#nine days at sea as in a church

[soracities]

Crying, soaking in the depths. Glad not to recognize myself anymore.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “Nine days at sea as in a church...” (in Diary of an Ephemeral Man), A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - November 28, 2023

🐑 - Why did Fiona the sheep become a mountaineer? She was tired of the "baa-d" jokes at sea level!

1. Pope Francis dines with transgender women for Vatican luncheon

Pope Francis hosted a group of transgender women — many of whom are sex workers or migrants from Latin America — to a Vatican luncheon for the Catholic Church's "World Day of the Poor" last week.

The pontiff and the transgender women have formed a close relationship since the pope came to their aid during the COVID-19 pandemic, when they were unable to work. Now, they meet monthly for VIP visits with the pope and receive medicine, money and shampoo any day, according to The Associated Press.

2. New York just installed its first offshore wind turbine

The first wind turbine installation at South Fork Wind, New York State’s first offshore wind farm, is complete.

The 130-megawatt (MW) South Fork Wind will be the US’s first completed utility-scale wind farm in federal waters.

3. Anonymous businessman donates $800k to struggling food bank

But this Thanksgiving, a longtime prayer of food bank leaders was finally answered: an anonymous benefactor donated the full $800,000 they needed to move out of a facility they've long outgrown. That benefactor, however, preferred to stay anonymous.

"Very private company, really don't want attention," said Debbie Christian, executive director of the Auburn Food Bank. "It's a goodhearted person that just wants to see the work here continue, wants to see it expand."

4. Empowering woman saving hopes and mental health of suffering Ukrainian kids

Kenza Hadij-Brahim is at the forefront of promoting Circle of Toys

Hadj-Brahim is helping to launch the Circle of Toys initiative. A project that provides Ukrainian children in need of some normality with preloved toys. This new initiative connects people with old toys they might otherwise throw away, with Ukrainian families in need who want to provide some comfort to their children in this distressing time.

Find Refuge said : “The endeavour is driven by a sincere purpose: spark joy, foster play, and bring a hint of normalcy back to the young lives in Ukraine.”

5. TWO LOST CITIES HIDDEN FOR CENTURIES WERE JUST DISCOVERED IN BOLIVIA

Researchers have found these areas not only housed structures and pyramids but it has been uncovered that there were advanced irrigation systems, earthworks, large towns, causeways, and canals that cover miles.

Dr. Heiko Prümers from the German Archaeological Institute, who was also involved in the study comments that “this indicated a relatively dense settlement in pre-Hispanic times. Our goal was to conduct basic research and trace the settlements and life there. The research sheds light on the sheer magnitude and magnificence of the civic-ceremonial centers found buried in the forest”.

6. Sheep dubbed Fiona rescued from cliff in Scotland where she was stuck for more than 2 years

And at last, some positive climate news:

7. Three positive climate developments

Heating

When the Paris Agreement was adopted, the global reliance on fossil fuels placed the world on a path towards a 3.5C rise in temperature by 2100. Eight years on, country commitments to reduce their carbon footprints have pulled that down slightly, putting the world on a path for a 2.5C to 2.9C by the end of the century.

Peak emissions

Annual greenhouse gas emissions responsible for climate change have risen roughly nine percent since COP21, according to UN data. But the rate of the increase has slowed significantly. Recent estimates by the Climate Analytics institute find global emissions could peak by 2024

Rising renewables

Three technologies—solar, wind and electric vehicles—are largely behind the improved global warming estimates since 2015.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[thethirdromana]

Van Helsing's misinformation

I took a look at some of the claims Van Helsing makes in his "immortal parrots" speech on the 26th of September.

Why was it that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred and sixty-nine...

The oldest authenticated age that anyone has ever reached is 122 years (Jeanne Louise Calment, 1875-1997). Thomas Parr ('Old Parr') allegedly lived from 1483 to 1635 (which is 152 years, not 169) but the 1895 Dictionary of National Biography, which has an entry for Parr, is very sceptical about his claim, noting that his exact age was "attested by village gossip alone."

Here's Old Parr, painted by an unknown artist:

Do you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others?

Comparative anatomy is a perfectly reasonable field, but coupled with "the qualities of brutes" and it being the 1890s, I strongly suspect this is some racist physiognomy bullshit (see p550 here for an example of how this looked in contemporary writing, if you must).

Can you tell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps?

This one is delightfully weird. It seems to be a telephone-game version of this story, printed in a variety of magazines and miscellanies (e.g.) since 1821:

The sexton of the church of St Eustace, at Paris, amazed to find frequently a particular lamp extinct early, and yet the oil consumed oil, sat up several nights to perceive the cause. At length he discovered that a spider of surprising size came down the cord to drink the oil. A still more extraordinary instance of the same kind occurred during the year 1751, in the Cathedral of Milan. A vast spider was observed there, which fed on the oil of the lamps... It weighed four pounds, and was sent to the Emperor of Austria, and is now in the Imperial Museum at Vienna.

Here's a photo of St Eustache:

In 1894 the story was reprinted in Notes and Queries, with the question: "Are the statements therein pure fiction? If not, can any one tell me how much we may safely believe? A spider weighing four pounds [1.8kg] is indeed a heavy tax on the reader's credulity."

In reality, the largest spider in the world is the Goliath birdeater, which weighs 175g.

Can you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their veins...

Vampire bats are real, and live in parts of South and Central America. The prey of the common vampire bat can include cattle (source). The quantity of blood that they drink is small - in the region of 100g, or about a fifth of a typical blood donation. Vampire bat predation can result in the death of much larger animals, but from infection, not draining them dry.

Here's a common vampire bat:

... how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them, and then—and then in the morning are found dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?

From Wikipedia:

West Sea or Western Sea may refer to:

Atlantic Ocean

Pacific Ocean

Indian Ocean

Mediterranean Sea...

So that's not the most helpful starting point. I don't know which bats these are supposed to be, though hanging in trees like giant nuts makes them sound like fruit bats. In Van Helsing's defence, bats do carry a lot of viruses.

Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of men...

Lovely to reach something that's just straight-up true. The current oldest living land animal is Jonathan, a 190+-year-old Seychelles giant tortoise.

... why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties...

Asian elephants live to be 50 or so; African elephants, 60-70 years. Weirdly, it seems to have been widely believed in the 1890s that elephants lived for a century; e.g. that's cited as fact in the 1894 Encyclopaedia Britannica. Either way, "dynasties" feels like an exaggeration.

... why the parrot never die only of bite of cat or dog or other complaint?

I've tried but I can't find where Bram Stoker got this one from. Maybe he made it up. The English Illustrated Magazine, 1897, contains an article complaining about how easily grey parrots die after being imported and sold as pets.

Can you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are some few who live on always if they be permit; that there are men and women who cannot die?

I've also got no idea what's going on with this one. I can't figure out how to look into it without coming up with lots of 1890s Christian literature on the immortal soul, which is not what Van Helsing is getting at.

We all know—because science has vouched for the fact—that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of years, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of the world.

This was a wildly popular myth in Victorian times (see this article for more details). An article in The Gentleman's Magazine, 1877, entitled 'Some Facts and Fictions of Zoology' (reprinted in several other places) went into the question in more detail, and concluded:

These tales are, in short, as devoid of actual foundation as are the modern beliefs in the venomous properties of the toad, or the ancient beliefs in the occult and mystic powers of various parts of its frame when used in incantations.

Here's a toad:

Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die and have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then men come and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?

This seems to have been widely believed in the late 19th century - e.g. this 1897 book references "two undoubted cases... one of whom had remained alive under the ground for six weeks, the other for ten days". This 1880 magazine says that it "will appear incredible" but relays the story of a fakir "buried alive for forty days, then disentombed and resuscitated" as fact.

The longest verified case of someone surviving without drinking water is Andreas Mihavecz, an 18-year-old bricklayer who was mistakenly locked up by police for 18 days. Even then, he drank condensed water from the walls, and was very close to death when he was found.

