should be quarantined.

However, as if persuading his parishioners to sacrifice their lives was not difficult enough, he had another problem - he was already deeply unpopular with the villagers.

He had been sent to Eyam in April 1664 after the previous rector, Thomas Stanley, was removed. Stanley had refused to acknowledge the 1662 Act of Uniformity, which made it compulsory to use the Book of Common Prayer, introduced by Charles II, in religious services.

Stanley, along with the majority of people in Eyam, had been supporters of Oliver Cromwell and his Puritan government, prior to the restoration of the monarchy in 1660.

Mompesson, realising he would need help, decided to reach out to Stanley in the hope that he could persuade the villagers to carry out his plan.

"Stanley was living in exile on the edge of the village, having been effectively kicked out, and the parishioners didn't like, or trust, Mompesson," said Ken Thompson, historian and chairman of Eyam Museum.

"However, they agreed to meet and the plan they devised was remarkable."

On 24 June 1666, Mompesson told his parishioners that the village must be enclosed, with no-one allowed in or out.

He said the Earl of Devonshire, who lived nearby at Chatsworth, had offered to send food and supplies if the villagers agreed to be quarantined.

Mompesson said if they agreed to stay - effectively choosing death - he would do everything in his power to alleviate their suffering and remain with them, telling them he was willing to sacrifice his own life rather than see nearby communities decimated.

His wife, Catherine, recorded in her diary: "It might be difficult to predict the outcome because of the resentment as to William's role in the parish, but considering that the Revd Stanley was now stood at his side, perhaps he would gain the support necessary to carry the day."

During the meeting, there were many misgivings over the wisdom of his plan, she wrote.

However, she concluded that with help from Stanley - who had stated that a "cordon sanitaire" was the most effective way of dealing with the plague - the remaining villagers reluctantly agreed to the plan.

The Black Death

Plague has a case-fatality ratio of 30%-60% if left untreated

It was known as the Black Death during the 14th Century, and caused an estimated 50 million deaths

People infected with plague usually develop flu-like symptoms after an incubation period of 3-7 days

There are three forms of plague infection: bubonic, septicaemic and pneumonic. Bubonic, characterised by painful swollen lymph nodes - buboes - is the most common form

Plague still is endemic in many countries, including in Madagascar, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Peru

In 2013, there were 783 cases reported worldwide, causing 126 deaths

Source: World Health Organisation

Dr Michael Sweet, a wildlife disease specialist at the University of Derby, said: "The decision to quarantine the village meant that human-to-human contact, especially with those outside of the village was basically eliminated which would have certainly significantly reduced the potential of the spread of the pathogen.

"Without the restraint of the villagers many more people, especially from neighbouring villages, would have more than likely have succumbed to the disease.

"It is remarkable how effective the isolation was in this instance," he added.

August 1666 saw the highest number of victims, reaching a peak of five or six deaths a day. The weather was remarkably hot that summer, which meant the fleas were more active, and the pestilence spread unchecked throughout the village.

Despite this, hardly anyone broke the cordon; even those who were reluctant to stay saw it through.

The same month, Elizabeth Hancock buried six of her children and her husband close to the family farm. They had all perished in the space of just eight days.

Mrs Plant said: "I cannot begin to imagine how she must have felt. To lose a husband and six children in a matter of eight days is unimaginable."

It is said people from the nearby village of Stoney Middleton stood on the hill and watched her - too scared to help.

This was now the reality of how the villagers were viewed from the outside, Mrs Plant said.

Another plague survivor, also forced to bury his own family, was Marshall Howe.

As the number of victims increased, and entire families were wiped out, Howe was tasked with the job of burying them. He was infected during the early stages of the outbreak, but survived.

Believing he could not be infected twice, he relished the job, often helping himself to the victims' possessions as his reward, Mrs Plant said.

Howe would later bury his own son, William, aged two, and wife, Joan. It is possible his family was infected through the items he stole from the dead.

