#which is — I assume— with decency and dignity and good faith

[dykeogenes]

besties idc how cringe you think it is, at the end of the day those “instagram poets” are sharing their work and expressing themselves while you make fun of them for daring to make the wrong kind of art, or for making it wrong. & the idea of a world where the basic human desire to create and share stories has a skill prerequisite sounds pretty pathetic to me.

[beccarooni]

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

[josefavomjaaga]

Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 2, part 2

However, the British Congress Legation also used language very unfavourable to the King of Naples. When in the last days of September the Duke of Campochiaro appeared before Castlereagh to explain to him that "his monarch was prepared to let his troops clear all land beyond the borders of his kingdom, even the Marches promised to him by Austria, but that he would defend Naples itself to the last drop of blood, that he had at his command an armed force of 80,000 men, not counting the militia", the Lord replied evasively: "if King Joachim had intervened in earnest during the last war, his cause would have been different; but his dithering and vacillation had put all claims in suspense, and left open a question now to be decided solely from the standpoint of high policy; besides, he could only advise the King to keep as quiet as possible in the meantime, especially not to take any action against Sicily; any hostility on that side would be regarded by England as a case of war, and she would use all her strength against it" [Footnote 1]. The Duke of Wellington, then accredited to the court of Louis XVIII, and entirely drawn into its interests, most eagerly calculated where the troops could be obtained for a crusade against Naples: 10,000 Sicilians 10,000 Spaniards 12,000 Portuguese 15 to 20,000 from the British garrisons in the Mediterranean, "with such a force the enterprise might be ventured" [Footnote 2]. A pamphlet that appeared in London at this time defending Murat's claims seems to have made little impression in congressional circles.

One of the most ardent advocates in favour of the plan to expel the King of Naples was the representative of Great Britain in Palermo, who also received secret instructions from Castlereagh in the autumn of 1814, no doubt in accordance with Wellington's designs, to make enquiries about Murat's forces and about the mood prevailing in Naples on behalf of the Bourbons. A'Court's despatches spoke only of the "usurper" who should no longer be left on the throne, even though the envoy could not conceal the fact that "it would not be easy to give the matter a turn such that the dignity and faithfulness of the British Cabinet would not suffer shipwreck". Incidentally, it was thought in Palermo that nothing could be risked by an enterprise against Murat; every day, Ferdinand's ministers claimed, they received reports from the mainland saying that the impatience to see the ancestral king in possession of the country again could hardly be restrained. A'Court was furious when he heard that the British Consul Fagan, sent to Naples by Lord Bentinck, had assumed the position of Consul-General there, had gained admittance to the court, exchanged notes with the Minister Gallo, expressing a lively desire to strengthen the good understanding between the government of England and His Majesty's Majesty in Naples, and so on. He denounced him to Lord Castlereagh and at the same time recalled him to his former post in Palermo.

Already in the summer Castlereagh must already have uttered observations like the one mentioned earlier against King Joachim's representatives, which prompted the latter to draw up a memorandum on his attitude in the last campaign and to send it to the British First Secretary of State. This did little to improve his case. For Castlereagh obtained Nugent's and Bentinck's comments on the document, and each of them expressed himself more unfavourably about Murat than the other. "Once the allies had entered into certain obligations," the imperial general said, "they were obliged to fulfil them; but they were also relieved of all further considerations against Murat if he, for his part, had not observed them". Nugent now went through the Neapolitan account of the campaign of last spring point by point and everywhere came to the conclusion that King Joachim, by his strategic intervention, had not benefited but only harmed the allies in Upper Italy: "If the Neapolitan army had not moved, two Austrian battalions and a few squadrons would have sufficed to sweep the country clean, and if Murat, as he is pleased to claim, has conquered the country as far as the Po with his troops, this has been done at our expense, not that of our enemy".

Lord William considered the political rather than the military side, but came to similar conclusions as did the Austrian count. "Murat's policy," was Bentinck's brief opinion, "was calculated to save his crown, and so he always followed whoever seemed to emerge victorious from the struggle. At his court, as in his army, there were two parties at feud with each other and fighting for influence with him, a French and a Neapolitan one; he himself always remained a Frenchman at heart; he was of no use to the allies as a friend and, if fortune had turned his back on us, would have hastened our downfall as an enemy. Between the French and Neapolitan armies throughout the campaign there was obvious understanding; no hostile act was undertaken by either side against the other. A large part of the Neapolitan officers were burning with desire to compete with the French, but the King carefully avoided this. In the affair at Parma, March 6 to 8, the corps of General Nugent was, so to speak, sacrificed by Murat, and it has been said that a number of Neapolitan generals, because of the stain which this has placed on their militaristic character, have signed a letter to Murat" [Footnote 3].