So in summary:

Old Parr: false

Physiognomy: false

Enormous oil-drinking spider: false

Vampire bats: partially true

Bats killing sailors: partially true

Long-lived tortoises: TRUE

Long-lived elephants: false

Immortal parrots: false

Belief in immortality: ???

Imprisoned toads: false

Buried fakirs: false

I guess there are some disadvantages to having an "absolutely open mind."

[yieldfruit]

Five times I received from the Jews thirty-nine lashes. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked, a night and a day I have spent in the deep. I have been on frequent journeys, in dangers from rivers, dangers from robbers, dangers from my countrymen, dangers from the Gentiles, dangers in the city, dangers in the wilderness, dangers on the sea, dangers among false brethren; I have been in labor and hardship, through many sleepless nights, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure. Apart from such external things, there is the daily pressure upon me of concern for all the churches. Who is weak without my being weak? Who is led into sin without my intense concern? If I have to boast, I will boast of what pertains to my weakness. The God and Father of the Lord Jesus, He who is blessed forever, knows that I am not lying.

2 Corinthians 11:24-31

[neonblessing]

2.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️ Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!

LAYER 22 - THE DILUVIAN DISTRICT

EST. POPULATION: 100M HUMANS, 12 GODS

POINTS OF INTEREST: CHURCH OF MANIFOLD SORROWS, THE SACROLITH, A DISUSED DRAINAGE PIPE

Maggie’s house wasn’t the nicest place Shiv had ever crashed. That honor went to the hotel room the Floodkin had broken into for the night of her eighteenth birthday. Maggie’s wasn’t her favorite, either–that hideout was long gone, torn down and turned into a casino years ago. That said, she’d definitely slept in worse places: Mags didn’t expect anything from her besides chipping in on rent where she could; and the house was soundproofed, an essential in the Diluvian District.

Shiv stepped outside and slipped in a pair of cheap earplugs to drown out the roar of water. They deadened the sound but couldn't outright eliminate it. Distant waterfalls thundered at a trillion gallons a minute, kicking up the famous Diluvian Mists that could be felt anywhere in the district. The water cascaded down from the layers above and went coursing through a thousand canals and rivers on its way further down and deeper into the city. In the late morning glow of the street lamps, brilliant rainbows played about the skyscrapers. The ceiling of the layer was invisible under a blanket of fog.

Thankfully, most of the filtration happened on Diluvian 20, so the water here was clear and more or less safe to drink. The fountains were fed by the channels, and people huddled around them, holding cups out to the metal mouths of the godly statuary.

The streets of Diluvian 22 were full of people no matter the time of day. A train swept by overhead on suspended tracks, while cars careened through the narrow, twisting streets, and on every sidewalk and bridge and platform people of all sorts went about their business.  An ear-splittingly loud torrentpunk song filled the morning air, courtesy of some band of street performers a block or two over.

Everything in the Diluvian was loud: the music, the people, and the fashion choices. It was always easy to tell when someone was new to the district: they tended to speak too quietly to be heard above the waterfalls, and wore shapeless and utilitarian raincoats. The dark fabric of formal suits and ties stood out against the riot of color, islands of corporate pretension amidst a sea of high-vis vests and neon street clothes.

Maggie’s house was located along Grief St., a little closer to the Church than Shiv would have liked. She was always careful to give it a wide berth, staying at least three blocks away from its stony facade where possible. By Shiv’s reckoning, there were twelve gods who called Diluvian 22 home, and Aluel was the worst of them.

The Church of Manifold Sorrows policed much of the district, from way down in layer 24 and up to 19, but the 22nd layer was where their goddess had built her cathedral. Aluel and her Sorrows (or Crybabies, as the Diluvian public called them) didn’t have that much weight to throw around, and mostly busied themselves protecting VIPs, confiscating firearms, and breaking up rowdy parties. Every few weeks they killed someone.

Nine of Diluvian 22’s gods were inconsequential: homeless, powerless, without domain or altar, too weak even to be conscripted as labor or as batteries. Even the Diluvian's mightiest were frequently ignored in prayers, with people choosing to throw their lots in with more influential gods. 

As for the two remaining major gods, Ebrelurge’s name was cursed more often than it was praised, and no one of repute would be caught dead consorting with Ornarch. Shiv had gotten Ornarch’s black wings tattooed onto her shoulder blades when she was fourteen years old, and she figured she owed the old man a house call.

As she passed by a corner cafe wafting the smell of fresh-baked bread out into the foggy air, her stomach growled in appreciation. She hadn’t had anything to eat since yesterday’s lunch.

First Page – Previous Page – Next Page

[rueroyale]

From The Nine Tailors, this stream of consciousness passage, annotated:

"And people may say what they like," thought Wimsey again, "about the services of the Church of England, but there was genius in the choosing of these psalms. 'That I may be certified how long I have to live'--what a terrifying prayer! Lord, let me never be certified of anything of the kind. 'A stranger with Thee and a sojourner'--that's a fact, God knows.... 'Thou hast set our misdeeds before Thee' ... very likely, and why should I, Peter Wimsey, busy myself with digging them up? I haven't got so very much to boast about myself, if it comes to that.... Oh, well!... 'world without end, Amen.' Now the lesson. I suppose we sit down for this--I'm not very well up in the book of the words.... Yes.... This is the place where the friends and relations usually begin to cry--but there's nobody here to do it--not a friend, nor a----How do I know that? I don't know it. Where's the man or woman who would have recognised that face, if the murderer hadn't taken all those pains to disfigure it?... That red-haired kid must be Hilary Thorpe ... decent of her to come ... interesting type ... I can see her making a bit of a splash in five years' time.... 'I have fought with beasts at Ephesus' ... what on earth has that got to do with it?... 'raised a spiritual body'--what does old Donne say? 'God knows in what part of the world every grain of every man's dust lies.... He whispers, he hisses, he beckons for the bodies of his saints' ... do all these people believe that? Do I? Does anybody? We all take it pretty placidly, don't we? 'In a flash, at a trumpet crash, this Jack, joke, poor potsherd, patch, matchwood, immortal diamond is--immortal diamond.' Did the old boys who made that amazing roof believe? Or did they just make those wide wings and adoring hands for fun, because they liked the pattern? At any rate, they made them look as though they believed something, and that's where they have us beat. What next? Oh, yes, out again to the grave, of course. Hymn 373 ... there must be some touch of imagination in the good Mr. Russell to have suggested this, though he looks as if he thought of nothing but having tinned salmon to his tea.... 'Man that is born of a woman ...' not very much further to go now; we're coming into the straight.... 'Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts....' I knew it, I knew it! Will Thoday's going to faint.... No, he's got hold of himself again. I shall have to have a word with that gentleman before long ... 'for any pains of death, to fall from Thee.' Damn it! that goes home. Why? Mere splendour of rhythm, I expect--there are plenty of worse pains.... 'Our dear brother here departed' ... brother ... we're all dear when we're dead, even if beforehand somebody hated us enough to tie us up and ... Great Scott, yes! What about that rope?"

Annotations

Psalms 39.

5 Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I have to live.

…

14 For I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.

15 O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength, before I go hence, and be no more seen.

Psalm 90:8 KJV

Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, Our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

1 Corinthians 15:32 KJV

If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not? let us eat and drink; for to morrow we die.

1 Corinthians 15:44 KJV

It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.

Donne’s Sermon LXXXI

One humour of our dead body produces worms, and those worms suck and exhaust all other humour, and then all dies, and all dries, and moulders into dust, and that dust is blown into the river, and that puddled water tumbled into the sea, and that ebbs and flows in infinite revolutions, and still, still God knows in what cabinet every seed-pearl lies, in what part of the world every grain of every man's dust lies; and sibilat populum suum, (as his prophet speaks in another case) he whispers, he hisses, he beckons for the bodies of his saints, and in the twinkling of an eye, that body that was scattered over all the elements, is sat down at[ the right hand of God, in a glorious resurrection.

