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jerusalismreview · 4 years

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Stuck in quarantine, I make a video in which I get romantic with a spoon. I send it to my friends, one of whom tells me to check out the video poems of Adeena Karasick. Some online digging tells me Karasick is a Brooklyn-based poet, writer, performer, and thinker whose work tackles the fun and the real. She also happens to be on the line-up for Mekuvan, Jerusalism’s first online reading series. In a cool combo of fate and query, I interview her and ask more about what’s happening between the lines of her words.

When Adeena sends me an email, she calls me “sweets” and “babe.” Though we think about speaking on Zoom, our interview happens over email, which is to say—text. I don my best quasi-professional internet speak while Adeena skyrockets into my gmail, peppering her answers with emoticons and parentheticals, taking me inside and outside her answers in a slightly overlarge Arial font. Her I’s are lowercase, her proper nouns uppercase. Her signature is one lone, light gray “a.”

I go deep into Karasick’s online corpus. Soon I’m floating. Her virtual vocals hold words fused across mediums, embodying a world intimate with its own supposition of depth. Within this world is the explicit understanding that depth is about layers, and its meaning comes from the interaction of all things—poetry, politics, kabbala!—not nearly as disparate as we imagine. Her work reminds me of the internet itself: obsessed by its ever-updating form and devoted to the process of making image meet word.

In our interview, Adeena tells me as much, making sure to blow my mind with the theoretical underpinnings of her playful, sexy, serious work. She signs off on our correspondence with ; ))))))) and !!!!!!! and xxxxxxx. Though we’ve finished speaking for now, I find myself again looking at her work, mesmerized. An in to the infinite. Here are some of her thoughts on the matter.

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Joelle Milman: The infinite abounds in your work. What is your relationship to ein sof?

Adeena Karasick: I like thinking about ways in which ein sof is where all possibility erupts; everything that has been and will be created is housed in a kinda blueprint of potentiality. I think this sense of potent play is crucial, opening up dialogue for new possibilities of reference, connection, an “infinite” unfolding of semantic, syntactic (political) possibilities.

In the Zohar it says, “all binding and union and wholeness are secreted in the secrecy / that cannot be grasped and cannot be known, / that includes the desire of all desires. // Infinity does not abide being known, / does not produce end or beginning./ Primordial Nothingness brought forth Beginning and End? Who is Beginning?… It produces End… But there, no end.” ;)

I guess you could say this sense of questioning and a sense of endless opening really interests me. Take for example, how transliterated ein (nothing) is homophonically connected to ayin (eye) through which we can envision anything. Or if one shifts the letters to ani (i), then we are between being and nothingness, endlessly re-presencing. I’m interested in navigating this space between visibility and invisibility, what is revealed, concealed, veiled unveiled through the flux of form, emanation, re-formation. Recognizing, of course, that in order for anything to be manifested there has to be a limit, a concealment. I adore this ex-static play of expansion and contraction, where everything hums with a kinda vertiginous, vibratory edge.

JM: Who is your muse?

AK: Abraham Abulafia, 13th C. Kabbalistic mystic.

JM: Your ew hybrid poetic work, Salomé, takes a misunderstood character and gives her a new story. What was it like to work with such a specific character, attached to particular historical narratives?

AK: Well, it always bothered me that within Christian mythology and entrenched in history by writers like Wilde, Gustave Flaubert, Mallarmé, artists such as Gustav Klimt, Gustave Moreau, and Aubrey Beardsley, Salomé was seen as yet another Jewish temptress/Christian killer (which is not so great for the Jews ;).

But, in fact, there isn’t any evidence to substantiate this claim. I did a whack of research and according to apocrypha and Josephus’s Antiquities, she came from Jewish royalty and there is no evidence she murdered John the Baptist or even danced for Herod. The only historical reference that [Herod’s wife] Herodias’s daughter’s name was Salomé is from Flavius Josephus, who makes no other claims about her—not that she danced for Herod, not that she demanded John’s head, but only that she went on to marry twice and live peacefully. The other apocryphal reference is that a daughter danced for Herod, which caused him to lose his mind and kill John the Baptist. Thus, the conflagrated Salomé that appears in the Wilde play, [Richard] Strauss opera and all subsequent productions, is an amalgamated construct. Along with Klezmer/jazz god Frank London, I embarked on a 7 year journey to set the record straight.

For the record, there are three women named Salomé in Jewish history: Salomé, daughter of Herodias and Herod II (circa 14-71 CE); Queen Salomé, her great-aunt (65 BCE-10 CE); and Salomé Alexandra (139-67 BCE). Her great-aunt, Salomé I, was the powerful sister and force behind Herod the Great, king of Judea and Second Temple rebuilder. Salomé Alexandra (also known as Shelomtzion) was one of only two women who reigned over Judea. I wanted my Salomé, Salomé of Valor (pun intended), to carry the weight of both her genetic lineage and the cultural heredity of her name, embodying the legacy and power of the women that came before her.

JM: Your recent work, COVID/ KAVOD, pays attention to these particular times and the words we have created around it. Can you tell me more about the piece?

AK: You know, I was sheltering at home with my daughter Safia Fiera (Sefira) in NYC, and wrote a Facebook post thinking about the power of words and names. I was increasingly obsessed with how COVID transliterated in Hebrew as Kavod כבוד, which translates to glory, honor, and respect. When we congratulate someone we say כל הכבוד – ‘all the honor’ (Good job!)— or close a letter with the word בכבוד which means ‘with respect.’ Yet, ironically, it’s also related to kaved “heavy.” And throughout Exodus, the presence of God in the tabernacle is symbolized by the word ‘Kavod’ (which is also represented by a cloud!). Through a 13th Century Kabbalistic lens, Kavod כבוד refers to Shekhinah, the female revealed aspect of God, which is symbolized by the lips, the mouth, the wound, the word: gates of entry, gates of transmission. AND – according to the Zohar [3296b], the CORONA (crown) of the phallus. And most astoundingly, KAVOD as a technical term within the sefirotic system emphasizes the distinction between the 1st vessel of light and the other 9 – COVID19.

Superstar dub poet/producer Lillian Allen contacted me and asked me to record my thoughts. She had it set to music with a DJ and a cello; launched on Spotify and CD Baby…crazy! It was one of those things, where you never know where things might lead, the synecdoche of the ever-so prescient spread?! Really makes one think about the viral nature of everything, i.e. memes—units of cultural energy that virally replicate themselves; how à la Korzybski / Burroughs, “Language IS a virus…

JM: You work in performance, video, text—but everything seems grounded in words. How do words play differently in different forms?

AK: All my work is dedicated to highlighting ways in which language and being are so intricately entwined; how we are formed and reformed through the language we use; how language’s physicality / materiality / sonic qualities infinitely re-create meaning and being. Playing between and within language’s visual and acoustic space, underscoring how it’s all so viscerally alive.

I love the differences between them [mediums] and I love ways that they feed off and expand the experience of one another.

JM: What is your relationship to the individual letter?

AK: Kabbalistically speaking, if the world was created through letters, every time we read or write or speak, we are in essence re-creating the world.

I love thinking about the way each letter rubs up against another letter, how that modulates the overall feel of the way a line or a text plays itself like a score; how it asks us to renegotiate meaning and being. How every letter in a way contains every other letter and how they themselves hover, erupt as sparks of light.

My recent work Aerotomania, which investigates how the airplane is structured like a language, exposes how the shape of the airplane is reminiscent of the letter Alef, the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, symbol of infinite and contemporaneous beginnings.

It’s constructed from two Yods י, one above and one below, with a diagonal line, the Vav ו, between them, representing the higher world and the lower world, separating and connecting the two Yods. And through chambers of light rungs of life ærotically connecting higher and lower worlds, all brimming with interior struggle and yearning, hiddenness, and longing—

JM: Tell me more about what you find sexy. What is the erotic up to when it shows up in your work, and do you find it particularly intertwined with gender? If so, how and why?

AK: HA! What I find most sexy are witty mashups of entwined letters. Ways references wrap around each other, the ways letters brush up against and wind around each other—ways meaning erupts in unexpected ways.

To this end, my new work Aerotomania really focuses on the erotics of meaning production. According to Marshall McLuhan, “the airplane is an extension of the body.” So, with it I’m exploring not only how the airplane is structured like a language but an extension of the body, specifically metonymic of the female body; flying through clouds of data, through a sultry and amorous mapping of light, “shade,” shadow, highlighting the relationship of how language becomes a shape-shifting trickster; an ever-swirling palimpsest of spectral voices, textures, whispers and codes transporting us to sometimes unknown destinations; flying through a variety of zones, registers, soaring to higher and higher levels, leading to radically transformative possibilities of passion, pleasure, power and promise, as we negotiate loss and light; opening up new ways of seeing and being. THIS is sexy ; )

JM: I love it. I haven’t seen anything that approximates the video poetry you make and they’re awesome. When it comes to idea generation, do you start with the medium or the message? What is your editing process like?

Well, in media ecological terms, the medium is always massaging the message. I’m always interested in the way information reads and is transformed through multiple platforms; whether on a page or a stage, a tablet, computer, or movie screen.

Videopoetry as a medium allows me exquisite axes of entry into a virtual arena. There, not only can the materiality of language be exposed, but through the conflagration of image, music, voice, text, sound and animation, a ‘textatic’ slipperiness of meaning appears. Each piece, operating with its own structure, codes, logic, idioms, reminds us how meaning-making is always a praxis of palimpsest and dissemination, generating a contiguous infolding of meaning.

But to answer your question—in almost every case, I start with a text that I want to multimodally play with. For example, right now I’m working on a videopoem for a Salomé track. I have my text, the recording of it, with the music (composed and performed by Klezmer / Jazz god, Frank London), and now have to assess what aesthetic feel is going to auratically transport it. So unlike writing the poetry, where I see and hear and feel the words all simultaneously, making videos is usually sequential.

Though I do all my own pechakuchas, it literally takes a village to make the videopoems! I write the text, communicate my vision, but I don’t have a lot of the technical expertise—so each one is a loving and painstaking process collaborating with musicians, animators, editors. Textual editing process parallels this in that I am a ferociously compulsive editor, renegotiating every syntactic reference, line break, lexical choice. And even though I have so much respect for Ginsberg’s “first thought best thought,” everything goes through a crazy amount of editing and re-editing until the last possible moment.

JM: So much of your work is mash-up, combining elements from other texts be they theoretical, visual, or otherwise. What is it like to combine existing content and bring it into new forms?

If everything is inherently intertextual and archival, my work celebrates a kind of parsed play of laced socio-political-lingual cultural shards and fractures, highlighting how all is pulsing with palimpsested resonance. This then inherently asks one to revisit and recontextualize, reframe information and thereby see it in new ways.