To tell the truth, Murat's more than lax conduct of war in the last campaign was by no means the reason why people were speaking out against him more and more decidedly: it only offered a welcome excuse to be now able to turn away from him with decency, after he had been approached so often in the past. Even if, following the advice of his wise wife, he had been zealous in the interests of the Allies, he would not have been able to maintain the position he actually occupied. It must also be admitted that the "victrix causa", the cause which, after a quarter of a century of humiliations, defeats and losses of all kinds, was finally helped to victory, could have resulted in nothing else than Murat's removal from the throne, which he, too, owed only to the defeats and losses of his opponents at the time. Louis XVIII had hit the nail on the head when he exclaimed: "How can one tolerate a small usurpation after having put an end to a great one?

---

Footnote 1) Castlereagh to A’Court, Vienna October 2, 1814 X (III 2) p. 145 f.

Footnote 2) Wellington to Castlereagh September 12 and to Liverpool, December 25 1814, ibit, p.114 f., 226 — 228. „I concur very much in opinion with the King“, he writes to the First Lord of the Treasury, „that the chances of disturbance, particularly in this country, are very much increased by leaving Murat on the throne of Naples. If he were gone, Bonaparte in Elba would not be an object of great dread“. However, he asked the Minister of Foreign Affairs to not reveal anything about the entire plan for the time being: "The King is anxious that nothing should be said upon the subject at Vienna, until I shall receive an answer from England". In fact, the reply did not actually take the form the bellicose Duke had hoped for. Lord Liverpool agreed with Wellington completely on the main point; only, he said (Bath, 1 January 1815), it was necessary to wait for the time: "The only point which I wish to impress upon you is the absolute impossibility, in the present state of the circumstances and feelings in this country, of our engaging in military operations for the purpose of expelling Murat". Incidentally, in the unfavourable sentiment against Joachim, as in any question of British policy, there were also very material motives at play: "Si cette péninsule retombe dans les mains de la famille Buonaparte, le commerce anglais va à être gêné de nouveau dans cette péninsule, et certainement elle y tombera si de mesures rigoureuses et l'expulsion de Murat de l'Italie ne préviennent ce malheur"; Le Chevalier T. (Tinseau?) to Castlereagh 29 Nov. 1814; ibit p. 211, 243 f.

Footnote 3) Schöll, Recueil VI S. 364—394: Mémoire historique sur la conduite politique et militaire de S. M. le Roi de Naples etc.; S. 395—419 : Observations par le général comte Nugent etc.; S. 435—450: Dépêche de Lord William Bentinck au vicomte Castlereagh en date de Florence le 7 janvier 1815. The first two pieces are undated, but fall into the year 1814, and the memorandum into midsummer, since Castlereagh sent it to Count Bathurst on 6 September.

----

Just to add to this: Colonel Maceroni in his memoirs, as we have seen, had accused Eugène of having informed Austrian commander Bellegarde about the secret negotiations with Murat. This was obviously unnecessary, as Mier’s letters prove the Austrians to be very aware of what was going on anyway. But talked about it he surely had, as even in Paris the British had already taken note:

Lord Castlereagh to Lord Bathurst. Paris, May 3, 1814.

My Lord, I have delayed transmitting the enclosed correspondence for a few days, in the hope that I might be enabled to ascertain whether the Viceroy's assertions of Murat's treachery were supported by any documents on which the Allies could justify a change of policy towards him ; but none have as yet been received : I shall, however, take steps to ascertain the fact. The Austrian Government have no other reluctance on this point than what good faith imposes. As soon as I can learn anything further on this subject, your lordship shall hear from me.

I have, &c.,

CASTLEREAGH.

PS. Since this despatch was closed, I have received despatches from Sir R. Wilson, which throw further light upon Murat's conduct.

(taken from: »Memoirs and Correspondence of Viscount Castlereagh«, Volume X)

During that time, Eugène was still on his way to Munich; so he must have opened up quite a bit to Bellegarde before, when handing over Upper Italy to him. One can assume both commanders agreed heartily in their dislike for poor Murat.