That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection, by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Flesh fade, and mortal trash

Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash:

In a flash, at a trumpet crash,

I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and

This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,

Is immortal diamond.

Job.14

1 Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble.

2 He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.

Book of Common Prayer

Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts;

Shut not thy merciful ears unto our pray'rs;

But spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty.

O holy and most merciful Saviour,

Thou most worthy Judge eternal,

Suffer us not at our last hour,

For any pains of death to fall away from Thee.

[natequarter]

24 and 25 for the history ask?

24: Who do you consider to be one of the most underrated historical figures?

edward vi. henry vii and mary i are rightfully recognised and understood as similarly underrated in comparison to their successors, but they do have their advocates - unlike edward vi. i've encountered a lot of tudor enthusiasts, and nobody ever lists edward as their favourite tudor or favourite historical figure. of course, he died as a child and spent a good half of his reign with limited input into how he ruled, but in his short life he achieved a remarkable amount of change, plenty of which was his own work.

edward's legacy is hugely unfair. he's remembered, for the most part, as a sickly and weak child overpowered by the cruelty of his regents. but this is, in my opinion, a terrible way to view him. he was powerful. he was intelligent. he was raised to rule. he managed to handle his uncle kidnapping him; he helped shape what would have been the future of english protestantism; he began trying to solve the huge amounts of debt that his father and uncle had left him in. the main reason he is not remembered as an efficient king with a powerful and skilled advisor by his side (john dudley may not have been the most consistent person around, but i think his legacy also got fucked over by edward's untimely death) is that he died young. had he lived, he might have fathered an heir, finally secured the tudor succession (a problem which remained essentially unsolved across the entire period), fully established a church of england, reduced the financial problems of henry viii, and perhaps become involved with colonialism across the seas. (not that that's a good thing, but elizabeth i isn't exactly shunned for her involvement in ireland...)

and most of all, edward was human. he was a teenager with his own thoughts and feelings, ranging from his turbulent and tragic relationship with his sister, mary, to his grief over the death of his mother. he was orphaned at the age of nine. two of his uncles were beheaded when he was only eleven and fourteen respectively. he was overcome with sorrow when his friends, the dukes of suffolk, died. he once wrote of mary: 'i love you most.' but at christmas in 1550, they got into a row and made each other cry because they couldn't reconcile their religious beliefs - mary refused to bow to edward's religious changes, and edward was frustrated that mary insisted he was too young to know his own beliefs. he was close friends with lady jane grey, whom he later tried to make his heir. and he was fifteen! he died slowly and painfully, over a period of six months, and he was a teenager who knew that his entire life's work might be undone by his sister. he was stubborn, he was clever, he was deeply religious - all traits for which his sisters and father are well-known, but edward is denied. i want a proper drama focusing on edward's life, and NOT his annoying uncle or elizabeth, stat.

i was going to say something about margaret pole and arthur plantagenet here, but i got sidelined by my love for edward here. arthur was the illegitimate son of edward iv (who, funnily enough, died in the tower of london), and margaret was the daughter of george, duke of clarence, and niece of edward iv. neither of them were particularly important in edward iv or richard iii's reigns, but they later became much more relevant in the tudor era, as relatives of elizabeth of york and then henry viii. under henry viii, arthur was viscount lisle and lord deputy of calais - oddly enough, after his death, his title passed to john dudley, who was his stepson. margaret was mary i's governess, and her family remained staunch supporters of katherine of aragon. despite refusing to accept mary as his heir, henry apparently considered women a legitimate threat to his rule, as he executed margaret in 1541. earlier, he also arrested arthur. arthur was supposed to be released, but he died a few days after being freed, probably from a heart attack. they're the real last plantagenets.

i'll stop there, else this post will end up miles long.

25: Who is the most overrated historical figure, in your opinion?

stalin. elizabeth i. other people who weren't involved in colonialism, probably. oh yes! anne boleyn. we have all heard of anne boleyn, we get it, she was a person who existed. the actual woman anne boleyn seems really interesting, but unfortunately it gets buried under leagues of people more interested in either her romance with henry viii (boring) or people who simply wish to one-up those who aren't interested in her specific area of history. i am genuinely fascinated by henry viii, but i'm exhausted by the constant emphasis on anne boleyn this, elizabeth i that. i'm not interested in them!! i don't care!! but they're everywhere and fans of anne boleyn seem to feel oppressed for caring about an incredibly popular historical figure. not that anne wasn't treated with a lot of cruelty by henry viii and a lot of catholics both at the time and after the fact, but is there any historical figure except maybe her daughter who saturates all things tudor? i doubt it

(link)

[scotianostra]

On March 17th 458, Mo Padraigh (Saint Patrick), Patron Saint of Ireland died.

There is a theory that St Patrick was born around the Dumbarton area in about the year 372, other sources put him further south in what is now Cumbria, the truth is nobody knows for certain. What is known that The Islands as we know them now were in the main occupied by The Romans.

It is said his father, whose name was Calpurnius, was in a respectable station in life, being municipal magistrate in the town in which he lived. What town this was, however, is not certainly known, whether Kilpatrick, a small village on the Clyde, five miles east of Dumbarton, Duntochar, another small village about a mile north of Kilpatrick, or Dumbarton itself. But as I said these are only the ares quoted in what is now Scotland I wont go into the ones saying England.

His father is supposed, (for nearly all that is recorded of the holy man is conjectural, or at best but inferential,) to have come to Scotland in a civil capacity with the Roman troops, under Theodosius. His mother, whose name was Cenevessa, was sister or niece of St Martin, bishop of Tours; and from this circumstance, it is presumed that his family were Christians.

He was captured as a teenager by Niall of the Nine Hostages who was to become a King of all Ireland.

He was sold into slavery in Ireland and put to work as a shepherd. He worked in terrible conditions for six years drawing comfort in the Christian faith that so many of his people had abandoned under Roman rule.

Patrick had a dream that encouraged him to flee his captivity and to head South where a ship was to be waiting for him. He travelled over 200 miles from his Northern captivity to Wexford town where, sure enough, a ship was waiting to enable his escape.

Patrick's devotion to Ireland started with a dream which he wrote about as.....

"I saw a man coming, as it were from Ireland. His name was Victoricus, and he carried many letters, and he gave me one of them. I read the heading: 'The Voice of the Irish.' As I began the letter, I imagined in that moment that I heard the voice of those very people who were near the wood of Foclut, which is beside the western sea-and they cried out, as with one voice: 'We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.'"

The vision prompted his studies for the priesthood. He was ordained by St. Germanus, the Bishop of Auxerre, whom he had studied under for years, and was later ordained a bishop and sent to take the Gospel to Ireland.

Patrick arrived in Slane, Ireland on March 25, 433. There are several legends about what happened next, with the most prominent claiming he met the chieftan of one of the druid tribes, who tried to kill him. After an intervention from God, Patrick was able to convert the chieftain and preach the Gospel throughout Ireland. There, he converted many people -eventually thousands - and he began building churches across the country.

He often used shamrocks to explain the Holy Trinity and entire kingdoms were eventually converted to Christianity after hearing Patrick's message.

Patrick preached and converted all of Ireland for 40 years. He worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in Confessions. After years of living in poverty, travelling and enduring much suffering he died March 17, 461.

He died at Saul, where he had built the first Irish church. He is believed to be buried in Down Cathedral, Downpatrick. His grave was marked in 1990 with a granite stone.

Saint Patrick's Day is observed on 17th March, the supposed date of his death. It is celebrated inside and outside Ireland as a religious and cultural holiday. In the dioceses of Ireland, it is both a solemnity and a holy day of obligation; it is also a celebration of Ireland itself, although recent events have meant it will be more subdued than normal. I once read many years ago that there is more alcohol in the world sold on St Patrick's Day than any other day of the year, and I quite believe that, but again am not getting into an argument.