For example, I’ve been working on an ongoing collaborative project with famed critic / weaver, Maria Damon, on a piece we call: “Intertextile: Text in Exile: Shmata Mash-Up A Jewette for Two Voices,” where we investigate the relationship between text and textile. The whole piece is marked by a kind of intertextatic syntacticism; as we weave meaning through found data, shattered matter, shredded fragments, through all that is proper, improper, impropriotous, riotous, simultaneously celebrating and questioning all that’s filthy and wrinkled and inside out, all that’s unfolded, soiled, sullied, un-rinsed and uncomfortable. And it’s this sense of exploration and reformation, through research, inquiry and play where one can explore the impossibility of the possible, the contingency of our finitude, our brokenness, excess and exuberance, within the fissures of being.

What’s it like? In a word: textatic ; )

JM: Your work has uncompromising trust in its own voice and self-representation. For us just getting started out here: do you have any advice on how to commit to and advocate for your work, particularly in a world not always eager to support emerging artists?

AK: Trends, aesthetics, modes, schools of thought come and go, in and out of vogue, and if I’ve learned anything over the years is that everything goes in cycles. Or to use McLuhan’s terminology, systems get enhanced, reversed, retrieved or obsolesced, and so it’s so important to just trust your own mind. Regardless of what seems to be the genre, the praxis, procedure, fashion of the moment, write what you want. Read, as much as you can, go to readings, start journals, perform at open mics, gather community and share ideas, share work. But it’s so important that you trust your own vision, and just sometimes shut it all out and just create your own unique powerful universe that you want to inhabit.

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adventuresofninnaly · 5 years

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The adventure begins!

Ninnaly woke up in cold sweat. Nightmares again, this time about a giant, black dragon attacking Helgen. Why Helgen? Why Dragons?! There haven’t been any dragons in centuries, if there were any to being with! Only stories for children.

She noticed the sun had start to rise, so she sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, stretched her stiff body and yawning. She grabbed her worktunic and headed out of her bedroom, and down the stairs. She threw some firewood on the firepit, and casted a simple fire-spell on it. “Being raised by a former battle-mage surely had it’s perks.” Ninnaly said quietly with a slight smile on her lips. She sat down and started heating some water for her tea and grabbed a piece of bread. “I will try to remember buying some food later, before I go home from work” she thought. “but knowing myself, I’ll probably forget.”.

Ninnaly sighed and dropped down some lavender, a few juniper berries cut in half and a few drops of honey in her cup and poured some water on top. She started thinking back to her time in Helgen. She hadn’t been there in four years, since she first arrived in Skyrim. The innkeeper Vilod was nice enough to let her stay for as long as she needed, in exchange for helping him with his inn. It was Vilod who had teached her how to make the Lavender and Juniper berry tea. The honey was her own idea, being a sucker for all things sweet. Well, almost everything. She disliked sweetrolls. They looked weird, and was too sweet. Taking a sip of her tea and relaxed a bit in her chair.

“I should take a week and go visit old Vilod” She thought. “Would be a nice surprise for the old fool”. Taking a sip of the tea. “But that will have to wait until next month. I have to travel to Falkreath and deliver some alchemy ingredients to ‘Grave Concoctions’.” she exhaled and took a big gulp from the cup. “After that, I should have enough coin to buy myself a horse. Which will make my job so much easier, and I can carry a greater shipment”.

She sat down the now empty cup, took her waterskin, coinpurse and headed out. She was greeted by an amazing weather, for once it wasn’t freezing cold and raining. The birds chirped and the town had started to move. Adrianne had already started to hammer away at some order from the Imperial Legion. The children of Whiterun was already running around and playing tag. A great day, with other words.

Ninnaly headed to Arcadia’s Cauldron, grabbed the supplies and headed towards the gate. The pouch was fairly lightweight for once. Unlike that time she had accepted a request to pick up a shipment for Adrianne last month, down in Riverwood. Adrianne had forgot to mention that Ninnaly was supposed to bring Ulfberth with her, for the extra muscle. Oh well. At least now on the way back from Falkreath she could maybe get a foot in the newly opened shop in Riverwood and get a customer there too.

The trip to Falkreath was awfully uneventful, only a small fight between the Legion and the Stormcloaks. Ninnaly helped heal the wounded Imperial soldiers after the battle had ended. Ninnaly, being a half-elf, she didn’t sympathize much with Ulfric and his thugs. The leader of the small group asked if she wanted to join the Legion, but answered that she didn’t quiet make the cut. Ninnaly was both skilled in swordsmanship and spellcasting, but not enough at the time. The captain said he would recommend her, which may give her some extra leverage. After healing the troops and sharing a meal and some stories, the captain asked where Ninnaly was heading. “To Falkreath, gotta deliver a shipment.” “Is that so?” he said. “We were heading there ourselves, and as you probably can tell, that there are Stormcloaks in the area.” “Do you want company, miss?” He asked politely. “Yes, on the condition you don’t call me miss again.” Ninnaly responded teasingly. Together with the small band of Legionnaires, Ninnaly continued towards Falkreath. They continued to share stories, but keeping their guards up.

Arriving to Falkreath, the group of Legionnaires went their own way towards the Jarls keep. And Ninnaly went to ‘Grave Concoctions’. Delivering the goods. She was amazed of just how many kinds of poisons and deadly concoctions there actually is.

Happily leaving the ‘Grave Concoctions’ with a heavier coin purse, she went to the local inn, Dead Man’s Drink, to rent a room for the slowly approaching night, and get something to eat. A plate of potatoes, leek and a steak was laying in front of her, as someone approached her, and asked to join her at the table. “If you are here to flirt, you can go where you came from.” she said mockingly. “Oh no no no, I’m not interested in that!” the person said, “I’m Lucien Flavius. Scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and somewhat of a musician... but that’s more of a hobby, I guess.”. Lucien continued. “I am looking for someone to guide me through Skyrim. For academic purposes mainly, but the province of Skyrim is so fascinating! The flora and fauna. All the ruins, both Dwemer and Nordic. It’s architecture and politics.. “ He interrupted himself. “But, I’m not much of a fighter. I know a few spells, and can just about swing a sword. I would of course pay you, more than enough! That of course, is if you are willing to part ways with your current work. Pay would be no issue, I’m coming from a wealthy family in Cyrodiil, so gold is of no shortage.”.

Ninnaly sat quiet for a while, nibbling on her grilled leek. “I will do it. I don’t have any more orders as of now, and I certainly could enjoy some time on the roads!” She said. “And it would be a perfect opportunity to visit Vilod back in helgen. It’s only a days travel from here.” She thought for herself. “Splendid! Would 300 Septims upfront be enough for now?” Lucien said excitingly. Ninnaly almost chocking on her leek. “And compensate you for anything useful to my research.” He continued, waiting for her answer. “Y-yes, that would be enough.” She answered. “I’m Ninnaly, by the way.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lily! Let us get some rest for now and get on our way tomorrow!” “Wha.. No, Ninnaly.” She said, with a look of confusion on her face. “Don’t worry Lily! I just like giving people nicknames. Unless of course you have a problem with that.” Lucien said, with a hint of sadness in his voice. Ninnaly had never had a nickname. So she agreed to letting him call her Lily. Feeling a strange happiness about the ordeal she went into her rented room for some needed sleep. The following morning she stepped out into the main hall of inn and asked for some lavender tea and a piece of bread. “Good morning, Lily!” Lucien said happily upon seeing her entering the inn. “I have arranged a carriage to take us where ever we want to go. How does that sound?” “Sounds great, I’ll just eat breakfast and then we can travel to Whiterun. I need some things from my house, if that’s okay?” “Certainly! I have heard about the alchemy shop in Whiterun. I would like to visit it to buy some supplies, so that’s perfect.” Lucien said. After breakfast they left Falkreath for Whiterun. The trip was uneventful, it was spent getting to know each other better. Lucien came from a wonderful home in Cyrodiil, just as Ninnaly. So they were excited they had that in common. Arriving in Whiterun, Ninnaly was greeted with hugs by Lars Battle-Born and Mila Valentina. Her “best friends” according to themselves. “Hey guys, where’s Braith? She got in trouble again?” Ninnaly said with a smile, but also concern. “No, she’s sick. Just a cold, so she wanted to stay home today.” “I see, let me just get a few things, and meet me outside Braith’s okay?” Ninnaly smiled. “Friends of yours?” Lucien said with a smile on his lips. “My ‘best’ friends!” Ninnaly responded. “I usually play tag with them once a week. They really appreciate it. Most the adults are busy doing their work, and don’t have the time. But they like that someone can take their time to play with them.” “I see,” Lucien said. “so where do you live?” “Right here!” she said, unlocking the door to Breezehome. It had cost her a lot of Septims to buy it, and to add furniture to it. But it had been worth it. “I’m just going to get my sword and bow. Will you be a dear and take some lavender, a few juniper berries and the bottle of honey from the table in the back?” “Of course!” Lucien responded. “What is it for?” “It’s for Braith, one of the kids here in the town. A few snips of lavender, two juniper berries and a spoon of hone-” “For tea? Sounds awfully sweet if you ask me.” Lucian interrupted. “Yes, for tea. But it works wonders, and gets a sick child up on it’s feet in no time!” Ninnaly said while walking down the stairs. Now donning a short sword and a bow in her back. After exiting the house, Lucien was directed to ‘Arcadia’s Cauldron’ and Ninnaly went to Braith’s house. Saffir opened the door and greeted them. “Oh Ninnaly, how good to see you!” Saffir said, and gave her a quick hug. “Braith has gotten such a cold you could almost mistake her for a man!” she giggled. “I see. good thing I brought my miracle tea for her then!” Ninnaly answered.

After giving Braith the tea and some chit chat with Saffir, she headed out. Telling Lars and Mila to keep an eye on her house while she was away. Promising to bring them a gift in return.

Lucien stood by the gate and waited for her, and waved when he saw Ninnaly.

“All good? Is Braith okay?” He asked. “She will be. Just need to rest until tomorrow and she should be up in no time.” “Great! So, whereto now?” “Helgen.” Ninnaly said. “To Helgen we go.” -> Be sure to join in on the adventures of Ninnaly over at twitch to take part in her development, and decide her future!

*Edit: Corrected a few mistakes. cuz.. I’m a pepega.

#skyrim #adventure #roleplay #fictional literature #the elder scrolls #story #tes v skyrim #lucien flavius

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hayffiebird · 6 years

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Taste of Strawberries, chap. 14

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M Chapter 14 Snake in the grass She had a hard face, the old lady across the street. An olive green scarf cuffed her neck and, poorly hidden by the white powder, her skin was a web of lines and wrinkles and surgically implanted yellow gemstones. She had sad eyes, Haymitch thought. Pale, green eyes that pierced his across the road when he locked Effie’s door after himself. “Evenin’,” he nodded and she pressed her lips together so tightly the wrinkles seemed to sew her mouth together. Of course Haymitch was used to people staring at him. With contempt, fear, desire. He’d gotten them all. When he was younger it had bother him a lot but it was years now since he’d cared. The old woman had turned away from him. But it wasn’t until she disappeared through the front door just across from Effie’s that he realized. It was her face he’d seen through the window on his last visit here, before he found Effie’s photo album. He fished up a bottle of spirits from his jacket pocket and replaced it with the key.

He needed to buy more condoms, he reminded himself on his slow walk through the Capitol that had awoken to its night life, the air crisper now that they were in October. They still had a few left but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Effie should’ve been way madder at him. He needed only think about his recklessness in the woods to start mind-insulting himself all over again.