(On a side note: As for the opinion of General Nugent cited above, I’ve recently come across an account of the battle of Raab which this gentleman apparently managed to loose singlehandedly. Not sure I’d put too much faith in his view of military matters.)

[ohfreckle]

fic: make no bones (Malec; explicit)

Written for the @malec-springtime-exchange,  posting it here for completeness’ sake. My giftee was @icymalec.

After a long and trying day, all Magnus wants is a shower and a cocktail or three. There's only one problem: his shower is broken and the caretaker in his building is a terrible slacker.

Read on AO3

Magnus steps out of the elevator, chin up and eyes straight ahead, keeping his strides brisk and purposeful. Poise and excellent style is pretty much everything he’s got left today.

He lost his faith in his abilities around noon, right after his meeting, and what little dignity he still had left at three in the afternoon when a car next to him sped through the only puddle within eyesight. The new plum shirt he bought only yesterday as a little confidence boost is ruined, and so is Magnus' mood.

There’s just no good left in the world. Lies, lies everywhere.

All those years Magnus thought finding a publisher for his book would solve all his problems and save him from working another mind-numbingly tedious job to make ends meet. He’s not waiting tables anymore, that much is true. But nobody told him that the roaring success of his debut novel would be the beginning of more problems than even a crime novel writer can handle.

Expectations have skyrocketed since his sophomore novel surpassed the success of his first book, and in direct proportion to it has Magnus' anxiety. Because he has nothing. Nothing worthwhile at least, according to his editor. In all fairness, this is the reason Magnus has dreaded today’s meeting for days. Aline didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know already, but after slogging through the first draft for months, Magnus had hoped that it wasn’t all bad.

“Brilliant writing, but this plot twist at the end is garbage. It ruins all your hard work in the first half of the script.” Magnus takes everything back he ever said about appreciating Aline’s honesty.

So, yes, poise and a fast-approaching deadline are all he’s got today. But salvation lies right ahead behind the door of his apartment. Just a few more steps and Magnus can get out of these soaked clothes, have a hot shower and relax with a cocktail or three.

There’s only one problem: he can’t.

The tool belt in front of apartment PH3 is an unpleasant reminder that he hasn’t taken a hot shower in two days. Magnus isn’t opposed to cold showers per se, but there are a time and place for everything, and he hasn’t needed or wanted one in as long as he can remember. He’d rather have, or even better, share a hot shower.

Said tool belt is attached to a ridiculously tall man poking at the door lock under the watchful eyes of Magnus’ neighbor Isabelle. Maybe luck didn’t wholly desert Magnus after all and the rest of this awful day is salvageable.

“Hi, Isabelle,” Magnus greets, mustering a smile for her. She moved in a couple of weeks ago, so he doesn’t know her well, but judging by their brief talks in the hallway she seems to be a lovely woman. There’s no need to forget his manners just because he’s having an awful day.

The caretaker though is a different matter. “You,” Magnus says, and a little louder when that fails to provoke a response, “Mister…I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Huh?”

“Your name?” Magnus repeats, enunciating carefully and slow, and okay, maybe also a little catty, but he really wants that hot shower.

At least Mister Tall and Grumpy has the decency to turn and look at Magnus while he’s addressing him. “It’s Alec.”

“Okay, Alec with no last name, I’m Magnus Bane. If you can make the time to do your job, the hot water knob in my shower is still broken. Which you would know if you listened to your voicemail because I left already four messages.”

“What?”

Lord, give him strength. Where does this guy take the nerve to frown at Magnus as if he’s the one who’s slacking on his job? It’s quite the handsome frown, but most of all it’s incredibly rude, and Magnus doesn’t have time for this.

“Look, I’m wet and cold, and if you don’t want me to report you the owner of the building, you’ll fix that knob in the next hour.”

“I’m not—“ Alec with no last name starts, but one glare from Isabelle is enough for him to snap his mouth shut. If this is the way to have things fixed around here, maybe Magnus should take lessons from her. That glare is vicious.

“Don’t worry, Magnus, he will fix it,” Izzy says with a wide smile that makes Magnus absurdly grateful it isn’t directed at him, so he can’t exactly begrudge Alec the incredulous look that flickers over his face. “I’ll send him over as soon as he’s done here.” Izzy’s features soften as soon she isn’t addressing their tardy caretaker. “You should get out of these wet clothes.”

Back in his own apartment, Magnus does just that, peeling the wet shirt that clings uncomfortably to his skin over his head as soon as he closes the door behind him. He should just throw it into the trash, but it is a nice shirt, so in the dry cleaning basket it goes.