Mrs Plant, who is a direct descendant of Margaret Blackwell, one of the few villagers to have survived the plague, said: "It must have been terrifying, but every single family would have had that strong belief in God, and would not have feared death."

In his letters, Mompesson described the smell of "sadness and death" in the air. He also wrote about his wife, who had tended to so many of the dying, contracting the plague while helping others.

On 22 August 1666, they went for a walk in the nearby hills, and Catherine spoke about the sweet smell in the air. She died the following morning, aged 27.

The current rector, Mike Gilbert, said: "When you read Mompesson's letters - he must have assumed he was dying. In one he writes 'I am a dying man'.

"He was scared but he did it all the same. There was definitely that hope of heaven that kept them going, but it was phenomenally difficult to simply face it - it wasn't a nice way to die. 'I'm going to die in pain and there is nothing anyone can do about it'.

"It is almost overwhelming to think what it must have been like - I suspect fear stalked them every day of their lives at the time."

However, the worst of the pestilence was over. The number of cases fell in September and October, and by 1 November the disease had gone. The cordon had worked.

During the outbreak, Eyam's mortality rate was higher than that suffered by the citizens of London as a result of the plague.

In just over a year, 260 of the village's inhabitants, from no fewer than 76 different families, had died. Historians have placed the total population of Eyam at between 350 and 800 before the plague struck.

However, Mompesson knew his actions, and the courage of his parishioners, had probably saved thousands more.

He left Eyam in 1669 to work in Eakring, Nottinghamshire, but such was the reputation of the "plague village" he was forced to live in a hut in Rufford Park until the residents' fears had abated.

Now, three and a half centuries later, the story is still well known by the people of Eyam.

Local historian Mr Thompson said: "Who would have thought they would have agreed to do that and put themselves and their families in mortal danger - which is what they did - so much so that at least a third of the population died.

"They knew they were risking life and limb but they still agreed to do it.

"If it means anything at all, you almost feel responsible to do something to remember it.

"There is an onus on the people in the village that you can't just turn your back on what the people did."

Anyway, I just thought I’d park that here as a matter of interest.

[libertariantaoist]

Weapons are not auspicious tools some things are simply bad thus the Taoist shuns them in peace the ruler honors the left in war he honors the right weapons are not auspicious tools he wields them when he has no choice dispassion is the best thus he doesn’t praise them those who praise their use enjoy killing others those who enjoy killing others achieve no worldly rule thus we honor the left for happiness we honor the right for sorrow the left is where the adjutant stands the commander on the right which means as at a funeral when you kill another honor him with your tears when the battle is won treat it as a wake

Lao-tzu - (Taoteching, verse 31, translation by Red Pine)

HO-SHANG KUNG says, “In times of decadence and disorder, we use weapons to defend the people.”

SU CH’E says, “We take up weapons to rescue the distressed and not as a matter of course.”

SUNG CH’ANG-HSING says, “The system of ritual devised by the ancient kings treated the right as superior and the left as inferior. Being superior, the right represented the Way of Victory. Being inferior, the left represented the way of Humility. But victory entails death and destruction. Hence, those on the right were in charge of sad occasions, while those one the left were in charge of happy events.”

JEN FA-JUNG says, “‘Left’ refers to the east and the power of creation, while ‘right’ refers to the west and the power of destruction.”

HSUAN-TSUNG says, “When Tibetans, Huns, or other tribes invade our borders, the ruler has no choice but to respond. But he responds as would to a gnat. He does not act in anger. The greatest victory involves no fighting. Hence, dispassion is the best policy.”

LI HSI-CHAI says, “Sun-tzu discussed in detail the use of strengths and weaknesses and of direction and indirection in warfare. But he did not understand their basis (Sunzu Pingfa: 5-6). Lao-tzu says dispassion is the best policy, because it secures victory without a display. This might seem odd, but dispassion means to rest, and rest is the root of victory. Meanwhile, passion means to act, and action is the basis of defeat.”