A wee but more about the Scottish thing here...https://www.irishcentral.com/roots/history/saint-patrick-born-scotland

[suitetarts]

cloud nine (part 1)

Astarion x Original Female Character, Dark Urge Tav (Good) Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Eventual Smut (Link to AO3) A much needed discussion about freedom and what it means for two rebellious spawns (Bhaal and vampiric, respectively) in the aftermath of Lorroakan's defeat. They are both free to discover their own desires, and Delilah really wants to fuck Astarion in running water while she still has the chance.

The intention was to just write beach smut where my OC Delilah and Astarion get sunburns but it completely went off the rails. So here's part 1, the angsty lead up to a smutty smutty part 2. You can go to the AO3 series for the other gen one-shot fics I have for my OC, or click here and there.

The second floor of the Elfsong was scrambling to quickly don armor, fill bellies, and otherwise prepare for the day’s events, which happened to start with chasing Aylin through the city streets during the small hours of dawn. The aasimar’s whereabouts were no puzzle to solve, however; she had rather loudly announced her plans to storm Ramazith’s Tower and confront Lorroakan under the spell of her mother’s moonglow. The logistics and planning blur into Delilah’s memory of the fight itself – the crackle of her storm magic piercing through the summoned elementals like a hot knife in butter and the Sword of the Moonmaiden cleaving the wizard’s torso from shoulder to hip.

All at once with earth shattering speed, the tower was quiet, save for heaving chests and the sheathing of weapons.

Once the adrenaline of battle wore thin, Aylin appeared to lose her strength and resolve. A numbness falling over her that even her darling cleric could not mend. The sudden loss of her inner fire seemed to cast a gloom over the party, although the others did their best to move past it. Gale accepted Rolan’s thanks to the party, trying to leverage some assistance in retrieving artifacts he desired. Karlach and Shadowheart mulled about on the promenade and gossiped in the passing clouds. Astarion, though…

Where was he?

A half smile pulled at Delilah’s features as a location came to mind, tempered only by the mood at the top of the fallen wizard’s tower. She immediately made the executive decision to take the rest of the day off even though the sun had not yet reached its highsun crest. The others barely noticed her slip away to the portal, and if they did, they must have thought little of it.

The vampire and drow were rarely apart, if not constantly on top of one another. If one wandered off, the other would not be too far from their heels. And for the rest of the tadpoled adventurers, they were better off not having to be subjected to the constant public display of sickening and often off-putting affection.

Her boots raced through the Basilisk Gate and through Wyrm’s Crossing, down the path winding around Ilmater’s church. The fresh air caressed her like fine spider silks as she found her way to the bay, a markedly more welcome scent than the dead fish and industrial waste of the main city port. She veered away from the visible shore onto an animal’s path snaking through trees and eventually approached a stone wall overlooking the churning waters where the fresh muddy Chionthar met the salty clear Sea of Swords. With an incantation and a wave of her hand, she floated over and down to her favorite secret: a small sandy beach, far away from the stink of Baldur’s Gate.

Delilah looked down as she flew, the two pairs of crimson red eyes locking together as Astarion smirked up at her through the flapping of her skirts. Blood rushed to her face as she made a show of it, swinging her knee out in a curtsy motion and flashing him with what she hoped would be a better glimpse of her underclothes.

“Don’t you think it’s rather early to be so forthcoming?” His usual flamboyant and chiding tone did not match his body language as he caught her gently by the waist. He recognized the incongruence, and so to compensate, shifted his grip around to her ass as her feet met the ground.

“Saer, I’m just being polite. What are you implying?” She played along with his temperament, her arms twisting loosely around his neck to pull him close. “That it's forthcoming to offer you my respect and deference?”

He genuinely laughed, a hearty singular ‘ha’ escaping his chest. “When have you ever been deferent to me, my dear?”

Delilah faltered for a moment, the response to their banter withering on her tongue. When had she been deferent to him, indeed?

Her tadpole writhed against her eye as flashes of her other life splattered across her vision like so many bloody victims of her gruesome crusade. She had previously obeyed her “mother” and the Spider Queen, her true father, his dreadful blood coursing through her veins, and, to some extent, apparently even Gortash. The memories she could recall of them were surely a drop in the ocean compared to what she had forgotten, and she knew she was better for it.

More specifically, when it came to Astarion, nearly every suggestion of his was taken with a grain of salt. Not for a lack of love and care, he was just consistently not thinking things through and seemed to overall acquiesce to her preferred methods without too much complaint. But… Truly the one thing he ever seriously asked of her, to help him complete the ascension ritual for himself, and she basically said no. The pinched fury in his brows and the way he tensed around her in Cazador’s grand chambers in the immediate aftermath still haunted her. He later insisted that he was grateful for her clarity, for saving him from himself. But anxiety chewed through her resolve and made her question herself.

She sighed around a bitter smile as she returned to the present, shielding her eyes from the morning light as she looked up at him. “I can’t recall, my love.”

The jesting tone between them had evaporated in the bright sun, which drenched the small stretch of sand in a near blistering heat if not for the breeze coming off the harbor.

“Yes, right,” he said, clearing his throat. 

The pair of rebellious spawns stood in silence, neither of them sure how to start the inevitable post-battle discussion that was sure to cause more painful memories to bubble to the surface. 

“Astarion… Why did you leave us in the tower?” she asked tentatively, cautiously, as she took a step away from his embrace and pulled him down to sit on the warm sand with her.

“To be dramatic, of course.” 

He waited for Delilah’s eyes to roll before softening, combing through the granules of sand with his hands as he avoided her gaze. 

“It’s just… It’s hard to see someone go through that. It’s unfair, to feel so empty after finally getting what–” He cleared his throat with a purse of his lips. “What Aylin wanted. Like justice denied.”

Delilah was tempted to say that she understood, but truly she didn’t. She wasn’t sure if it was even possible to get a chance to face Bhaal the way that Astarion and Aylin were able to face their tormentors. She was honestly a touch jealous, but she also couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to bring upon the end of those who hurt her so deeply. At least it made sense that an entity as untouchable to mortals as the God of Murder would be difficult to extract closure from. And yet, on the other hand, it was so impossibly unfair for someone like Cazador to die swiftly in the face of multiple human lifetime's worth of suffering.

Instead of speaking, she simply leaned into him as they watched the crystalline waves lap at the shore. He mirrored her, resting his ear against her shoulder.

The biological warmth of her pressing against his head mixed with the radiant, near overwhelming heat from the sun and its reflection off the sand felt like a drug, the anxiety and numbness sloughing off of him like molting snakeskin. The manifestation of his greatest desire, for Cazador’s death at his own hand, had not been what he dreamt of, but it still happened. His sire was still dead, while he was now richer than his master had ever been, even with the entirety of Baldur’s Gate at his gilded fingertips, thanks to the tadpole’s gift of the sun and his friends and lover at his side. He and Aylin were still free.

“Still,” he said after a minute of rest, his tone steady and composed. “The Nightsong’s fair-haired fool is done. That’s what matters.”

Her thoughts lingered on her predicament with her father. 

“Is it?”

Astarion’s brows pulled together in confusion but kept his head tucked under her ear. A mocking tone entered his voice as he spat, “Surely you don’t think that charlatan twig could possibly come back to life after being cut in half.”

“No, not like that. I…” Delilah’s words trailed off as she began to lose the nerve to give her thoughts weight by speaking them aloud. She set her jaw and pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Whatever.”

He made a frustrated sigh. Even after all their time together, he found that she still took him too seriously at times. “My love, you know I didn’t intend to silence you.” 

“I know.”

“You make it so easy to give you grief.”

“I know.”

He pushed more of his weight into her for a moment, allowing the two a brief sway. “Go on then.”

“Fine,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You said Lorroakan is done. And that’s what matters. So is killing what matters?”

Astarion waved his hand with a non-committal yet affirmative, “Well…?”