By the time Magnus has changed into worn jeans and a silky shirt he doesn’t bother to button he’s beginning to feel human again. He should go and sort through the notes from his meeting, get a head start on rewriting, but there’s no use immersing himself into work when he knows he’ll get interrupted right in the middle of it. Assumed that the caretaker finally shows up, but after that intense glare from Isabelle, that’s a given.

Just as Magnus debates whether it’s too early to start on those cocktails, the doorbell rings, right on cue. Definitely time for a cocktail, then. He’s waited three days, Alec with no last name can wait for two minutes.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d actually find your way here,” Magnus greets when he opens the door, but the snark dies on his tongue, and his mouth goes dry despite the drink in his hand.

He’d been preoccupied earlier, but how on earth did he miss how attractive Alec is? He’s even taller than Magnus, his broad shoulders and chest tapering into leans hips and endless legs. Magnus loves a strong man; how is he supposed to resist one as gorgeous as Alec? Damn, Magnus is a writer, gorgeous doesn’t do those hazel eyes and those generous lips justice, but right now he can’t even remember his own name.

“Seen enough to let me fix that knob for you?” Alec smirks, wide and lazy as if he can read what’s going on in Magnus’ head. Considering that Magnus is all but drooling over him, he probably can.

Devastating, that’s the word Magnus is searching for. Devastatingly handsome.

“Of course,” he answers, stepping aside and motioning for Alec to come in. “My knob is all yours.”

There’s a reason Aline slashes most of his puns with a red marker. Lucky for Magnus Alec doesn’t seem to mind and lifts merely a brow, silently asking really before he follows Magnus to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier,” Magnus sighs and finds that it’s mostly true. “I had a long and trying day, but that’s no excuse to snap at you like that. I wouldn’t actually report you to your employer, even if your work ethic leaves much to be desired.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bane, that guy really is a stick in the mud.” Alec sounds relieved and flashes Magnus a quick smile. “He’s so hung up on rules, he drives everyone mad.”

“Please, just Magnus. You know what they say about punctuality being a virtue? Maybe you should try it some time.”

“Oh, don’t worry; usually I always come on time,” Alec says, winking when he catches Magnus lingering on his low-slung tool belt for a second too long.

Devastatingly handsome and a tease. Magnus is so, so fucked.

“Well, here’s the culprit. Worked perfectly well one day, and then it didn’t.” Magnus changes the topic with as much dignity as he can, clearing his throat to hide how affected he is. He’s been around the block more than he cares to admit, but he’s never felt such an instant, gut-wrenching attraction.

“This is an old building, things get stuck all the time, especially with these old faucets. Nothing a little lube can’t fix.” Alec tries to turn the knob, his biceps bulging with the effort, but it doesn’t budge. He nods, apparently satisfied with his diagnosis. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Magnus watches him leave and leans back against the wall, sorely tempted to slide down onto the floor and just breathe for a minute.

Who is this man and who plucked him right out of Magnus’ dirtiest fantasies?

He barely has time to finish that thought when Alec reappears with an old oil can dangling between his fingers. “Where did you get that so quickly?” Magnus asks.

“From Izzy. I needed it for the lock and left it there.”

Is it common practice for the caretaker to be on a first name basis with all the tenants? Or just the pretty, special ones? Every plumber cliche known to man crosses Magnus' mind, leaving him more than a little flustered. Well, he can’t exactly blame Izzy if she has her eyes set on Alec, because Magnus wants to climb that like a tree himself. But then, Magnus himself had insisted on being called by his first name. Time to get his mind out of the gutter.

However well that resolution is intended, it lasts for all but ten seconds.

The soft simmer of arousal in Magnus’ gut flares into the familiar hot squeeze of anticipation the moment Alec goes to work. Magnus can’t help but stare, drinks in the bulging muscles in Alec’s arms and thighs as he throws his weight against the stubborn fitting, his gaze following Alec’s hand as he reaches down and plucks another wrench from his tool belt, adjusting the low-slung strap over a very impressive bulge.

If there was any doubt whether the attraction was mutual, there’s his answer.

Has it been there all this time while Magnus was busy fantasizing about those legs, how badly he wants to feel them wrapped around his hips? He’s not an expert on home improvement, or he would have fixed the problem days ago, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t take this much force to make a stuck knob operating smoothly. Not that Magnus is complaining, not when Alec’s shirt rides up and exposes a pair of dimples on his lower back that Magnus can’t wait to taste.