Did she think he’d been in control that time? Because the answer was a resounding no! That he didn’t get them into trouble on the first try was just a strike of dumb luck, nothing else. Not that he thought he’d be any good at babymaking, even if he tried. After all those years of heavy drinking his swimmers were probably as deadbeat as the rest of him. But either way, their first time would be the last they ever went sky-diving without a parachute. Finding Octavia’s house was easier than he thought. Effie had pointed it out to him and the music could be heard miles away. When he pushed inside it was like walking into a living fruit salad. People wore dresses made out of fake apples and pears and oranges, eatable hats and jewellery, suits with cherry and blueberry patterns and one woman, he was quite certain, had nothing on but a full body paint that made her look like banana porn. Effie was at the bar, surrounded by the prep team. She looked less crazy for a change. Damn fine actually in a white dress patterned with strawberries and green leaves. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it of course. He’d done his very best to keep her from putting it on earlier and get her back into bed. She would’ve looked lovely with her real strawberry blonde hair loose but he didn’t even try to convince her of that since she wouldn’t ditch the head wraps anyway. When he first saw her in one, he thought they were all gray but like her old wigs, Effie had one in every color. Green today. She practically matched Octavia. “…but he’s a morsel, Effie!” Haymitch heard her delighted squeak as he zig-zagged through the crowds to get to them. “You should really hit that! If things weren’t getting very serious with Quirinus…” “Who truly lives up to his name,” Flavius winked. “Right!” Octavia giggled. ”I would absolutely go for it! You should have some fun!” “Moment of truth,” Venia smiled and put her arm around Effie. “Someone keeping you warm?” “You know you can always tell us!” Flavius said, eager for the latest gossip. ”I mean, I can’t even remember you dating anyone since Julian.” ”Oh, Julian! He was a darling!” Octavia gushed with her hand over her chest. ”But very small hands,” Venia said. ”And we all know what small hands mean!” The three of them burst out laughing and Haymitch bet he was the only one to notice the tiredness underneath Effie’s smile. Which was great news for him, if you thought about it. And she would keep their secret, he knew. Effie had a knack for putting up a facade when she had to. Hell, there was a time she even fooled him. Which was why people (a lot more suspicious than Katniss’s prep team) bought into the whole ”severe meningitis” story she spread out to cover the fact she overdosed on sleeping pills. And what about all the other secrets she kept locked up inside her heart? Was there even a single person in this entire city that she confided in?

“Hi!” Effie said in surprise when Haymitch reached them. She smiled. “What a lovely and unexpected surprise.” “Haymitch, your beard!” Flavius shrieked and stared at the mentor’s stubbled cheeks. “When I gave you that shave you weren’t supposed to let it grow back in!” “And you’re not dressed,” said Octavia, disappointment written all over her green face. “The theme was ‘From the fruit bowl.’” Venia patted her friend’s shoulder soothingly. “We mustn’t hold it against him”, she said. “He’s from District 12.” “Haymitch wasn’t originally able to attend,” said Effie, always one to come to his defense. “We should all just be happy that he is here now.” “Oh, we are, Effie. We are,” said Octavia. She smiled at Haymitch as if to prove it. “And, obviously, I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away!” “Octavia’s birthday parties are legendary,” said Flavius. “Oh, yes,” Venia nodded. “If only Annabel had agreed to play the trumpet for us,” Octavia pouted. “You got them out of the house at least,” said Venia. “Just think about how many parties they’ve declined these past few years. It makes me want to cry!” Octavia nodded sadly. Then she took Effie’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. “Now have a lovely evening, you two. I hope you change your mind about, you know,” she smiled. “Oh, and Haymitch,” she added. “Don’t despair. In a different light I’m sure you wouldn’t look half as repulsive.” With that the three beauticians darted away again and from Haymitch came a deep sigh. It was creepy how virtually unchanged Katniss’s prep team was. But then again, just like with Effie: Who knew what went on behind closed doors? “Don’t listen to her,” Effie said. The music was so loud they could speak without fear of being over-heard. “You’re a lot more handsome than you let on. I should know. I’ve been right up close.” Haymitch raised his eyebrows, like “seriously?” but Effie only smiled and sipped her drink. He gave up. “I came to walk you home”, he said. “It’s been four hours. I’m famished.” “Only 1,45,” Effie chuckled. “Miss me already, Abernathy?” “I miss not being hungry. Can’t turn your damn stove on. And with our luck we should clear out now anyways before the shit hits the fan.” “Oh, it cannot possibly get any worse than our last Capitol party,” said Effie. “Fine,” she added when she saw his look. “Let me just finish my drink and then we can go. And there is food here if you like.” Haymitch went and filled a plate and they found an empty couch in a more secluded corner of the room. “Who’s Annabel?” he asked, remembering Octavia’s words and the postcard on Effie’s mirror. “A dear friend of mine.” Unlike Haymitch who sat slouched back with the plate precariously balanced on his knee, Effie sat upright on the very edge of the sofa, prim and proper as ever. “We were roommates at the Academy. She was a jeweller before the war. “ She smiled at some memory. “I had my first drink with her, I recall. She found a way to smuggle in bottles through our window and she was always my lookout when I was up on the roof.” “What were you doing on the roof?” “Well, I happened to have a few nocturnal randezvous with the chimney-sweep during my final year. His son to be exact. It was his family’s company and after he was done with the school’s chimneys he went right over to mine. Best sex I’ve ever had! …Up until just recently,” she chuckled when she saw the deep crease between Haymitch’s eyebrows.

“That’s her, over there,” she nodded towards two ladies across the room. “The one in the purple dress.” The woman in question was a tall and slender brunette with barrettes the shape of watermelon slices. She was talking with a short, blonde woman with a serious face. Both of them looked almost too normal to be from the Capitol. “The blonde lady next to her is her wife, June Summer. You remember the gray dress I wore when we… picked apples? It was from her collection.” “That dress was my undoing,” Haymitch mumbled almost absent-mindedly. He stared intently at the dark-haired woman. This Annabel. There was something eerily familiar about her. Something about her brown eyes. The two ladies had spotted them now and headed their way. “We have to call it a night,” said Annabel and she and Effie kissed on the cheeks. “Early train tomorrow. But it was so good to see you again.” “It truly was,” said Effie. Now Annabel’s eyes went to Haymitch who was still on the couch. A gentleman would have shaken her hand but he only stared at her, scowled at her rather, like only Haymitch could. Effie had to introduce them. “This is Haymitch.” “I know,” Annabel said and gave him a warm smile that only made his skin crawl. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Abernathy.” When Haymitch didn’t answer Annabel turned back to Effie. “You must come and visit us when we’re back in the Capitol, yes? It’s been too long.” “Of course,” Effie smiled and squeezed their hands goodbye. “Do I know her?” Haymitch mumbled when it was just them again. “No. But you probably see her father in her. She is Caesar Flickerman’s oldest daughter.” That explained it then. Haymitch’s brow crinkled. He’d always been ambivalent when it came to the famous TV host. “Don’t go with your first assumption, Haymitch,” Effie said softly. “She was the one who made your gold bangle. And Peeta’s medallion.” She swallowed the last of her drink and set the glass on the side-table. “I need to go and powder my nose,” she said. “But I’ll be right back.” “And then we’ll go home,” said Haymitch with a pointed look at her. “Yes, Haymitch, then we’ll go home. I’m actually surprised you lasted this long.” She disappeared and Haymitch returned his focus on the food and his bottle of white liquor that made good on the promise to help him tune out most of the freakish fruit show around him. He was just contemplating how drunk he could get and still be allowed in to Effie’s bed, when something caught his attention. Another guest had arrived. Beer in hand, her long blonde hair entwined with fake yellow strands that matched her dress, she strode in followed by a man with green stripes in his hair and a bored expression. This was truly a night of remembrance. Only this time, he knew exactly where from. It was the same lady they’d seen at the Capitolium. The 20-something woman who made Effie so distraught they’d left the restaurant in a rush. She sipped her bottle and looked over the crowds of flamboyantly dressed people. Her eyes had just landed on him when Effie re-appeared. Just like before, she froze. It lasted only a fraction of a second; he doubted no one but him had even noticed it and when the woman turned and spotted her as well Effie’s smile was back on. Not like when she looked at Annabel or even the prep team. Her bullet proof Capitol smile that no one could see through. “Effie dear!” The light glittered off the woman’s wrist bracelets when she waved. Haymitch didn’t think he’d ever heard such a cold cheerfullness. She had a husky ”cigar-voice”, as Haymitch called it, that didn’t fit the rest of her. The two women kissed as was custom here but Haymitch noticed their lips never touch the other’s cheek, not even close. “Nice party,” the woman smiled sweetly. She was drunk, Haymitch noticed. “Nice party,” said Effie. The young man the woman had arrived with ignored them like he ignored the rest of the party. His heavy-lidded eyes gazed at nothing in particular while he leisurely tapped one of his shiny, silver shoes against the floor. ”This is Paris, my cousin,” the woman said with a wave of her hand like he wasn’t important. “He just got dumped so I thought I’d bring him here so he won’t kill himself out of self-pity.” “Shut your hole,” the man said in a bored voice. “You brought someone too, I see,” she said and looked at Haymitch. “I mean, who else would? It’s Haycock, right?” she asked him. “Haymitch,” Effie corrected, tensely. “Haymitch, this is Gloria. Gloria Highgrass.” “Charmed,” Gloria said and eyed Haymitch up and down. “I hear you’ve been quite the globetrotter, Effie,” she continued and turned to her again. “People say you’ve gone back and forth between the Capitol and that coal district like a yo-yo.” Effie’s lips were pressed to non-existence but she nodded. “I have visited quite frequently.” “Ýes, well,” said Gloria and her eyes went back to Haymitch in the most obvious way possible. “You always liked to be on the bottom, didn’t you? Bottom district. I hope you keep a closer eye on that little tike on fire this time around. We’ve had enough district tantrums to last us a life-time, don’t you think?” She smiled sweetly at them. “Have a nice night.” “That horrible, horrible woman,” Effie said through gritted teeth when Gloria and her cousin had disappeared. “That mean, cold-hearted, scheming, uncaring, badly-dressed…” “Forget about it,” Haymitch muttered. He’d gotten to his feet and to Effie’s side sometime between half of that, his plate still in hand. “Let’s just go home.” “No,” hissed Effie. “Not this time. I am going to give her a piece of my mind. “Once and for all!” But Haymitch caught her wrist when she took a step forward and held it firmly. “Come on, Effs. Before I spill my food.” “Then eat your dinner, Haymitch,” said Effie in a voice that allowed no objections. “Do not care about her!” During this, Gloria had filled a plate with steak and then more steak and now she took a seat in the midst of a group of Capitolians, her cousin included. And while Haymitch ate, Effie sat vigil by his side, cheeks flushed with anger. There was more to this. Something else was going on, but Haymitch didn’t get a chance to ponder over it because of Gloria’s ramblings just a few couches down. He chewed and swallowed. He wanted to leave this freak show but at the same time he was somewhat fascinated by the whole situation. That girl should get some kind of award for being an absolute asshole. The prep team was one thing. They could insult you and annoy you, but at the end of the day and in their own odd way, they meant well. They simply didn’t know any better. Gloria’s intent couldn’t have been more clear. To upset District 12’s mentor and escort til they choked. “…so I wouldn’t leave the Capitol if you paid me! My aunt was a big fan of that District 4 victor. Before he revealed his true colors of course! And she visited the fish district just last month and she told me it was awful! Awful people, awful weather. Children who played in the dirt with no one who looked after them. Their parents should really be ashamed of themselves!” Effie’s hands were fists on her lap. He hadn’t seen her this upset since the time a woman tried to slip something in his drink. And it didn’t help that some of the men and women around Gloria, primarily those whom had gotten a few drinks too many nodded. “OK, I’m done,” Haymitch muttered and put away his plate that was scraped clean. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.” Effie nodded. She was so angry she didn’t even correct him for his language. They got up and, never one to waste good food, Haymitch grabbed his blueberry muffin to go and followed Effie towards the cloak room. Just when they crossed the floor Gloria turned her head, saw the muffin in Haymitch’s hand and said: “Looks to me like the pig has started feeding himself.” “Eff,” Haymitch said when she stopped short but Effie was deaf to his words. “Hold this for me, please,” she said and Haymitch found himself with her purse while Effie walked straight back to Gloria. “Apologize.” Her voice rang loud and clear and people all turned their head. Some of them curiously. Many of them hostile. Octavia and the rest of the prep team stood nervous and big-eyed by the bar. ”Apologize to Haymitch right now.” Gloria’s eyes gleamed with malice. She got to her feet, drink in hand. “You know what? I have a better idea,” she said. “How about you apologize to the rest of us. You and your beau over there. That you even dared to bring him here is just beyond me. And you and Paylor can quack all you want about equality and rights and how ‘we’re not so different from each other’ because we know the truth. They’re nothing but vermin!” Those words had no sooner left Gloria’s mouth before Effie seized her drink and tossed its content right in her face. Everything was chaos after that. The women screamed, Octavia sobbed, people held Gloria back while Haymitch pulled at Effie and Paris he seemed to have finally woken from his boredom, watching the two women with mild interest while they screamed obscenities at one another. “No wonder he left you!” Gloria shrieked and the drink splashed around her face. “What’s it like to fuck her, Haycock? Tight and wet? More like flapping a hot dog in a corridor, huh? Isn’t that what happens after you’ve given birth? Oh, she didn’t tell you?” she laughed at the sight of Haymitch’s face. “Your little Twelve whore there is a mama!” Author’s note: Lot’s of drama in today’s chapter. Now will Haymitch finally learn the truth? Feel free to leave a review if you’re in the review mood. What did you think of Annabel and Gloria? This will not be the last you see of them.