“I– I don’t know. Aylin looked so tired. And I’m tired. Killing is what I’ve always done, endlessly. Even now that I’m trying to change and be better, I’m still killing. And I’m still enjoying it. I don’t want killing to matter to me anymore. I want what happens afterwards to be what matters.”

Delilah emphasized her final point by taking his hand, intertwining their fingers with a firm grip. 

Astarion’s involuntary response was for his heart to jump into his throat at her implication, before it dissolved into a warm fuzziness spreading from his chest to his toes. In his old life, there was never an “afterwards” worth having. After they’d used his body up for all that it was good for, if they weren’t already drained of their blood by Cazador or left in some dungeon to rot for centuries, who could possibly want him after finding out what a monster he was? 

But everything was different thanks to the tadpoles. He began to think about it all, became overwhelmed, and deflected. 

“I really do think you’re making a stink out of what I said. Killing and revenge can be mutually-exclusive actions, but they are so delicious when served together.” 

“Perhaps,” she murmured, letting out a small breath from her nose.

Taking her response at face value, he continued. “Honestly, don’t worry about all these Dead Three worshippers. Enjoy their blood if you want to, I sure am.”

She slowly stilled, her breath light enough to not disturb a feather.

His voice dropped as he doubted himself, “Listen, with–”

“I put on a good show, Astarion, but I’m tired,” she interrupted him softly as she laid her head on top of his, wiping her smudged eyeliner into his white curls.

His lips pulled to a taut line, unsure of how to best respond. His first choice was always to make a joke, and she was morbid enough to enjoy his humor, but definitely not at this moment. He could offer to do all the killing for her; he wouldn’t mind, although the battles to come as they approach the Absolute may prove overwhelming without her participation. 

Or, going against his learned nature to please above all else, he could tell her hard truths.

“We’ve got at least two cults and an elder brain to contend with before we’re done with all of this.” Astarion took his other hand to cup their conjoined fingers. “But we’re so close. Don’t give up just yet.”

“Who said anything about giving up?” She bristled, her voice rising as she spoke. “I’m just looking forward to a morning where I leave my trance without being terrified I’ve hurt someone again.”

“Being tired, giving up. Six of one, half dozen of another,” he retorted, meeting her volume as his hands pull away from hers to gesture, only to return to her hold as his voice lowered. “You can’t lie to me about this… I know it far too intimately.”

She hummed, a light airy thing that contrasted heavily with the tense hold of her muscles.

Silence. 

Neither made an effort to disentangle from the other as they sat in their anger. 

Until he twitched.

“Gods, I hardly need a reflection when I’ve got you,” Astarion breathed, the affection in his voice strong enough to choke him unconscious. “A complaining, stubborn, impatient little wretch.”

He always knew how to make her smile.

“I promised that we will get your freedom, like you helped me get mine. We’re close. Just be patient,” he asked, petting the back of her hand. A twinge of guilt threatened to churn his eternally empty stomach, as it did every time he told this sweet lie of a promise that he knows he can’t guarantee. Her freedom wasn’t as simple as vampiric chains between sire and spawn.

“It’s hard to be patient when there’s so much to look forward to.” Delilah pulled him in closer by his waist, the words turning sour as she said them aloud.

When did imagining the future become so painful?

It had started in the wilderness of the Sword Coast, when she was at her most lost and before he even cared for her in the slightest, in part as an exercise to keep spirits high and hope alive. The first idea he had shared with her was an exaggerated tale of another loveless and passionate tryst, except in a feather bed with Cazador’s head on a spike. The dreams became less grand and more real as feelings progressed, and simultaneously more terrifying. 

She was the first person he truly cared for, the first person to truly care for him. And yet, mortal peril was stalking them both around every corner, snuffing out their dreams before they could even give them life as spoken word. Why would Delilah tell him that she will forsake every god on every plane to be at his side, on adventures or in domestic bliss or whatever else he wanted, for the rest of her days? Why would Astarion tell her that after a brief mortal life and 200 years of slavery, he had so many more firsts to experience and he wanted all of them with her? Saying such things would only cause them more pain should they fail.

She cleared her throat.

“But I will be patient. We’ll figure it out,” she stated with an impostor’s confidence. “And I’ll– I’ll do what I need to do.”

She pressed her ear further into his hair, holding onto his thigh for balance. “Once they’re all dead and we’re free, we’ll have so many nice mornings.”

“Ooh, interesting,” he sang, ever the opportunist, seizing upon a chance to shift in the mood in a less self-pitying direction. A dramatic grimace painted his elegant features as he continued, “I’ve heard the rumors. I don’t even want to think of what sort of hedonistic rituals come after a mass killing with you Bhaalist freaks.”

“I– What? Gods, just–” She thrusted her shoulder up in aggravation, hitting it against his ear rougher than she intended. He yelped and clutched at the side of his head, but even so he seemed proud of himself for riling her up. “Get your mind out of the gutter for five seconds, Astarion.”

“Five seconds?” After a brief moment of dramatized thought, complimented by a hand gesture and a flick of his wrist, he continued the countdown.

“Four…” 

He made a show of removing his gloves, an act that always got her undivided attention. 

“Three…”

Delilah generally had an even and intimidating poker face. However, at this moment, she was failing to keep her amusement and desire under wraps. 

“Two…” 

Astarion firmly grabbed her arms with his trademark mischievous grin.

“One…”

Don't fret, I've already got over 2300 words written for Part 2. Coming soon!

[worldbuildingwanderlust]

Welcome to Alsahra

I suppose this is long overdue, but the time has come for me to reveal a world many years in the making! This has been a dear project to me, and a setting for many of my WIP novels and series. For this Worldbuidling Wednesday, I will share a brief general introduction to the world of Alsahra! Over the coming days and weeks, I will share more introductions of the nations, diverse people and their cultures, myths and religious traditions, pantheons, ect. Follow the tag #Tales from Alsahra for furture updates and past pieces I have written from this world. So without further ado...Welcome to Alsahra!

The world of Alsahra consists of two large continents, Sanghia in the west and Gau’yaenum in the east, and a cluster of islands in the south known as the Isles of Naradiyu. Though its official origin is a subject of much contention, collected histories have been (more or less) consistent for the last thousand years. Everything before that, however, has yet to be proven. Each culture has its own story, but one event of the past is certain: The Great Collapse.

Thought to have occurred just-over a thousand years ago, this global crisis likely followed some unknown cataclysmic event in the South Nara Sea. The fallout is believed to have created Leviathan’s Rest, the largest ocean trench in Alsahra, and decimated every civilization throughout the world. Over time, new nations formed, and memory of the old world faded to obscurity, kept alive only by myth and legend. Tales as varied as the stories of creation.

According to the Divine Deulic Church and the theocratic Deutorian Empire: The old world had grown too far from their “creator and one-true God”, Deuhiim, and began experimenting with forbidden magicks that brought about nothing but death, ruin, and despair. Angered by the sins of His creation, Deuhiim descended from the Heavens with righteous blade in hand and struck the planet’s surface, bringing about The Great Collapse. With His Blessing, enough survived to start the world anew.

According to the Leün of Xiulan, the mortals of the old world once lived in harmony with the spirits that permeate through and protect nature. The spirits would grant favors for the people and the people would, in turn, honor and respect these spirits and care for the lands and seas of Alsahra. Over time, mortals deviated from this pact and began abusing and defiling the planet, corrupting the spirits within it. These twisted spirits became so spiteful and enraged they tore through the etheric veil and took grotesque and vicious forms designed to exact revenge. Destruction of the betrayers who destroyed their peaceful forms. Saddened by the chaotic bloodshed and violence, Mother Goddess Gau’yama, the spirit of Alsahra itself, sacrificed herself by ripping out her heart, using the infinite magical energy to cleanse the corruption and sealed the etheric breach. Though this act caused the Great Collapse, it was all Gau’yama could do to save Alsahra from total destruction and restore peace between spirits and mortals.

Though these are but two of the many stories and theories behind the Great Collapse, they show how legends shaped new civilizations over the one-thousand and sixty-nine years since the old world’s end.