Because after this particular brand of foreplay there’s no chance in hell he won’t.

“Magnus?”

“Yes, Alexander?” Magnus blinks at Alec whose smirk is way too smug, one thumb hooked into his thrice-damned belt. It’s apparently not the first time he tried to get Magnus’ attention.

“It’s fixed,” Alec says, tilting his head towards the shower fitting. “And it’s Alec, nobody calls me Alexander.”

“Which is a crying shame. I like how it sounds. Alexander,” Magnus drawls, savoring the name on his tongue like sweet, forbidden fruit. Judging by the way Alec’s eyes darken, Magnus isn’t the only one who enjoys it.

“Something else you need me to fix? Just, you know, since I’m already here.”

Alec’s eyes are firmly fixed on Magnus’ lips. Magnus is sure they aren’t talking about sanitary facilities anymore, but just to see who breaks first he chokes out the first answer that comes to mind. “In the kitchen, right this way.”

“Like I said, it’s an old building,” Alec says, trailing after Magnus and rapping a knuckle against the wall behind the kitchen counter. “Teaches a guy pretty fast how to lay pipe.”

“Did you just—“

That’s it. Nobody is allowed to berate Magnus for his puns ever again.

“There’s nothing wrong with the kitchen, is it?” Alec asks, low and rough, his eyes crinkling at corner.

“God, no!”

Magnus crushes their mouths together, groaning when Alec immediately opens up for him. The kiss is hard and messy, no finesse, just pure heat and urgent need. Alec sucks on Magnus’ tongue and slides a hand into Magnus’ hair, keeping him firmly in place where he wants him while Magnus pushes into his space even harder, hauling Alec closer with an arm around his shoulder and all the considerable strength he can muster.

Alec parts his legs for Magnus’ thigh without hesitation, fingers tightening in Magnus’ hair. His hunger for Magnus is brazen, utterly intoxicating.

Palming Alec’s cheek, Magnus tilts his head so he can lick even deeper into Alec’s mouth, wanting, wanting, god, so much.

It’s Alec who breaks the kiss, gasping Magnus’ name while he sucks in a lungful of air and kisses a line from Magnus’ jaw to his neck, quick, biting kisses that threaten to make Magnus’ knees buckle.

Magnus thanks every deity known to man for the genius idea to leave his shirt unbuttoned when Alec’s warm hands slide around his naked waist and up his spine, pressing their fronts against each other, sparks of pleasure flaring along the line of his touch. A hot flush slips over Magnus’ face when he rocks his hips and Alec makes a soft, pained noise in the back of his throat. “Can I—“ Magnus rasps, his stomach clenching with how badly he needs to touch.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Alec pants, dragging his lips over Magnus’ throat.

Magnus already feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin, scrabbling at Alec’s fly before he even stops speaking. Getting Alec’s dick out would be a lot easier if his hands weren’t shaking so much, and Magnus needs all his remaining coherent thought to fumble open the tool belt, but some things are worth waiting for.

Like Alec’s cock. Fuck.

The first touch drags a hiss from Alec’s throat that quickly turns into a groan when Magnus feels out the shape of his cock. It’s a solid weight in his hand, not overly long but thick, the head smearing wetly against his palm. Images of dropping to his knees and sliding his lips down until they touch the neat thatch of hair at the base are flashing through Magnus’ mind, of his body struggling to accommodate that hefty girth.

“Fuck me!” It slips out utterly unbidden before can even think about it. Magnus isn’t sure what happened to wanting to feel Alec’s legs around his hips, but it’ll have to wait (hopefully) for another hour.

“Are you sure?” Alec’s eyes are almost entirely black, his lips slick and swollen from their kisses.

“Positive, now take that off,” Magnus pants, nodding towards Alec’s shirt. It takes all his willpower to let Alec’s cock slip from his palm, but now that he’s made up his mind, he can’t get out of his jeans soon enough.

Alec’s hand curls around his elbow, steadying Magnus as he wobbles in his haste to step out of his pants and boxers. Not bothering to undress himself Alec merely lifts his shirt over his head and hooks it behind his neck, and then his palms are warm against the back of Magnus’ thighs, lifting him off his feet and dropping him unceremoniously on the kitchen counter.