#hayffie #haymitch x effie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #taste of strawberries fanfic #chapter 14 #postmockingjay #the hunger games #multi chapter #myfanfiction #ellie's writing #the capitol #katniss's prep team #octavia #flavius #venia #I’m posting this on vacation in Croatia and the WiFi is so slow I’m practically an old lady now

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romeneverfell · 6 years

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Can you say a little bit about the "Adopted Emperors" and why their reigns sometimes might have worked out better by the ones who had been emperors by legitimate birth? This is basically the Ancient Rome version of nature vs nurture question... :)

Firstly, hello! Sorry for the delayed response to this question.

Now to the answer. I think that it’s interesting that the Nerva-Antonine dynasties got the title “Adopted Emperors” because even before the “Adopted Emperors”, and even after them, emperors were adopted. The first emperor, Augustus, was adopted - by Julius Caesar, of course; following Augustus came a few more adopted emperors. After the Nerva-Antonine dynasties, there were a few Roman emperors who came to the throne through adoption, like Severus Alexander and Gordian III. I bring this up because I think in order to properly answer the legitimate birth versus adoption question, we have to look at every emperor that fits the bill, and not just the so-called “Adopted Emperors”.

Just so we’re all on the same page as I’m talking, I went through how practically every emperor came to the throne and found out which ones came to the throne through adoption and which ones came to the throne because of descent (I tried to find such complete lists online and had no luck). This list may be incomplete just because there are a lot of emperors and I may have missed one!

Note: I broadened the “legitimate birth” category a little based off of certain circumstances. Rulers that came to power directly as a result of their lineage (in other words, they were appointed by their fathers expressly because they are their father’s son) have an asterix (*) in front of their name. Sometimes emperors were the son of a previous one but were not directly appointed by them.

1. Some people don’t consider usurpers emperors, although I personally don’t think the two need to be mutually-exclusive.2. Whether Heliogabalus was the actual son of Caracalla or not is contested. That being said, the fact that he and his mother used the claim of lineage as a reason for him to be on the throne is enough for him to be considered for the list. 3. Maximian, Severus II, and Galerius adopted Diocletian’s nomen Valerius; although they may not have been adopted by Diocletian as sons they were adopted into his house and thus assumed legitimacy to the throne through his family.4. There were quite a few emperors in between Constantine I Chlorus and Constantine the Great’s rules. Constantine the Great was declared Augustus by his late father’s army, very likely in part because he was the late Constantine’s son.5. Valentinian II was not declared emperor by his father, but by the German legions.6. Like Gordian I, Procopius is considered a usurper. Like Heliogabalus, Anthemius used his descent as a claim to legitimacy.

The first thing that one immediately notices when comparing the two sides is that adopted emperors tended to be adopted in clumps (the two major ones being the Julio-Claudian and the Nerva-Antonine emperors). One sees that on the other hand, the emperors who rose to power as a consequence of birthright did so in irregular intervals (with the exception of the last two families of Constantine the Great and Theodosius the Great, but more on them later). As far as the various factors which lead up to whether an emperorship is successful or not, I think this one is extremely important. But it’s even more important to the overall success of the state, beyond the throne of the emperor. The Roman empire was really at its peak in the first and second centuries, when the Julio-Claudian and Nerva-Antonine dynasties reigned.

I think that this is a cyclical relationship: the emperorship is more successful when there is a fluid transition of power, and therefore the empire is more successful, and therefore the emperorship is more successful.

Nero and Caligula, though they were adopted into their positions, are two of the most infamously terrible emperors Roman history had ever seen. Both Nero and Caligula, and actually quite a lot of emperors, received a fair amount of bad publicity from their rivals, but for the purposes of this argument their actual character is irrelevant. What matters most is that, despite the seeming chaos of their reigns, the ship of state continued to sail extremely smoothly. This is no doubt owed to the fact that the Roman Empire was already prospering thanks to Augustus and Tiberius (and to other external circumstances) and also owed to the fact that soon after the seat of emperor became troubled with succession issues, another extremely capable and extremely stable dynasty of emperors came to power.

Adoption seemed to have a stabilizing effect on the transfer of power. It’s a reliable practice to ensure that there will always be a successor, because you can’t rely on mother nature to always produce results. There’s also the fact that inheritance through families seems to make interfamilial (and intrafamilial) competition inevitable. In the case of Constantine the Great’s sons, it led to civil war. It’s a much smoother, and less competitive, transition between emperors when one is appointed after the other without as much stress placed on bloodline or who is the eldest son.

A lot of emperors who came to power by legitimate birth didn’t have a fair chance to start out, anyway. Emperors who were adopted into the throne typically had years (decades, really) of experience underneath their belts. Meanwhile when the throne was passed by descent, it was passed on to a boy who was just simply too inexperienced and too young to be an effective ruler. Elagabalus was proclaimed emperor when he was only 14. This problem became pronounced in the latter years of the empire. Arcadius became emperor when he was 18 (but was already given the title of Augustus by his father when he was younger than that) and his brother Honorius inherited the western throne when he was just 12. I didn’t include him on the list because his father wasn’t an emperor, but the last emperor (Romulus Augustulus) was also too young to be of any use.

The fact that these (and a couple others) were too young to rule independently and with experience meant that their rules were often characterized by being controlled by a regent. In the case of Valentinian III, this was his mother Galla Placidia, while Honorius’ rule was run by the general Flavius Stilicho. If you’re too young to rule on your own, you’re going to pretty much always make for a bad emperor. And then when they did come of age, they hadn’t any personal experience to direct them. I think it’s also worth mentioning that inheritance by birth didn’t seem to become quite as popular until the latter years of the empire, so the emperors of this time would again be at a disadvantage with all of the turmoil. However, this isn’t so much a flaw endemic to the system of transfer through blood, though.

So far I’ve avoided mention of any character qualities that may have made legitimate-birth emperors more ill-fit for the throne than adopted emperors, and I did so on purpose. Commodus, who inherited the throne from his father Marcus Aurelius, has become the poster boy of entitled heirs with a rule characterized by frivolousness and excess. He seems to be an outlier, when you consider the reigns of the rest of them, though. Sure, you could speculate that being entitled to the throne rather than having to earn it (through adoption) makes one tend towards arrogance, but I don’t see this as the biggest problem for the emperors who came to power through inheritance. My other stated reasons are more important, I think. To summarize them again:

Adoption is a smoother and more-reliable transition of power which leads to stability

Inheritance by birth has a greater chance of competition, thus destabilizing the throne

A great risk of transferring the throne by inheritance is the potential that the next heir may be too young and inexperienced to rule properly

At the end of the day, though, I think that legitimate-birth inheritance still isn’t the worst way for the empire for power to change hands. A much-worse way is when competing military figures all jockey for the throne, or when someone takes it upon themselves to have the preceding emperor conveniently assassinated for them to take the throne. It’s more ideal for a meritocracy of the best of the best to decide who is most fit to rule, but at least inheritance through birth is a kind of succession that has the potential to go smoothly, if there are enough competent at-age heirs in a row to rule.There’s just a lot more that can go wrong with that kind of succession as opposed to appointment by qualification. Thanks for the ask!

#roman empire #roman history #roman emperor #ask

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luckilyluculent · 6 years

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2, 6, 7, 13, 17, 18; Eleanor: 31, 34, 39, 45; Felix: 26, 35, 40; Belsaadi: 36, 38, 43.

This is long as hell so all the answered questions are under the cut

EVERYBODY(as of 5/22/2018)’SQUESTIONS –

#2 – WHAT OC CHARACTER IS/HAS AMENTOR?

The first OC of mine that likedirectly leaps to mind whenever I see the word “mentor” is probably Henry Blake—he’s.One of the many unlisted and not directly on my blog, but his literalprofession is teaching and you don’t get more mentor-y than that! He’s alsotaken people under his wing before directly. Henry was also straight up made asan homage to my first ever like, thought out character (a warrior cat namedFicklestar lmao) and one of the more important things to the character he wasbased on was his role as mentor to a friend’s character. I wanted to keep thatprevalent in all iterations of this character, Henry is just the most recentreally (though he and Ficklestar aren’t even that similar rofl).