[This is previously published and protected work by me, its author]

[little-witchys-garden]

Why I love using cats in my witchcraft

I love cats, they're one of my favorite creatures and one of the few creatures I love using in my witchcraft.

I love cat symbolism, cat figures, cat themed things, cat magick, connecting with cat spirits, and allowing my own pet cats in my witchcraft.

So let's talk about cats!

The spiritual symbolism of Cats:

cats are symbolic of rebirth and resurrection, per their nine lives. Because they are nocturnal, they are also associated with darkness independence, guardian energy, the esoteric, and mystery, elegance, curiosity, independence, protection, magic, and other notable qualities.

Divine cats connect with:

Bastet

Sekhmet

Eros

Nergal

Mafdet

Kasha

Wadjet

Mishipeshu

Nyx

Selene

Ceridwen

Palu

Dawon

the yule cat

The cat sithe

Brighid

Ovinnik

Hecate

Li Shou

Ai-Apaec

Bòge cat

Freya

Maneki-neko

Tezcatlipoca

Kapitángan

And that's not even all not them!

Different cats have different meanings:

Yep that's right! We all know the black cat = bad luck thing but did you know there's lots of superstitions around cats? I'll name a few!

Black cats are bad luck unless you're a sailor or a witch then they're good luck.

For sailors white cats were bad luck!

Calico cats in Japan are actually seen as good luck and even luckier if they have a bobbed tail!

It is bad luck to cross a stream carrying a cat.

If a cat purrs at nothing, a ghost is in the room.

Bathing a cat will cause it to rain.

A cat at a wedding is a good omen

If you can pluck a pure white hair from an all-black cat without being scratched, you will be lucky all your life long

Cats can see death

Fishermen’s wives believe that their husbands will be safe at sea if a black cat is kept in the house

A kitten being born the same day as your baby means your baby will have a lucky life.

Blue eyed cats are good luck

Cats spread gossip so they should not enter rooms where private discussions are taking place.

When you see a one-eyed cat, spit on your thumb, stamp your palm with your thumb and make a wish.

Killing a cat means 17-18 years of bad luck

If a cat jumps across a grave, that corpse will return as a vampire.

If a cat sneezes three times, someone else is going to catch a cold.

If a cat has kittens in your house, it is a sign that your house has no evil spirits

If you head off on a journey and see a cat on your left side, it is a sign of good luck.

Visiting a home with a cat? Kiss the cat for good luck.

And that’s just a few cat superstitions!

Cats in witchcraft/spirituality in history:

Cats were feared and thought to indicate the presence of evil, either being the Devil himself, or a witch in disguise, a demon, a faery in disguise, undead, immortal or a ghost.

As early as the 13th century, the Catholic Church linked cats to Satan, heretics, witches, pagans, demons, ghosts, the fae, vampires and zombies. Over time during slavery of both the Irishs and Africans the church connected them too hoodoo, voodoo and Irish paganism though it was mostly because slaves would keep these creatures as cherished companions during their years of slavery since cats were a plenty and often times were from/born on the plantations. Cats also had a connection to native Americans as well! Many cats essentially pregnant Cats get abandoned by their owners left on many reservations, these abandoned cats become the devoted pets and mouse hunters on reservations helping in keeping rodent populations down And with that came native based spiritual beliefs around cats! Cats have been beloved and faithful companions of the oppressed for centuries!

Also just adding in feng shui cats are seen as protectors and good luck!

Cats also are symbols of femininity, queerness, ABC being on trans spectrum.

There's so much more about cats in mythology, folklore, superstitions, witchcraft and other spiritual beliefs!

So if you wanna add animal symbolism into your craft then the protective, lucky and mysterious cat might be for you!

Artists name on photo!

[donnerpartyofone]

Yesterday morning I woke up early to go to the Corpus Christi event in the park where several local parishes were converging for an outdoor mass. The point of the celebration was to affirm the literality of transubstantiation, since communion has started slipping into the realm of symbolism in a lot of people's minds and the Vatican doesn't like that. I really enjoy the pageantry of Catholicism and I will do anything for a look at the monstrance, the extremely fascinating luxury container for the holy wafer. It looks like something out of DAGON and in fact I wouldn't be surprised if that story were meant to refer to Catholicism in some way, I'm sure Lovecraft hated Catholics as much as he hated everybody else.

At one point the homilist addressed the accusation that eucharistic adoration is a form of idolatry, an impression he corrected by reminding everyone that the eucharist is not a fetish object but the literal body of Christ: "We don't worship a piece of bread!" (congregation laughs appreciatively) But I thought, why not? Even though I'm an outsider who can't take communion, I find it easy to think about its meaning in a general way; like if you believe that there is some sort of generative superlayer to reality, which I'm learning that I kind of do, and if you think everything natural manifests from that, then it's not so hard to think that food is divine. And I mean food is divine, it's what perpetuates life. We SHOULD be treating food with reverence and respect, whether you believe in a spiritual lifeforce or only a chemical one. I'm often surprised that Christians are not hardcore ecologists by nature, if you believe that everything comes from God for humanity to steward, you should have a powerful feeling for your environment--but for whatever reason this is not a standard part of the package. After the park part we processed down the street, which had been closed off for the occasion, to St. Mary Star of the Sea (even more Dagonesque!), and this part was totally amazing. The church was packed to the gills with people from all different parishes and the organist was playing some absolutely demonic music that I had never heard the likes of. When the people sang, the whole place vibrated powerfully, and in a moment of silence an old italian lady started praying at the top of her lungs, startling everyone. It was an exciting thing to get caught up in.

After that my husband and I went to a bar around the corner to stalk the building owner, who is renting a couple of apartments on the upper floors. Unfortunately he wasn't around but we got sucked into a conversation with a local who didn't look like he would want anything to do with the likes of us, a gruff older Brooklynite who engaged us about our weird shared neighborhood for much longer than I meant to stay. I tried to take it as a good sign, like maybe we could put our "vibes" on the place by integrating with the regulars, at the same time that our associates have been recommending us to the owner as good future tenants. It would be amazing if we got in there, we could move almost our whole apartment by hand.

Then it was time to go to the film festival. The screenings I saw the day before were in a theater that is hip but not particularly luxe, which made me feel pretty relaxed about what I was going to have to do--but these screenings were in a VERY nice theater, the lines were huge and everyone was dressed to the nines, and I started to freak out a little bit. The staff rushed me through my instructions with such intensity, I was just praying I actually understood it all. One of the actors on my panel is this cult film goddess who is a terrific person in addition to being shockingly beautiful, and she showed up in this like fairy tale dress that accentuated her otherworldliness to absolutely ridiculous heights. She introduced herself to me and I just started blathering; I'm not attracted to women but she's so beautiful it's insane, it almost qualifies as a deformity. Looking into her face is just confusing. Many other people there were startlingly beautiful. The director of the movie I was there for is someone I had seen on screen many times, and I always perceived him to be kind of an ordinary nerd, but in person he was enormously charismatic and sharply dressed and groomed and he had fully transformed into fucking George Clooney or something, I almost wasn't sure I had the right guy.

I also saw two other actresses-of-a-certain-age who looked so much better standing in front of me than they did in the movies I'd just seen them in, I honestly felt like I was tripping on acid. One of them was Alicia Silverstone, who sat in front of me at a different screening; she wore a highly reflective plastic tube dress and stiletto heels that were almost entirely transparent, and she had to be helped around by her entourage. The aforementioned actress I would be interviewing was also having a lot of trouble locomoting in her amazing Glenda the Good Witch getup, she too needed to be attended by aides. It occurred to me that maybe when your career is (in part) being extremely glamorous, you have to do these things that cripple you, you have to be strapped into these hobbling appliances and carried around to formal appearances. There is something fascinatingly morbid about this.