It’s not often that somebody manhandles Magnus like that, and it’s a good thing he’s already sitting, or his knees might buckle at that display of strength. He’s almost as tall as Alec and even broader, but with a chest like the one Alec just revealed it isn’t surprising that he can lift Magnus with barely any effort at all.

Something hot and brilliant courses through Magnus and he blindly leans forward, want kicking him low in the gut as scratches his fingers through the soft, dark hair on Alec’s chest, flicking a nipple and trailing them lower until he can feel the muscles in Alec’s stomach jump under his touch. “Bathroom, second door on the left,” he rasps, forcing the words out past the anticipation that makes it almost impossible to breathe.

In an effort to calm himself Magnus closes his eyes and leans back, swearing when he almost hits his head on the overhead cabinet. They should move this to the bedroom, that would be the sensible thing to do, but sensible flies out of the window the second Alec comes back with a bottle of lube and a handful of condoms, dropping them on the counter as he steps between the cradle of Magnus’ hips.

Catching Alec by the nape Magnus pulls him down into another kiss that shakes him to the core, lifting and spreading his legs until his feet are planted firmly on the counter. Alec pushes even closer, licks him open with slow strokes, his mouth hot and wet, distracting Magnus from how cold the lube is between his cheeks and the burn of Alec’s finger breaching him.

Magnus arches up into it, lifts his hips into Alec’s touch and keeps kissing him, his body thrumming with excitement and elation.

By the time Alec brushes three fingers over his hole before he pushes inside Magnus is a hot, writhing mess, crying out when Alec’s hand curls around his cock, warm, a little rough, palm twisting over the wet head on the upstroke.

Magnus has never really thought of himself as a spiritual person, but the way Alec’s fucking him open and working his cock, so good he wants to never close his eyes, wants the image of Alec between his thighs seared forever in his brain, well, that’s a revelation. He loves the sensation of strong fingers working him loose, stroking him from the inside in devastating circles, making his hips stutter with every mind-shattering touch.

“Magnus, are you—“ Alec’s voice is rough, barely more than a scrape, pushed past his gritted teeth.

“I’m ready, do it,” Magnus pants around another wave of heat that furls hot in his belly. Balancing precariously on the edge of the counter he can only watch as Alec opens the condom, rolls it down the hard length of his cock and slicks himself quickly, and then there’s the sharp burn of Alec’s cock pressing in, stretching him wide open. “Fuck, Alec,” Magnus gasps, blind and mindless with pleasure the moment Alec starts to move.

Alec fucks him just like he’s done everything else today, powerful and with single-minded intensity. Short, hard thrusts that have Magnus almost leap out of his skin and crying out with every wave of trembling arousal that roars through him, setting his whole body on fire.

The heat of Alec so deep inside pushes the breath out of Magnus every time Alec swivels his hips and hits him right where he needs it. A sharp ache is building in his balls, a tightly coiled pressure that’s rapidly unraveling with the feel of Alec moving within him. Magnus chokes out a thin, ragged noise, his whole body seizing up when he comes, a suspended moment of trembling anticipation before the burning ball of sensation in his gut finally explodes. He screws his eyes screw shut and comes with a pulsating rush all over his stomach, clenching down hard around Alec’s cock.

Later, much later, after they’ve made it to the bed, Magnus rolls onto his back with a tired sigh. Feeling Alec’s thighs around his hips was definitely worth the wait and all the aches he’ll feel tomorrow.

Any time now things should begin to feel awkward, he supposes. Magnus has had his fair share of one-night stands, but he’s always made sure not to bring them home.

But things are different with Alec. Nothing about lying next to him and listening to his breath evening out slowly feels awkward; it feels so right it’s almost frightening, like standing on the edge of a precipice and looking down, even more so when Alec closes the gap between them and laces their hands together.

Magnus heart stutters, a frisson of something warm and electric shivering down his spine. Squeezing Alec’s fingers, he rolls over to face Alec, struck once again by the visceral tug of attraction he hasn’t been able to shake off since Alec stepped through the door.

Fate must really love Magnus to send Alec his way, but it seems to be less kind to Alec. How does someone as attractive as Alec end up repairing doors and showers when he could be making a fortune with his face and body?

On second thought, the answer to that is easy. Magnus knows first-hand that sometimes life just sucks with no reason at all, and Alec doesn’t strike him as the type who’s vain enough or has the patience to dip his toes into the entertainment industry.