KING HSIANG OF LIANG asked Mencius, “How can the kingdom be pacified?” Mencius answered, “The kingdom can be pacified by uniting it.” King Hsiang asked, “But who can unite it?” Mencius answered, “One who does not delight in killing others can unite it” (Mencius: 1A.6).

LI JUNG says, “The ancients used weapons with compassion. They honored them for their virtue and disdained them as tools. Once the enemy was defeated, the general put on plain, undyed clothes, presided over a funeral ceremony, and received the mourners.”

                                                         –

If Lao-tzu keeps repeating the same thing, it must be something important for us to understand. What he said back in verse 24, he repeats again in today’s verse: Some things are simply bad, thus we would shun them. Today, he repeats another phrase twice, and in the same verse: “Weapons are not auspicious tools.” What that means is it doesn’t bode well for those who use them when not forced to. That is why he goes on to say to only wield them when you have no choice. Weapons are a tool. And, tools have a purpose. But, know that that purpose is violence. As he said in yesterday’s verse, “Such things have repercussions.”

I remember well what Stephen Mitchell’s translation said of these repercussions. Violence always rebounds on one’s self. The counter force which always accompanies the use of force is not something we should ignore. Ignoring laws of physics won’t make them go away.

For those of you who have been following Kyle Anzalone’s daily news roundups and thrice weekly podcasts, Kyle was talking recently about America’s push toward “First Strike” capabilities with our nuclear weapons. Meaning, believing we can defy the laws of physics by dealing such a devastating blow to our enemy, they won’t be able to strike back. This is just the sort of thinking, I think Lao-tzu has in mind with today’s verse. And, as in yesterday’s verse where Lao-tzu laments those who can’t win without being proud, without being vain, without being cruel.

Here is something I think we should all be asking ourselves: Is this winning?

                                                         –

KING HSIANG (FL. 4TH C. B.C.) was the ruler of the small state of Liang (now Kaifeng) and son of King Hui.

[christianmenatwork]

Good, Bad and God-Selah20-CMAW088

S

Think about putting all your activities in 3 categories 1) good (Kingdom stuff, family, direction from God and Bible), 2) Bad (getting drunk, breaking 10 commandments, Ex 20:3-17

You shall have no other gods before Me.

4 “You shall not make for yourself a carved image—any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; 5 you shall not bow down to them nor [b]serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting[c] the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me, 6 but showing mercy to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My commandments.

7 “You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain.

8 “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. 9 Six days you shall labor and do all your work, 10 but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. 11 For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.

12 “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you.

13 “You shall not murder.

14 “You shall not commit adultery.

15 “You shall not steal.

16 “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

17 “You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor’s.”

Prov 6:16-19 things God hates-) These six things the Lord hates, Yes, seven are an abomination to [h]Him: 17 A[i] proud look, A lying tongue, Hands that shed innocent blood, 18 A heart that devises wicked plans, Feet that are swift in running to evil, 19 A false witness who speaks lies, And one who sows discord among brethren, 3) Neutral (watching a football game, hobbies). Start with low hanging fruit (bad), then neutral (Dr. Vanderpool said we send so much time on entertain it seems like we're too busy (us or our kids),), what we think as neutral or "good" what makes life worth living may easily be breaking the 1st commandment and having a god before the one true God, then good (going to church, ministry, podcast frequency (maybe not totally eliminate but degree or emphasis), John Bevere said "just because it's good doesn't mean it's God), God knows what's best for us (not just good), we shouldn't settle for less than God's best. Time is so precious, we want to make the most of the time we have, as Chuck says "finish strong", can't change the past or control the future, only the present, so what to focus on, the big 2 Love God and Love Others,  Phill 4:8 "Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.", time with God - Saabath, don't just know OF Him, KNOW him, think of your marriage

E

The Briefing with Albert Mohler

L

Neh 1:11 "Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare."

A

None

H

Paul Sohn

6) Make sure everyone understands the purpose of the group from day 1 (also good for work and meetings)

  Check out this episode!