I’d also probably categorize myboy Malik as a mentor as well, seeing as he just sort of. Casually adoptseveryone and everything that he comes across. He would definitely like to thinkthat’s more of him just defecting to be a pack leader, but he spends so muchtime teaching others and trying to help them grow that I can’t help but want tolabel him as that. He’d make a great teacher if he wasn’t so busy trying tokeep all of his adopted children safe smh.

#6 – WHAT OC IS THE MOM FRIEND?

Funnily enough, I think thatlabel would go to my character Cat the most. Mostly because he’s the one thattends to take a position of responsibility and look after everyone. Likeliterally, he basically quietly sits back and watches most of the time. But he’salways there with an open ear or shoulder, and because he’s veryobservant/insightful he tends to notice when things are going wrong or ifsomeone needs help. Cat’s also got like, a super strong mama bear streak withthe people that he cares about and though he’s usually very calm, cool andcollected he gets real mad real fast when someone he loves is in trouble.

#7 – WHAT OC REALLY NEEDS THE MOMFRIEND AROUND?

I wanted to give this to Bels—I reallydid, but like I’ve realized that a huge part of Belsaadi’s character narrativeis that I wanted her to learn how to stand on her own. Not just with people,but sometimes in front of them and without them. So this took a little bit morethinking on my part, and I actually think I’m going to land on my character Eleanorfor that.

Eleanor is just very young andnaive! She was prone to making snap decisions that weren’t so great, andDamakos (who I am dubbing the mom friend of that party, sorry Tess) was oftenwho she looked to for guidance when she thought that she needed some. Eleanorneeded someone in general that filled a role of looking after her, and I’vetried playing her outside of her original party and it has just felt odd andincomplete. Maybe I can try again sometimes, but who knows.

#13 – WHICH OCS COMPLIMENT EACHOTHER THE BEST?

HM this is an interestingthought. I don’t often think of my characters as duos or as hanging out—out ofthe D&D squad I’d probably say that Eleanor and Belsaadi would make areally good compliment to one another. Eleanor has enough gentle warmth toreign in the times that Bels tends to dip toward more bloody and not-so-goodsolutions, she’d be very good for keeping Bels firmly “good” aligned to behonest and would be a good force for her to not only look after (and thusfinally take on some responsibility) but also to keep her mindset towardherself more healthy since Eleanor’s not afraid to call people out and steerthem gently into more positive thinking. Bels would be great for Eleanor inthat Bels would probably encourage her to try to consider people’s intentionsmore. She’d let Eleanor flourish in her positivity but would actually probablybe one of the few characters that would try to curb her naivety, using her ownexperiences to guide and steer her straight. So they’d both sort of guide oneanother, which would be lovely in its own way. Bels would also absolutely callEleanor out often on her choice of men, which is something Eleanor needed tbh.

As for the whole Delry crew(which is where the likes of Cat and Henry and Malik are popping up) I wouldlove, absolutely love to have my Jester and Flavius tear shit up together. Youtake my sassy magic-eating demon-boy and mix him with the swashbuckling rogueand I’m sure they’d have some really fun adventures together. They wouldn’tnecessarily compliment each other emotionally (if anything they’d get into alot of trouble together and Jester would aggravate Flav’s want to keep peopleat a playful arm’s length and Flav would aggravate Jester’s issue of notnecessarily caring about others if he doesn’t know them at all). Still! They’dbe a fun like, fighting team in any case. Their physical and magical abilitieswould compliment in fun ways, and I’d love to write it out sometime.

#17 – WHICH OCs DON’T KNOW EACHOTHER, BUT WOULD HATE ONE ANOTHER IF THEY DID?

…Bels would hate my characterStephanie. Steph was the first dnd character I had and lawful evil, and Belswould have just enough insight on her (Steph, even though she was a bard, hadmost of her stats in intelligence) to pick up on the fact that Steph was mostlytrying to manipulate everyone into liking her. That alone would drive Bels upthe wall, but Stephanie’s need to play dumb so consistently that she keepsinformation that could ultimately help others close to her chest unless itbenefits her would make Bels want to wring her neck. Steph wouldn’t care forBelsaadi because she’d call her out all the time, and that would make heruncomfortable and honestly just. Pissed off most of the time.

#18 – WHICH OCs WOULD MAKE THEWORST COUPLE?

[steeples fingers] I.

Huh.

…

Probably my character Gawain andEleanor. Gawain’s basically a paladin housing like 200 ancient evil spiritsinside of him (like Gawain himself would be fine, but not like… the one withthe fun ghosts in him) to protect his brother. He’d probably try to see how farhe could push Eleanor’s want to “save” him by doing truly awful things—first tostrangers, then to her family and the people around her. Eleanor wouldn’t stickaround for the whole thing, but she’d hold out faith for long enough to gethurt and it would… eugh. It’d be bad. Toxic, abusive. Not a good time.

ELEANOR QUESTIONS

# 31 – DOES OC HAVE SIBLINGS? DOTHEY GET ALONG IF THEY DO? DO THEY WISH THEY HAD SOME IF THEY DON’T?

Oh yeah! Eleanor’s the youngestof several siblings and she gets along really well with all of them. In fact,of all my characters Eleanor has the most healthy like, family relationship Iswear. She was using Sending to contact her parents regularly while adventuringon the road, and even sending letters and gifts to other members of her family.I’m fairly certain she’s on good terms with her extended family too tbh.

#34 – WHAT IS SOMETHING UNUSUALOC HAS BONDED WITH SOMEONE OVER?

Perhaps the oddest—and one of myfavorites—thing Eleanor ever did to bond with someone was to dangle off of Theo’sbicep to see how strong he was. This while wearing her full armor by the way.Also her entire friendship with Athrun in general? The fact that he talked inher head constantly when he was a warlock and she was just like “mmkay!” thewhole time basically? It was pretty wild.

#39 – WHO DOES THE OC CONSIDER TOHAVE LEARNED THEIR MOST IMPORTANT LIFE LESSON FROM?

Pelor—yeah she’s that kind ofcleric haha. Eleanor just wouldn’t be Eleanor without Pelor to guide her, it’ssuch a large part of who she is and what she does and what she views as goodthat I honestly can’t even really play her in a game that doesn’t include himin the pantheon. She’d probably follow that up with saying her father—he taughther that being kind was not always easy, it would often—in fact—be the hardestthing she could do, but to embrace her kindness because it was part of who shewas.

#40 – HOW MUCH DO OC’S FRIENDSKNOW ABOUT THEIR PRIVATE LIFE?

Eleanor is pretty open withpeople that she loves and cares about! She tends to tell those she trusts whenshe has a crush on someone, and has never been the sort that likes to lie. Shedoes, however, often hide when she’s not feeling happy or good about something—it’sher job to be the happy cheerful one after all! She’s their sunshine! Sometimesshe feels like she has to put aside her fears because of that.

FELIX QUESTIONS

#26 – DOES OC HAVE A HARD OR EASYTIME MAKING FRIENDS?

Well, considering that during aone shot Felix very warmly convinced two guards of the place we were sneakinginto that he was a recruit and ended up mopping the floors for a good portion ofthe boss battle—Felix makes friends very easily. Having a high charisma helps,but Felix is just a warm and friendly person in general. He rarely dislikespeople, and when he does he tries to see their point of view before stickingwith it. He’s pretty endearing too, even if he’s a bit of a dope.

#35 – WHAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANTRELATIONSHIP IN OC’S LIFE?

This is a little hard to say—currentlyI’d probably state his mother, though his friend Cass is edging up there to behonest. He’s always been supported and loved by her, and she did a lot for himwhen he was transitioning in just being a great loving force. She didn’t evenreally blame him for when the house burnt down in the end! He cares very muchabout her and wants her to stay safe, no matter where he is and what he ends updoing.

#40 – WHO MOTIVATES OC?

Is it odd to say himself? Felixisn’t a selfish boy by any means, but he believes in growing and learning andbeing the very best you can be! He doesn’t like to let things get him down forvery long, and is quick to motivate himself and push himself forward when hefeels he might end up in a slump. Though he can be sad or upset like manypeople and faces a lot of situations that make him worry, he wants to besomeone good and help people out!

BELSAADI’S QUESTIONS:

#36 – HOW HAS OC BEEN AFFECTED BYTHEIR FRIENDSHIPS?

Bels has changed so much as a character since she firststarted her journey—genuinely being loved and cared about by other people was ahuge factor in that. Bels actually kind of cares about herself now? Which isutterly wild to me. She cares abouther future, and what she does. She doesn’t want to throw her life away but livefor the people that she loves and cares about—and for herself. Which is huge. Bels started out filled to thebrim with self-loathing, half certain that the reason she was abandoned andtreated how she was was her fault. She’s grown in confidence since then, butalso in the person that she is. She’s not just someone who can turn into a bearnow, she knows her own flaws but she’s aware of her strengths too (and not justthe physical ones).

Also, god can I talk about whatwould have happened if Rowan died? She loved Rowan, Belsaadi adored Rowan. It’sthe strongest example of platonic love I have literally ever written in mywhole life. I love them and their relationship to pieces, and for a long timeif Rowan died Bels would have just. Stopped. I couldn’t imagine her withoutRowan at all.

And then I thought, but Rowanwould not like that.

And then Bels started thinking Rowan would not like that. Bels lost a lot ofpeople on her adventures—first Darth, her sort of adopted brother Meero andeven her very first friend Nilus. Rowan was the last of the main party still left with Bels, and I knew losing herwould break her heart—but it wouldn’t make Bels break herself. Or breakentirely. Or just stop trying. Because Bels lost so much she finally learned what it meant to lose people you loved.

She learned that you need to keepliving and carrying on the pieces of them with you. You try to be cautious likeDarth, but sometimes you’re reckless like Meero, you laugh like Nilus whenthings seem darkest. She learned that you’re all at once the people you loveand your own self, and that she—Belsaadi—deserved to live even if she lost itall. That she could get sad, get angry, but she could never let it poison her. Because ultimately what all thosepeople, the people that loved her, would want is for her to keep livinghappily.

Anyway. So yeah, she changed alot. My Bels, I was proud of her by the time that campaign couldn’t continue,even if we never reached the full end of her story.

#38 – HOW HAS OC BEEN AFFECTED BYTHEIR ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP(S) OR LACK THEREOF?

Ah. I talk a lot about howBelsaadi falls in love easily—far easier than any of my other characters. I don’toften consider that trait a flaw, but when you go to the extent that Bels did thenI definitely do. Belsaadi was so, sodesperate for love. Even after she got it she was always clawing for it ineverything she needed—and Bels, she had a lot of love to give, but she was desperate. And that was a character flaw. Bels had a lot ofromantic relationships that were either barely touched or regrets that shenever acted on. It made her very prone to leaping headfirst into it. She lovedthe idea of love.

#43 – HOW DOES OC MEET MOSTPEOPLE?

Lately? In moments where shefeels like her life is on the line unfortunately. Or when someone else’s lifeis on the line. Whether she’s stepping through portals to answer misguidedcalls for help or if she’s trying to keep herself and her friends alive—a lotof her adventure has been GO GO GO. There haven’t been many lasting friendsthat she’s made where she was feeling something below the level of EXTREMESTRESS. Guess that’s what you get for trying to save the world.