“I can hear you thinking over there. Come here,” Alec says, stretching like a giant cat before he rolls over, brushing a kiss against Magnus’ lips. “This should be weird, but somehow it isn’t.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?” Things are a little blurry around the edges with their faces so close, but not so much that Magnus misses Alec’s lips curling into a small smile. “Stay for dinner?” he blurts out, suddenly feeling bold, his mouth miles ahead of his brain.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Let me just—“ Alec frowns and sits up, struggling to free himself from the tangled sheets. “I need to call Izzy and cancel dinner with her. Not a hardship, I can tell you.”

“Izzy as in Isabelle?” My neighbor Isabelle?”

“Yeah, we have a standing dinner date on Wednesdays. Today is Izzy’s turn to cook, which is—“ Alec shudders and makes a face, scrunching his nose up in a way Magnus refuses to call adorable. “Let’s just say it’ll probably cost me at least two years of my life.”

“So, do you have dinner with all the residents here or just with the cute ones?” Even Magnus can hear he’s missing the nonchalance he’s aiming for by far. “Is that why only your grouchy old colleague comes over whenever I call?”

“Yeah, about that—“ Alec turns to face Magnus and bites his lip, his face flushing a delicate pink that even reaches the tips of his ears. Someone just got caught.

“What, you don’t think I’m cute enough for dinner dates?” Magnus quips, but it sounds lame even to his own ears. Something just shifted between them, but he doesn’t know Alec well enough to read him.

“No, no!” Alec says, his face falling when he sees the confusion Magnus can’t keep from flashing over his face. “It’s not—Izzy is my sister,” he confesses on a rush of breath, his eyes wide and uneasy.

“Okay, this is awkward, but it makes inviting you for dinner less awkward,” Magnus jokes half-heartedly. Neither of them is making sense. If Isabelle is Alec’s sister, why does Alec look as if he’s ready to jump out of his skin? And why can Isabelle afford the obscene rent for this place while her brother works as the caretaker in her building?

Except…

“Let me guess, you’re not the caretaker.” Now it’s Magnus’ turn to flush a bright red, his stomach churning with a dizzying rush of mortification. Watching people is part of his job; he should have known the moment he ogled Alec’s ass in those designer jeans.

“Yeah, no, I mean I’m not the caretaker.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how much of an ass was I?” Dragging the sheets over his face and never coming out again suddenly seems like a wise choice, but so far Alec isn’t running screaming, so Magnus just closes his eyes while he awaits the verdict.

“Off the charts.” The mattress dips and Alec presses warm lips against his cheeks, dragging them down Magnus’ jaw. “You’re lucky you’re so hot, or I would have thrown you out the second you started to give me grief.”

“Thrown me out! Who are you, the owner of this building? A bouncer? Isabelle’s hired muscle?” Magnus lifts his chin and angles his head for more soft kisses. Those siblings sure look badass, but somehow he doesn’t take them for the violent type, so he guesses he’s safe for now. Physically, he isn’t so sure about his heart.

“Owner,” Alec breathes into Magnus’ neck, nipping at the skin there when Magnus slides a hand into his hair to keep him there. “I should probably inspect this place properly, make sure everything’s in working order.”

“Gladly,” Magnus hums, too content to be surprised by this new twist in a long, strange day. “Can it wait until after dinner? I’ll even show you my fixed shower. The caretaker here does excellent work.”

[aureoledawning]

NOT ALL WHITE PEOPLE ARE PREJUDICE

How is it that our world has become such an abhorrent disgrace of violence and abuse. Or has it always been this way and we are just starting to take notice? Human beings seem to be lashing out at unnecessary levels of abuse and yet we are still no closer to finding the solutions to our discord. What is so threatening that aggression is the only way? We are still fused with our survival based mindset. Whereby we are scared of any person that presents different to ourselves and we are still aggressive in our claim of territory and land. We are still in the mindset of greed, scarcity and the need to dominate. Our perception has narrowed to judging people upon the colour of their skin, religious practices and judging others with their own choice of gender. Our world is so fragmented and it seems like every person has been divided into their own faction based upon the physical and cultural traits. How is it that we are branded like animals and herded up with our own kind, only to be made to fight with other people that are different. White people against coloured people, against gay people  against straight people. We all have been called to fight a war that not all of us want to be in. Not all white people are prejudice, not all coloured people are good and not all religious people are holy. The gay community are not perverts or sexual predators and not all priests are devoted to their faith. We need to stop believing the external facades of people and indeed the stereotypical branding that society has conditioned us to be true. Human beings have been crammed together like sardines in a tin, just so we can stay close to our stereotypical group. Just so we can think the same and hate to the same degree. It is as though if any person dares to have a kind thought about any other people outside their own sardine tin, the group would certainly bring them back to their way of thinking. We have become so insular in our judgement and beliefs, even if these beliefs are not true, we just follow without question. Even when our heart truly wants something else. Society has dictated how we should think and feel, that we typecast and assume at first glance. We are weary of others because we have been conditioned to live in fear of anything that is different. Some people in our society want to exaggerate this fear because it serves their own purpose. However it is time the people in our society began to think in a more unified way.  