My panel was really great. I knew I was killing it. All my jokes landed with the audience and I got the film cast and crew in a really good place right away. It was late on the Sunday, the last screening of the festival, and everyone on and off the stage was exhausted until I wound them all up, which I consider a significant personal achievement. Everyone thanked me in this moving way and some stranger on the street told me I did a good job. I was aware that this was my introduction to quite a number of people, including several recognizably established folks who have certainly been vaguely aware of who I am and what I do, but now they've all seen me at full power and I could tell they'll remember it.

When photos of the event started turning up, that was NOT so thrilling. I was a complete mess and I didn't even know it until it was too late. It's probably GOOD that I didn't realize it earlier, when I couldn't have done anything about it. I found myself looking in the mirror at home, where things seem not so bad somehow, and trying to match what I saw there to the person that everyone's camera saw. It was pretty shocking, but I have to say that it wasn't a complete downer. I had the feeling that I can see what I need to do, and that is positive in and of itself. I might not have even realized the degree to which I need to take better care of myself if this hadn't happened, at least not for a while. Right now everything needs to change. My house needs to change, my state of employment needs to change, my body needs to change. If I can treat these things like hobbies, like projects I am authoring, rather than like obligations or fuckups I need to fix, then my chances of success are strong.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[thegatheredwheat]

King Canute was weary hearted; he had reigned for years a score, Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more; And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore.

'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate, Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks and goldsticks great, Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages,—all the officers of state.

Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose to pause, If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers dropped their jaws; If to laugh the king was minded, out they burst in loud hee-haws.

But that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old and young: Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his favorite gleemen sung, Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he bade her hold her tongue.

"Something ails my gracious master," cried the Keeper of the Seal. "Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served to dinner, or the veal?" "Psha!" exclaimed the angry monarch, "Keeper, 'tis not that I feel.

"'Tis the HEART, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest impair: Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no care? Oh, I'm sick, and tired, and weary."—Some one cried, "The King's arm-chair!"

Then towards the lackeys turning, quick my Lord the Keeper nodded, Straight the King's great chair was brought him, by two footmen able-bodied; Languidly he sank into it: it was comfortably wadded.

"Leading on my fierce companions," cried he, "over storm and brine, I have fought and I have conquered! Where was glory like to mine?" Loudly all the courtiers echoed: "Where is glory like to thine?"

"What avail me all my kingdoms? Weary am I now and old; Those fair sons I have begotten, long to see me dead and cold; Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the silent mould!

"Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent! at my bosom tears and bites; Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all the lights; Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed at nights.

"Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious fires; Mothers weeping, virgins screaming vainly for their slaughtered sires.—" Such a tender conscience," cries the Bishop, "every one admires.

"But for such unpleasant bygones, cease, my gracious lord, to search, They're forgotten and forgiven by our Holy Mother Church; Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the lurch.

"Look! the land is crowned with minsters, which your Grace's bounty raised; Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven are daily praised: YOU, my lord, to think of dying? on my conscience I'm amazed!"

"Nay, I feel," replied King Canute, "that my end is drawing near." "Don't say so," exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear). "Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this fifty year."

"Live these fifty years!" the Bishop roared, with actions made to suit. "Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute! Men have lived a thousand years, and sure his Majesty will do't.

"Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela, Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn't the King as well as they?" "Fervently," exclaimed the Keeper, "fervently I trust he may."

"HE to die?" resumed the Bishop. He a mortal like to US? Death was not for him intended, though communis omnibus: Keeper, you are irreligious, for to talk and cavil thus.

"With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor can compete, Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet; Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness think it meet.

"Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill, And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still? So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will."

"Might I stay the sun above us, good sir Bishop?" Canute cried; "Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride? If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command the tide.

"Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?" Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, "Land and sea, my lord, are thine." Canute turned towards the ocean—"Back!" he said, "thou foaming brine.

"From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat; Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat: Ocean, be thou still! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet!"

But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar, And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore; Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the king and courtiers bore.

And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay, But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey: And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day. King Canute is dead and gone: Parasites exist alway.

— William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863)

[beardedmrbean]

Three siblings found dead at a house in Bristol died of knife injuries, police have revealed.

Seven-year-old Fares Bash, three-year-old Joury Bash and nine-month-old Mohammed Bash were found dead at a property in the Sea Mills area of the city on Sunday.

Police were called to their semi-detached house in Blaise Walk at around 12.40am on Sunday after a member of the public called with concerns for their welfare.

A 42-year-old woman was arrested at the scene and is being treated in hospital for non-life-threatening injuries, Avon and Somerset Police said.

The death of the three siblings has rocked the Sea Mills community, prompting the closure on Monday of the local primary school and playgroup.

The children were part of the city’s Sudanese community, whose members gathered at the Sea Mills Methodist Church throughout the day on Monday to support one another.

Salwa Bashar, who knew the family, said she felt various organisations, including the police, had let down the family, and the community wanted answers over how this happened.

She added: “I have known this family for over six years now. They are part of our community, they’re family friends.

“She and her husband are a very big part of our community, they were just lovely people and were always smiling. She’s very friendly and he’s also really friendly.

“I was shocked – I didn’t want to believe it, I didn’t want it to be true. I was, I still am in shock. I was really really sad, I still am very sad.

“The Sudanese community, not just in Bristol but across the UK, are shocked as well.”

Forensics officers were seen walking in and out of the property.

David Richards, a neighbour, said he had heard loud banging noises but was unable to see anything when he went to check.

“The next day we found out all this had happened,” he said. “We have never had this sort of thing down here before, it’s usually a very quiet area. It’s unusual.”

Chief Inspector Vicks Hayward-Melen of Avon and Somerset Police said: “The amount of time we can legally keep a person in custody does not start until they are brought into a police station, so will not include any periods of time spent in hospital.

“Our investigation, led by the major crime investigation team, is progressing at pace and we’re carrying out comprehensive inquiries to establish the events which led to this devastating loss of life.

“The main cordons put in place in Blaise Walk have been lifted and we would like to take this opportunity to thank local residents for their patience and support while we carried out a thorough investigation at the scene.”

She said police believe this to be an isolated incident, with no risk to the wider community.

“The death of such young children is a great shock to the whole community and this incident has had a profound and deep impact on all of us in the police,” she said.

“We’ll be making sure all those involved in the response and the subsequent investigation are given any welfare support they may need.”

Avon and Somerset Police have referred themselves to the Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) watchdog over prior contact with the family.

An IOPC spokesperson said on Monday: “We have requested a paper referral with further information about the prior contact and once received, we will assess it to determine whether further action is required from us.”

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Daniel Camargo Barbosa

Camargo's mother died when he was a little boy and his father was overbearing and emotionally distant. He was raised by an abusive stepmother, who punished him and sometimes dressed him in girls clothing, making him a victim of ridicule in front of his peers.

Camargo had a de facto union with a woman named Alcira and had two children with her. He fell in love with another woman, Esperanza, age 28 whom he planned to marry, but then found out that she was not a virgin. This became a deep root of Camargo's fixations, and he and Esperanza formed an agreement that he would stay with her if she aided him in finding other virgin girls to have sex with.

This began a period of their partnership in crime. Esperanza was Camargo's accomplice, luring young girls to an apartment under false pretenses and then drugging them with sodium seconal sleeping pills so that Camargo could rape them. Camargo committed five rapes in this way, but did not kill any of the girls. The fifth child that they abused in this way reported the crime, and both Camargo and Esperanza were arrested and taken to separate prisons. Camargo was convicted of sexual assault in Colombia on April 10, 1964.

A judge sentenced Camargo to three years in prison, and Camargo was initially grateful for the perceived leniency of the judge, swearing to repent and mend his ways. However, a new judge was given precedence over the case and Camargo was sentenced to eight years in prison. This provoked Carmgo to rebellious anger. He served his full sentence, and was released.

In 1973 he was arrested in Brazil for being undocumented. Due to a delay in sending Camargos criminals records from Colombia he was deported and released with his false identity. When he returned to Colombia he took up a job as a street vendor in Barranquilla selling television monitors. One day when passing by a school he kidnapped a nine-year-old girl, raping her and murdering her so that she could not inform the police like his previous victim had. This was his first assault involving murder.