#long post #asks #ocs #d&d #dnd #beingatoaster

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jerusalism · 4 years

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Adeena Karasick interviewed by Joelle Milman

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Joelle Milman: The infinite abounds in your work. What is your relationship to ein sof?

JM: Who is your muse?

AK: Abraham Abulafia, 13th C. Kabbalistic mystic.

JM: Your recent work, COVID/ KAVOD, pays attention to these particular times and the words we have created around it. Can you tell me more about the piece?

Superstar dub poet/producer Lillian Allen contacted me and asked me to record my thoughts. She had it set to music with a DJ and a cello; launched on Spotify and CD Baby...crazy! It was one of those things, where you never know where things might lead, the synecdoche of the ever-so prescient spread?! Really makes one think about the viral nature of everything, i.e. memes—units of cultural energy that virally replicate themselves; how à la Korzybski / Burroughs, “Language IS a virus…

JM: You work in performance, video, text—but everything seems grounded in words. How do words play differently in different forms?

I love the differences between them [mediums] and I love ways that they feed off and expand the experience of one another.

JM: What is your relationship to the individual letter?

AK: Kabbalistically speaking, if the world was created through letters, every time we read or write or speak, we are in essence re-creating the world.

JM: Tell me more about what you find sexy. What is the erotic up to when it shows up in your work, and do you find it particularly intertwined with gender? If so, how and why?

JM: I love it. I haven't seen anything that approximates the video poetry you make and they’re awesome. When it comes to idea generation, do you start with the medium or the message? What is your editing process like?

JM: So much of your work is mash-up, combining elements from other texts be they theoretical, visual, or otherwise. What is it like to combine existing content and bring it into new forms?

What’s it like? In a word: textatic ; )

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To join the Jerusalism Mekuvan Zoom session featuring Adeena, please see register: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/mekuvan-4-wadeena-karasick-tickets-107540472448

#interview #israeli culture #jerusalism #connectingliterally

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omegaqueencas · 7 years

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For FiKi Week, prompted by @gatheringfiki (day seven: inspired by music)

Midnight Mouths

Fíli yawned as he left his class, his satchel thrown over a shoulder. He smiled and waved to some of his colleagues as he made his way out of the building. University was hard, but Fíli loved every aspect of it. Growing up with nothing made one appreciate every opportunity, and going to University in the UK was actually a dream come true and he wouldn’t take that for granted.

Tugging the scarf more tightly around his neck, Fíli took his gloves from his pocket and put them on before pulling out and checking his phone. There was a message from Ori and Fíli opened it before venturing himself to the winter wind of London.

There’s a new client interested in you. Call me when your classes are over.

Fíli sighed and hit the call button, finally leaving the building so he could walk to the tube. Ori answered promptly with a happy hello and Fíli smiled at his friend’s happy tone. “So. New client, huh?” Fíli said with a chuckle and Ori hummed excitedly.

“Yeah. I know I said he was interested, but he actually already paid for two hours with you on Friday.” Fíli frowned. It wasn’t how it usually worked, but he waited until Ori continued. “His name’s Keelan Durin. You know, from the Durin & Co?” Fíli stopped in his tracks as he heard that. Since he moved to the UK six months ago and started University he heard about this company and it was every Business graduate’s dream to land a job there.

“Is he the CEO?” Fíli asked slowly as he resumed walking. He’d have to refuse if this was the CEO; his chances of working there some day – although very slim as it were at the moment – would be dissipated if the CEO ever recognized him as an escort.

“No, apparently he’s the son of the CEO. The CEO is happily married.” Ori sighed. “You’re the one interested in working there and you don’t know anything about them?” Fíli blushed, but truth was he was more interested in what the company did than to the ones running it. “Anyway, he prefers to be called Kíli, which I find very ironic, and he’s twenty one and I know you don’t like accepting clients who are younger than you, but he promised discretion.”

“What exactly does he want?” Fíli asked as he entered the DLR to go home, finding an empty chair and sitting on it. He ignored that the boy’s nickname was similar to his.

“Two hours on Friday to take you to dinner. He explained that he’d like to talk to you before hiring you for a whole night near Christmas. There’ll be a company party and he’d like to take you, but he said he’d talk to you to see if you’re okay with this.” Fíli sighed and Ori continued, voice a bit softer. “He seemed very nice. And I think this could be a nice opportunity for you.” Fíli shook his head.

“For Flavius, you mean.” Fíli pursed his lips. Flavius was the name he used in the agency. It had been a way to separate his job from his personal life, and if there was ever a client who happened to be a stalker, it would be more difficult to find him if they only knew his fake name. “It’s not like I can deny it. He doesn’t even want sex?”

“No, not for this Friday at least. Maybe for the party, though.” Ori explained and Fíli thought he could live with that.

“Okay, great. You can confirm it. Send me the information later.” Fíli said, ready to hang up, but Ori continued speaking.

“Actually, he was very adamant about wanting you and since he already paid, I already wrote down all the information. I’ll be sending you an email in a few minutes. I’ll just call him and tell him I managed to reach you.” Fíli hummed in agreement. “Oh, and Fíli. Wear your best suit with your date with him.” And without further ado, Ori hung up. Fíli blinked a couple of times and looked at his phone as if it was betraying him, but he ended up sighing and putting the phone back in his pocket, taking a book out of his satchel and starting to read. It would be a long way home.

Fíli didn’t have work that day, so he’d take advantage of his open schedule to study and write the papers that were due before the break. Arriving home, Nori was also there, cooking them dinner, but he looked ready to go out. Nori was also an escort at the same agency as Fíli, while Ori, Nori’s younger brother, was only responsible to work on the phone and email, scheduling clients to escorts and managing their timetables. Dori, the eldest brother, worked at the shopping centre near their home in a clothing store and with everyone’s income, it was possible to live in a nice housing in Acton. Money was still tight to all of them, but it was better than other years of Fíli’s life.

Going to his bedroom, Fíli turned on his computer and checked his email. He saw Ori’s email with all the information he’d need with Keelan’s details (name, how he should be addressed, age, occupation, phone number and time and place where they should meet). Fíli hesitated for just a moment before googling Keelan Durin’s information online. There were pictures and Fíli couldn’t help but smile as he noticed that the bloke was actually very handsome. It wouldn’t be hard to sleep with him at all, so Fíli just hoped he was someone nice to talk to.

Searching for more information about the boy’s life, he found out that Thorin Durin was actually Keelan’s uncle, but he had adopted the boy after Keelan’s parents died during a trip to New Zealand when the boy was barely one year old. Fíli chuckled at how ironic everything was. Not only their nicknames were similar, but Keelan’s parents died where Fíli was born. Not to mention that Keelan was on his last year as a Business undergrad while Fíli was on his first year. The difference, of course, was that Keelan studied at Imperial College Business School, while Fíli studied at the University of Cumbria. Not that his University was a bad one, but it was affordable, while the Imperial College was one of the most expensive schools in the UK.

Well, a twenty one year old wouldn’t be able to afford an escort for a whole night if they didn’t have money to spend, Fíli reckoned.

[ READ MORE ON AO3 ]

#fikiweek #durincest #fiki #gatheringfiki #my fics

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delwray-blog · 5 years

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WHY JESUS WAS NOT A JEW?

HOW COULD JESUS HAVE BEEN A JEW?

WHY JESUS WAS NOT A JEW?

What if Jesus were descended from the Israelite tribe of Judah, as the Scripture says that He is? Well, of course, He is, because the Scriptures do not lie. But what if the people known as Jews today were NOT of the tribe of Judah? Nor even of Benjamin or Levi? Then how could Jesus possibly be a Jew? The answer is easy Jesus is not a Jew because the people known as Jews today are not of Judah. The Bible itself tells us this.

For this reason, Jesus Himself told the church at Smyrna, in Revelation 2:9: "I know thy works, and tribulation and poverty, (but thou art rich) and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan."

Just in case that is not understood, Jesus also said to the church at Philadelphia, in Revelation 3:9: "Behold, I will make them of the synagogue of Satan, which say they are Jews, and are not, but do lie; behold, I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know that I have loved thee."

So according to Jesus Himself, the people calling themselves Jews at this time are not "real" Jews, meaning that they are not actually of the tribe of Judah. But how can that be? First, we will see that Paul of Tarsus agrees with Jesus, and the events which Luke recorded in Acts chapter 26 had actually transpired about 35 years before John recorded the Revelation.

In Acts chapter 26, as Paul addressed King Herod Agrippa II, he spoke about the promise of the Gospel and he said: "6 And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers: 7 Unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come. For which hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews."

So according to Paul, the promises in Christ are for "our twelve tribes", meaning the twelve tribes of the children of Israel. But the Jews, whom Paul mentions as an entity distinct and apart from the twelve tribes, were opposed to that promise, and therefore on account of it, they were making accusations against Paul. You won’t find too many modern so-called pastors preaching on this passage from Acts.

To Paul of Tarsus, the twelve tribes are not "Jews", and the Jews are not the twelve tribes. That is why Paul had a Gospel message to the nations of Europe because that is where the twelve tribes were. But that is a different story entirely.

One place in the Bible where the confusion is cleared up a bit is in Romans chapter 9. Here are some excerpts, with brief explanations, and we shall use the King James Version:

1 I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, 2 That I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. 3 For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh: 4 Who are Israelites; to whom pertaineth the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the giving of the law, and the service of God, and the promises; 5 Whose are the fathers, and of whom as concerning the flesh Christ came, who is over all, God blessed forever. Amen.

So Paul is concerned for his “kinsmen according to the flesh”, those who are really Israelites, and here he is praying for them. He is grieved that many of them have not yet accepted Christ, because for them are the promises, covenants, and other things which should be associated with Christianity. Then he continues:

6 Not as though the word of God hath taken none effect. For they are not all Israel, which are of Israel: 7 Neither because they are the seed of Abraham, are they all children: but, In Isaac shall thy seed be called.

Here it is evident, that not everyone in Israel, claiming to be an Israelite, or at that time least a Judean ("Jew"), are legitimate descendants from or heirs of Isaac. Paul continues:

8 That is, they which are the children of the flesh, these are not the children of God: but the children of the promise are counted for the seed.

The promise was the promise made to Isaac, which was despised by his son Esau, and therefore it was inherited by his other son, Jacob. The people in Judaea claimed to be Judeans, and they were not. They held the label of "Israel", but they were not the children of the promise, as Paul in the verse which follows tells us which promise he means:

9 For this is the word of promise, at this time will I come, and Sara shall have a son. 10 And not only this; but when Rebecca also had conceived by one, even by our father Isaac;

And Rebecca was the mother of Jacob and Esau, and as he explains here, she also had a promise. So Paul continues and shows how the Scripture distinguishes between Jacob and Esau:

11 (For the children being not yet born, neither having done any good or evil, that the purpose of God according to election might stand, not of works, but of him, that calleth;) 12 It was said unto her, The elder shall serve the younger. 13 As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.

So the election might stand, as God had chosen and promised the inheritance to Jacob even before the two sons were born. Later in their lives, it was confirmed on several occasions in Scripture that Jacob was the recipient of the promises, and Esau was excluded.