Camargo was arrested on May 3, 1974 in Barranquilla, Colombia when he returned to the scene of the crime to recover the television screens that he had forgotten beside the victim. Even though it is believed that he raped and killed more than 80 girls in Colombia, Camargo was imprisoned in Colombia after being convicted of raping and killing a nine-year-old girl. He was initially sentenced to 30 years in prison, but this sentence was reduced to 25 years, and he was interned in the prison on the island of Gorgona, Colombia on December 24, 1977.

In November 1984 Camargo escaped from Gorgona in a primitive boat after having carefully studied the ocean currents. The authorities assumed that he died at sea and the press reported that he had been eaten by sharks.

He eventually arrived in Quito, Ecuador. He then traveled by bus to Guayaquil on 5 or 6 December, 1984. On December 18 he abducted a nine-year-old girl from the city of Quevedo, in the province of Los Ríos Ecuador. The next day a 10-year-old girl also disappeared.

From 1984 to 1986 Carmago committed a series of at least 54 rapes and murders in Guayaquil. The police at first believed that all the deaths were the work of a gang, not understanding that one man could have killed so many. Camargo slept on the streets, and lived off of the money he could gain by reselling ballpoint pens in the streets. Occasionally he supplemented his income by selling clothing or small valuables belonging to his victims.

Camargo selected helpless, young, lower-class girls in search of work and approached them, pretending to be a foreigner who needed to find a Protestant pastor in a church on the outskirts of town. He explained that he had to deliver a large sum of money, which he showed them as proof, and he offered them a reward if they would accompany him to show him the way. He pretended that he was a stranger to the area, and hinted at the possibility of the girls getting a job at the factory. No one was suspicious of an older man accompanying a girl or young woman who could be his granddaughter. Carmago would then enter into the woods, claiming to be looking for a shortcut in order to avoid arousing suspicion in his victims. If the girls grew suspicious and drew back, he did not prevent them from leaving. Camargo raped his victims before strangling them, sometimes stabbing them when they resisted. After his victims were dead he left their bodies in the forest to be picked clean by scavengers.

Camargo was arrested by two policemen in Quito on 26 February 1986 only a few minutes after he had murdered a 9-year-old girl named Elizabeth. The policemen were on patrol and approached him at the height of the avenue Los Granados, thinking that he was acting suspicious. They were surprised to find that he was carrying with him a bag containing the bloody clothes of his latest victim, and a copy of "Crime and Punishment" by Dostoyevsky.

He was taken into custody and later moved to Guayaquil for identification. When he was arrested he gave a false name, Manuel Bulgarin Solis, but he was later identified by one of his rape victims who escaped.

Daniel Camargo very calmly confessed to killing 71 girls in Ecuador since escaping from the Colombian prison. He led authorities to the dumping grounds of those victims whose bodies had not yet been recovered. The bodies had been dismembered. While he told the Ecuadorean authorities of the locations of the bodies and how the sadistic crimes were committed, he showed no feelings of remorse. After raping his victims, he had hacked, slashed and crushed the girls with a machete. He gave a cynical explanation for choosing children. He wanted virgins "because they cried"; this apparently gave him greater satisfaction.

According to Camargo, he killed because he wanted revenge on woman's unfaithfulness. He hated them for not being what women are supposed to be. His victims were all virgins.

It was reported that in November 1994, he was murdered in prison by Luis Masache Narvaez, the cousin of one of his victims.

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Gael Córdova Species: Werewolf Occupation: Chemistry Professor Age: 41 Years Old Played By: Random Face Claim: Oscar Isaac

"Once you hear the lie enough times, you start to accept it as truth."

TW: Alcoholism, drug & substance abuse

You know the type of person that succeeds in life without really trying? 

That was Gael. Two incredibly loving parents and square in the middle of five children saw a lot of familial chaos in his household growing up but he loved it. He was there for the energy, the vivacity, the potential. As the only son amongst a sea of daughters, he never minded being a middle child because it didn't really apply to him - he was special regardless. A problem-solver, Gael learned real quick that he needed to defend himself and his family when things got rough and he took it upon himself to study martial arts, thinking it was the most logical solution and no one could tell him otherwise.

Intellectually gifted and with a proclivity of picking things up naturally, school was a breeze and that meant he could further his studies into Roman Catholicism - as a child, when he wasn’t at school or with friends, he was at the Parish. He involved himself with the church and held an excellent relationship with everyone there, including the big man himself, or so he liked to believe. And so began his conflicted belief system - logic, science, and hard evidence was on one side while spirituality flowed deeply through him on the other, which he considered gave him a more ‘enlightened’ worldview: what couldn’t be solved with logic could possibly be explained as divine blessing or damnation, though that second part wasn’t really a preference over hard facts.

Even then, with direction, he found himself bored with possibilities of what he could be when he grew up; where was the challenge? It wasn't until he learned that he made a hobby out of solving chemical equations in his head that he decided that perhaps chemistry and physics would be a good venture. Seemed obvious. From there he fell into a routine - school, then visiting the Parish, then martial arts in the evenings, keeping both his mind and body physically fit and ready to take on the world, which was his oyster at the rate he was going.

His jovial attitude and natural talents carried him through high school and eventually college - and that was a new door he had available to open. The ‘party animal’ lifestyle. Welllll he was doing great in school already and what else was he gonna do, NOT take the challenges that were given to him? A new routine was formed - days were full of study but the weekends (and even some weeknights) were a mad free for all as he consumed anything there was to consume; beer, legal substances, illegal substances, dangerous combinations of everything to feel a challenge while he was an undergraduate. A new form of obsession rose during those nights, chipping away at the foundation of his religious aspect and paving the way for addiction and alcoholism - but he could stop whenever he wanted and no one could tell him otherwise.

He still graduated Cum Laude, didn’t he? So what if he got blackout drunk on the weekends, he still showed up and did the work and busted his ass (or so that’s what people who struggled would say) to get to where he wanted to be, right? So what if that one time about… nine months ago he went out to party in the woods and next thing he knew he was in the hospital feeling like he got hit by a train with a big animal bite and exposed spine? He probably got into a fistfight with a bear, it happens. So what if he kept getting blackout drunk or high and had a trip and woke up with mangled animals around him and he’s naked and covered in blood, again with that ‘being straightened by a rack’ feel in his bones? Sounds like a fun time… right?

Gael was sure that this had a logical explanation. He was… positive. He was the golden boy; he could succeed without really trying. Hard science would bail him out. Maybe he should’ve prayed more. So he did. Back to the Parish for him, doing his best to sober up. No more drugs at all, only drinking on the weekends with a glass of wine a day otherwise. Don’t ask about the binges he goes on around the full moon or why he doesn’t show up for class the day after, looking like death if he leaves his house. He was intelligent, he was religious; everything had a logical or spiritual explanation. He was never faced with a challenge that he couldn’t overcome.

He wasn’t hurting anybody.

There was nothing wrong with him.

And no one could tell him otherwise.

Character Facts:

Personality: Obsessive, stubborn, fun-loving, intelligent, temperamental, sarcastic, zealous

As his family immigrated from Guatemala, he's fluent in both English and Spanish. He also took Latin for several years.

He still actively practices martial arts and can/will hold his own in a fistfight. It's also a way for him to calm down and redirect his energy, pain and rage when he's struggling around the full moon.

Gael's cynicism and vehement denial of any possibility that he's a werewolf extends to others, as well. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't believe in any of it and doesn't take anyone's word on anything; even if irrefutable evidence is presented, he assumes everyone's just trying to make him look foolish.

While he's no stranger to the drinking party, enjoys the night life and he's physically capable of fighting, he's also a closet geek and reads often. His favorite book series is Lord of the Rings.

Though he teaches chemistry at a college level, nuclear physics and engineering is still his passion.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!