Paul is comparing Jacob and Esau here because "they are not all Israel, which are of Israel", and he is explaining that it is because many of them are from Esau they are Edomites, and not Israelites after all. For that same reason, Christ had told them in John chapter 10: 26 “But ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep, as I said unto you.” Christ never told His enemies that they were not His sheep because they did not believe Him. Rather, He told them quite the opposite, that they did not believe Him because they were not His sheep.

If the Jews are from Esau, and if Jesus is of the tribe of Judah, then how could Jesus be a Jew?

In John chapter 8 we see the following exchange between Jesus and these Jews, starting with verse 32 where Jesus is speaking:

32 And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. 33 They answered him, we be Abraham's seed, and were never in bondage to any man: how sayest thou, ye shall be made free?

The Israelites had always considered themselves as having been in bondage in Egypt. The true Judeans had considered themselves as having been in bondage in Babylon. While Edomites were subject to Israel in the days of David and Solomon, these Pharisees obviously did not concede these things. So we continue in John chapter 8:

34 Jesus answered them, Verily, verily, I say unto you Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin. 35 And the servant abideth not in the house for ever: but the Son abideth ever. 36 If the Son, therefore, shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.

The children of Israel are freed from the bondage of sin in Christ, as Paul explained frequently, and as John also explained at length in his first epistle. Otherwise, there is no propitiation for sin after Christ. Again continuing with John 8:37, Christ tells His adversaries:

37 I know that ye are Abraham's seed, but ye seek to kill me because my word hath no place in you.

They did not believe Him, as He explained, because they were not His sheep. The only Judeans who could be Abraham's seed, and yet not be true Israelites, are the descendants of Esau, the Edomites, as well as those of Judah's Canaanite son Shelah, and the Ishmaelites. History and Scripture demonstrate that the Edomites were in Judaea at this time and in large numbers and that they had taken on the laws and customs of the Judeans. There is also evidence in Scripture for the presence of some people who were descended from other groups as well, but these are the main groups, Israelite Judeans and Edomites Judeans. In the first century, Judaea was a Roman province of diverse races, and not truly an ethnic description.

The famous Geographer, Strabo, who lived and wrote to about 25 AD, attested that the Idumaeans, or Edomites, were “mixed up” with the Judeans, and that they “joined the Judeans, and shared in the same customs with them” (Strabo, Geography, Book 16, chapter 2 [16.2.34]). The late first century Judean historian, Flavius Josephus, supplies all of the historic details of Strabo’s statement. In Ezekiel chapter 35, in verse 10, we see a prophecy that Esau would take for himself the lands of Israel and Judah after the people were deported by the Assyrians and Babylonians. Classical records tell us that this did indeed happen. Then, where he discussed the period of the Hasmonean dynasty, called the Maccabees, which ruled Judaea from about 156 BC to the time of Herod around 36 BC, Josephus describes how certain of them forcibly converted to Judaism all of the Edomites of what later became known as Judaea.

In his Antiquities, Book 13, from line 257 Josephus described how the high priest John Hyrcanus, sometime around 125 BC, had forced the conversion and circumcision of the Edomites of Dora and Marissa and their environs, where Josephus said that “they were hereafter considered to be Judeans.” Then later, in that same book of Josephus' Antiquities, from line 393, we see the much greater extent of the conversion of the surrounding Edomite and other non-Israelite peoples to Judaism, which took place while Alexander Jannaeus was high priest and king, from 103 to 76 BC. Here Josephus described the conversion of at least 30 different cities and towns at this time, many of which places which were inhabited by Edomites and other Canaanites. Students of the Old Testament should understand that the Canaanites were a people accursed by God and that Esau really lost his birthright because he had taken Canaanite wives.

From this point, the Edomites eventually came to dominate all of Jerusalem and Judaea, including the Temple, which they had full control of by the time of Christ. Herod was an Edomite, as Josephus also attests, and began appointing his own cronies and partisans to positions in the Temple. That is why the position of the priest is often distinguished from the Levites in the New Testament. That is why Christ, in John chapter 8, conceded that they were of Abraham's seed because they were indeed descendants of Esau. That they were not Israelites is attested to both in that same chapter where Christ told them that they were children of the devil, that first murderer Cain, and in John 10:26 where Christ told them “But ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep”. They were not His sheep because they were not Israelites, but Edomites. The links from Esau to Cain lie in the genes of his Canaanite wives, and the intermingling of Kenites and Canaanites which is evident throughout the history of the Old Testament and suggested in Genesis chapter 15. So descendants of Esau are also descendants of Canaan and Cain.

Returning to John chapter 8, in the verse which follows, Christ denies that these Judeans have a common origin with Himself:

38 I speak that which I have seen with my Father: and ye do that which ye have seen with your father. 39 They answered and said unto him, Abraham is our father. Jesus saith unto them, if ye were Abraham's children, ye would do the works of Abraham. 40 But now ye seek to kill me, a man that hath told you the truth, which I have heard of God: this did not Abraham. 41 Ye do the deeds of your father. Then said they to him, we be not born of fornication; we have one Father, even God.

Esau had married the daughters of the Canaanites, Hittites, and race-mixing is called fornication in the New Testament (i.e. Jude 7, 1 Corinthians 10). The Ishmaelites and children of Shelah were also mixed in this same manner. In the decades before Christ, many of the tribe of Judah was also mixing with these people. While these Judeans denied it, they were indeed products of fornication. Here in this exchange between Jesus and the Jews, we have a fulfillment of the prophecy found in Malachi chapter 2, especially at verse 11, where it says:

7 For the priest's lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the law at his mouth: for he is the messenger of the LORD of hosts. 8 But ye are departed out of the way; ye have caused many to stumble at the law; ye have corrupted the covenant of Levi, saith the LORD of hosts. 9 Therefore have I also made you contemptible and base before all the people, according as ye have not kept my ways, but have been partial in the law. 10 Have we not all one father? Hath not one God created us? Why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother, by profaning the covenant of our fathers? 11 Judah hath dealt treacherously, and an abomination is committed in Israel and in Jerusalem; for Judah hath profaned the holiness of the LORD which he loved, and hath married the daughter of a strange god. 12 The LORD will cut off the man that doeth this, the master and the scholar, out of the tabernacles of Jacob, and him that offereth an offering unto the LORD of hosts.

Malachi was a prophet of the second temple period, and his book of prophecy foretold of John the Baptist as well as of Christ Himself. Malachi chapter 2 is therefore entirely relevant to the ministry of Christ. These Judeans may have been descended from Abraham, but because they were not true Israelites, Christ told them "my word hath no place in you." Then he continues to explain to them that they are indeed bastards:

42 Jesus said unto them, If God were your Father, ye would love me: for I proceeded forth and came from God; neither came I of myself, but he sent me. 43 Why do ye not understand my speech? Even because ye cannot hear my word. 44 Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar and the father of it. 45 And because I tell you the truth, ye believe me not.

This is why Paul compared Jacob and Esau in reference to Judaea in Romans chapter 9, and in Hebrews chapter 12 Paul described Esau as a “fornicator, or profane person” because he was a race-mixer and had no legitimate offspring.

While some of the Pharisees, which were, basically, a political and religious sect, were indeed Israelites, many were not. But the high priests and most of the "gang" that ran the temple during the entire period from the death of the first Herod to the destruction of Jerusalem were not Pharisees, but Sadducees, a group which Jesus never even directly addressed, unless they accosted Him. The Sadducees were the most consistent adversaries of Paul and the other apostles as well. So while it cannot be imagined that all of the adversaries of Christ were of the same mind or origin, speaking to the leaders of the temple, whom John called "the Jews" in chapter 10 of his Gospel, Jesus said to them:

26 But ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep, as I said unto you.

As we have just explained, Jesus did not tell the Jews that they were not His sheep because they did not believe Him. That is what the denominational churches teach, and they have it wrong. Jesus told the Jews that they did not believe Him because they were not his sheep! In other words, the Jews who opposed him were not the people of Israel for whom Jesus came. Paul later tells us in Romans, as we have also already described, that not all of the people of Israel were actually of Israel. So we see why these people were not His sheep, and we see why Christ later told us in the Revelation that there were "them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan."

As Paul consistently taught in his epistles, the Judeans who accepted Christ became one with Greeks who accepted Christ, and they lost their identity as Judeans. Judeans who were His sheep heard His voice and eventually lost their identity as Judeans, becoming Christians. Today's Jews are descended from all of those Jews who rejected Christ, who were not His sheep in the first place.

So how could Jesus be a Jew?

Insisting that Jesus is a Jew like these modern Jews is like believing that the founding fathers of our own nation were Negroes because most of the current residents of Washington DC, Philadelphia and the rest of our major cities today are Negroes. There may be some White people in Washington, or Baltimore, or Atlanta right now, but neither does that make them Negroes. Likewise, Jesus was not a Jew. He was a man of the tribe of Judah, and today's Jews are clearly not of Judah.

Ninety-eight percent of the Jews in the United States are not Jews at all but are Khazar Jews migrated from Russia.

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readbookywooks · 8 years

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6. In that one slight motion, I see the end of hope, the beginning of the destruction of everything I hold dear in the world. I can't guess what form my punishment will take, how wide the net will be cast, but when it is finished, there will most likely be nothing left. So you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here's what's strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. That the question of whether I can succeed in this venture has been answered, even if that answer is a resounding no. That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. Only not here, not quite yet. It's essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, if I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. These are the people I must take with me when I escape into the wild. How I will convince them, where we will go in the dead of winter, what it will take to evade capture are unanswered questions. But at least now I know what I must do. So instead of crumpling to the ground and weeping, I find myself standing up straighter and with more confidence than I have in weeks. My smile, while somewhat insane, is not forced. And when President Snow silences the audience and says, "What do you think about us throwing them a wedding right here in the Capitol?" I pull off girl-almost-catatonic-with-joy without a hitch. Caesar Flickerman asks if the president has a date in mind. "Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Katniss's mother," says the president. The audience gives a big laugh and the president puts his arm around me. "Maybe if the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you're thirty." "You'll probably have to pass a new law," I say with a giggle. "If that's what it takes," says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh, the fun we two have together. The party, held in the banquet room of President Snow's mansion, has no equal. The forty-foot ceiling has been transformed into the night sky, and the stars look exactly as they do at home. I suppose they look the same from the Capitol, but who would know? There's always too much light from the city to see the stars here. About halfway between the floor and the ceiling, musicians float on what look like fluffy white clouds, but I can't see what holds them aloft. Traditional dining tables have been replaced by innumerable stuffed sofas and chairs, some surrounding fireplaces, others beside fragrant flower gardens or ponds filled with exotic fish, so that people can eat and drink and do whatever they please in the utmost comfort. There's a large tiled area in the center of the room that serves as everything from a dance floor, to a stage for the performers who come and go, to another spot to mingle with the flamboyantly dressed guests. But the real star of the evening is the food. Tables laden with delicacies line the walls. Everything you can think of, and things you have never dreamed of, lie in wait. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads, vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames. My appetite has returned with my' desire to fight back. After weeks of feeling too worried to eat, I'm famished. "I want to taste everything in the room," I tell Peeta. I can see him trying to read my expression, to figure out my transformation. Since he doesn't know that President Snow thinks I have failed, he can only assume that I think we have succeeded. Perhaps even that I have some genuine happiness at our engagement. His eyes reflect his puzzlement but only briefly, because we're on camera. "Then you'd better pace yourself," he says. "Okay, no more than one bite of each dish," I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups, when I encounter a creamy pumpkin brew sprinkled with slivered nuts and tiny black seeds. "I could just eat this all night!" I exclaim. But I don't. I weaken again at a clear green broth that I can only describe as tasting like springtime, and again when I try a frothy pink soup dotted with raspberries. Faces appear, names are exchanged, pictures taken, kisses brushed on cheeks. Apparently my mockingjay pin has spawned a new fashion sensation, because several people come up to show me their accessories. My bird has been replicated on belt buckles, embroidered into silk lapels, even tattooed in intimate places. Everyone wants to wear the winner's token. I can only imagine how nuts that makes President Snow. But what can he do? The Games were such a hit here, where the berries were only a symbol of a desperate girl trying to save her lover. Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. Every table presents new temptations, and even on my restricted one-taste-per-dish regimen, I begin filling up quickly. I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things, and the idea of throwing away food, as I see so many people doing so casually, is abhorrent to me. After about ten tables I'm stuffed, and we've only sampled a small number of the dishes available. Just then my prep team descends on us. They're nearly incoherent between the alcohol they've consumed and their ecstasy at being at such a grand affair. "Why aren't you eating?" asks Octavia. "I have been, but I can't hold another bite," I say. They all laugh as if that's the silliest thing they've ever heard. "No one lets that stop them!" says Flavius. They lead us over to a table that holds tiny stemmed wineglasses filled with clear liquid. "Drink this!" Peeta picks one up to take a sip and they lose it. "Not here!" shrieks Octavia. "You have to do it in there," says Venia, pointing to doors that lead to the toilets. "Or you'll get it all over the floor!" Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. "You mean this will make me puke?" My prep team laughs hysterically. "Of course, so you can keep eating," says Octavia. "I've been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?" I'm speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. Peeta sets his back on the table with such precision you'd think it might detonate. "Come on, Katniss, let's dance." Music filters down from the clouds as he leads me away from the team, the table, and out onto the floor. We know only a few dances at home, the kind that go with fiddle and flute music and require a good deal of space. But Effie has shown us some that are popular in the Capitol. The music's slow and dreamlike, so Peeta pulls me into his arms and we move in a circle with practically no steps at all. You could do this dance on a pie plate. We're quiet for a while. Then Peeta speaks in a strained voice. "You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they're not so bad, and then you - " He cuts himself off. All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents can't give. More food. Now that we're rich, she'll send some home with them. But often in the old days, there was nothing to give and the child was past saving, anyway. And here in the Capitol they're vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. It's what everyone does at a party. Expected. Part of the fun. One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough. Being part of Gale's family, the kid has to eat better than ninety percent of the rest of District 12. But he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they'd opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldn't feel right unless the others had some, too. If it's like that at Gale's, what's it like in the other houses? "Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment," I say. "Really, this is nothing by comparison." "I know. I know that. It's just sometimes I can't stand it anymore. To the point where ... I'm not sure what I'll do." He pauses, then whispers, "Maybe we were wrong, Katniss." "About what?" I ask. "About trying to subdue things in the districts," he says. My head turns swiftly from side to side, but no one seems to have heard. The camera crew got sidetracked at a table of shellfish, and the couples dancing around us are either too drunk or too self-involved to notice. "Sorry," he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. "Save it for home," I tell him. Just then Portia appears with a large man who looks vaguely familiar. She introduces him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker. Plutarch asks Peeta if he can steal me for a dance. Peeta's recovered his camera face and good-naturedly passes me over, warning the man not to get too attached. I don't want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don't want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I'm not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. But he seems to sense this and holds me almost at arm's length as we turn on the floor. We chitchat about the party, about the entertainment, about the food, and then he makes a joke about avoiding punch since training. I don't get it, and then I realize he's the man who tripped backward into the punch bowl when I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers during the training session. Well, not really. I was shooting an apple out of their roast pig's mouth. But I made them jump. "Oh, you're one who - " I laugh, remembering him splashing back into the punch bowl. "Yes. And you'll be pleased to know I've never recovered," says Plutarch. I want to point out that twenty-two dead tributes will never recover from the Games he helped create, either. But I only say, "Good. So, you're the Head Gamemaker this year? That must be a big honor." "Between you and me, there weren't many takers for the job," he says. "So much responsibility as to how the Games turn out." Yeah, the last guy's dead, I think. He must know about Seneca Crane, but he doesn't look the least bit concerned. "Are you planning the Quarter Quell Games already?" I say. "Oh, yes. Well, they've been in the works for years, of course. Arenas aren't built in a day. But the, shall we say, flavor of the Games is being determined now. Believe it or not, I've got a strategy meeting tonight," he says. Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. "I'll have to be going soon." He turns the watch so I can see the face. "It starts at midnight." "That seems late for - " I say, but then something distracts me. Plutarch has run his thumb across the crystal face of the watch and for just a moment an image appears, glowing as if lit by candlelight. It's another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. "That's very pretty," I say. "Oh, it's more than pretty. It's one of a kind," he says. "If anyone asks about me, say I've gone home to bed. The meetings are supposed to be kept secret. But I thought it'd be safe to tell you." "Yes. Your secret's safe with me," I say. As we shake hands, he gives a small bow, a common gesture here in the Capitol. "Well, I'll see you next summer at the Games, Katniss. Best wishes on your engagement, and good luck with your mother." "I'll need it," I say. Plutarch disappears and I wander through the crowd, looking for Peeta, as strangers congratulate me. On my engagement, on my victory at the Games, on my choice of lipstick. I respond, but really I'm thinking about Plutarch showing off his pretty, one-of-a-kind watch to me. There was something strange about it. Almost clandestine. But why? Maybe he thinks someone else will steal his idea of putting a disappearing mockingjay on a watch face. Yes, he probably paid a fortune for it and now he can't show it to anyone because he's afraid someone will make a cheap, knockoff version. Only in the Capitol. I find Peeta admiring a table of elaborately decorated cakes. Bakers have come in from the kitchen especially to talk frosting with him, and you can see them tripping over one another to answer his questions. At his request, they assemble an assortment of little cakes for him to take back to District 12, where he can examine their work in quiet. "Effie said we have to be on the train at one. I wonder what time it is," he says, glancing around. "Almost midnight," I reply. I pluck a chocolate flower from a cake with my fingers and nibble on it, so beyond worrying about manners. "Time to say thank you and farewell!" trills Effie at my elbow. It's one of those moments when I just love her compulsive punctuality. We collect Cinna and Portia, and she escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us to the door. "Shouldn't we thank President Snow?" asks Peeta. "It's his house." "Oh, he's not a big one for parties. Too busy," says Effie. "I've already arranged for the necessary notes and gifts to be sent to him tomorrow. There you are!" Effie gives a little wave to two Capitol attendants who have an inebriated Haymitch propped up between them. We travel through the streets of the Capitol in a car with darkened windows. Behind us, another car brings the prep teams. The throngs of people celebrating are so thick it's slow going. But Effie has this all down to a science, and at exactly one o'clock we are back on the train and it's pulling out of the station. Haymitch is deposited in his room. Cinna orders tea and we all take seats around the table while Effie rattles her schedule papers and reminds us we're still on tour. "There's the Harvest Festival in District Twelve to think about. So I suggest we drink our tea and head straight to bed." No one argues. When I open my eyes, it's early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta's arm. I don't remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he's already awake. "No nightmares," he says. "What?" I ask. "You didn't have any nightmares last night," he says. He's right. For the first time in ages I've slept through the night. "I had a dream, though," I say, thinking back. "I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice." "Where did she take you?" he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. "I don't know. We never arrived," I say. "But I felt happy." "Well, you slept like you were happy," he says. "Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?" I say. "I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror," he says. "You should wake me," I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. "It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," he says. "I'm okay once I realize you're here." Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it's like being hit in the gut. He's only answering my question honestly. He's not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I've been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don't know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we're officially engaged now. "Be worse when we're home and I'm sleeping alone again," he says. That's right, we're almost home. The agenda for District 12 includes a dinner at Mayor Undersee's house tonight and a victory rally in the square during the Harvest Festival tomorrow. We always celebrate the Harvest Festival on the final day of the Victory Tour, but usually it means a meal at home or with a few friends if you can afford it. This year it will be a public affair, and since the Capitol will be throwing it, everyone in the whole district will have full bellies. Most of our prepping will take place at the mayor's house, since we're back to being covered in furs for outdoor appearances. We're only at the train station briefly, to smile and wave as we pile into our car. We don't even get to see our families until the dinner tonight. I'm glad it will be at the mayor's house instead of at the Justice Building, where the memorial for my father was held, where they took me after the reaping for those wrenching goodbyes to my family. The Justice Building is too full of sadness. But I like Mayor Undersee's house, especially now that his daughter, Madge, and I are friends. We always were, in a way. It became official when she came to say good-bye to me before I left for the Games. When she gave me the mockingjay pin for luck. After I got home, we started spending time together. It turns out Madge has plenty of empty hours to fill, too. It was a little awkward at first because we didn't know what to do. Other girls our age, I've heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren't gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I've taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She's trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. Sometimes we eat at each other's houses. Madge likes mine better. Her parents seem nice but I don't think she sees a whole lot of them. Her father has District 12 to run and her mother gets fierce headaches that force her to stay in bed for days. "Maybe you should take her to the Capitol," I said during one of them. We weren't playing the piano that day, because even two floors away the sound caused her mother pain. "They can fix her up, I bet." "Yes. But you don't go to the Capitol unless they invite you," said Madge unhappily. Even the mayor's privileges are limited. When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her. Madge's bedroom is on the second floor along with several guest rooms and her father's study. I stick my head in the study to say hello to the mayor but it's empty. The television's droning on, and I stop to watch shots of Peeta and me at the Capitol party last night. Dancing, eating, kissing. This will be playing in every household in Panem right now. The audience must be sick to death of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. I know I am. I'm leaving the room when a beeping noise catches my attention. I turn back to see the screen of the television go black. Then the words "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8" start flashing. Instinctively I know this is not for my eyes but something intended only for the mayor. I should go. Quickly. Instead I find myself stepping closer to the television. An announcer I've never seen before appears. It's a woman with graying hair and a hoarse, authoritative voice. She warns that conditions are worsening and a Level 3 alert has been called. Additional forces are being sent into District 8, and all textile production has ceased. They cut away from the woman to the main square in District 8. I recognize it because I was there only last week. There are still banners with my face waving from the rooftops. Below them, there's a mob scene. The square's packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Buildings burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I've never seen anything like it, but I can only be witnessing one thing. This is what President Snow calls an uprising.

#CatchingFire

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