IT’S TIME TO STOP THE SEGREGATION

We assume far too much when we see someone that is different to ourselves. We are too encompassed in the culture of ourselves. How we think, what we do and the way we present to the world.  How is it that we expect everyone else to look the same as ourselves, dress the same and speak the one language. Society would become this monotoned, grey society? We would be devoid from the vibrance of life. Human kind is a fusion of different ideals, knowledge and expression and we cannot be contained to only one narrowed perspective of what should be. It’s time human kind from every society and country across the world, began to be receptive of the diverse and unique expression of every person on this earth. Culture is not defined to one finite expression of ourselves, it is an ever changing flow. As we welcome new people from different ethnicities, our lifestyles are being enriched with new ways to live. The world has seen enough separation and segregation. It hurts the very spirit of who we are. What is taking place on earth at this every moment is that we are learning to culture our societies to a higher grade of living. This cannot happen with one self-appointed ‘superior race’, because this belief in itself creates an ignorant and infantile grade of living. A grade of living that actually keeps these individuals held to a limited capacity of thought. Thereby shutting themselves off from any new ideas, as they stay within their self-imposed inferior grade of perception and beliefs. 

HEARTFUL UNDERSTANDING

Our world is in turmoil and it is up to us to mend the damage, the hurt and the untold grief that has disturbed the spirit of who we are. Human kind are supposed to be united by our dignity and the artful manner in which we communicate. This is the true culture of our people. Some of us in our species just want to cause trouble and want to create havoc, they are succeeding in their hateful spite to separate us from one another. When we believe their untruths and their ploys of deception. I cannot tell you how tired I am with this incessant fighting and the senseless discord that is keeping people separated from each other. We need to stop listening to the trouble makers and the individuals that spout their hateful rhetoric. The more venomous their speech the more we should turn away from the malicious assault upon others. The world doesn’t want to hear this insult any longer. It’s time we cultured a value for ourselves and others. Through the decency, dignity and respect we have for every life on this planet, human beings will cultivate a new understanding for one another. We will no longer judge people upon appearance nor through a preconditioned attitude. For there is a new world order and it requires every person to by pass the thoughts and beliefs from the predetermined mind and to reside in the heart space of ourselves. Where we are in a better position to know the character and ethic of a person. We will be in the presence of ourselves and know without reservation who is true and who is fake. Through a higher grade of virtue we shall find strength in sincerity and begin to forge everlasting connections that transcends the boundaries of our own mind. Let’s begin to live through our heartfelt guidance and move beyond the fears. So we may know the wonder and the true culture of humanity. 

[genderrise3-blog]

What Went Wrong at New York City Ballet - The New Yorker

Probably the most cherished old tale about George Balanchine is the one in which the mother of a girl who had auditioned for him comes up to him later and asks whether her daughter will become a professional dancer. “La danse, Madame,” Balanchine replied, “c’est une question morale.”

You could say that he dodged the question, but many of his admirers would say that he answered it directly and accurately. Dance, by virtue of its energy and its precision—and, often, its mounting intensity—brings us close to what many people in the world once looked for, and many still do, in religion. Music operates in the same way, of course, but most dance includes music, and it has something else as well: the body. On the dance stage, human beings place themselves before us much as, in old Italian frescoes, souls came before God: without words, without excuses, without much covering of any kind. They are more or less as they were when they came out of their mothers: flesh and energy, now with the addition of skill. That composite stands for what they are as moral beings, and what, in consequence, they tell us the world is. The better the dancer’s first arabesque penché—the more exact, the more spirited, the more singing its line—the more he or she will embody the promise of the ancient Greeks, lasting at least up to Keats, that beauty, truth, and virtue are inseparable, that we live in a good world.

Such thoughts, however, are unlikely to have occurred to Alexandra Waterbury, a nineteen-year-old model and a former student of the School of American Ballet, New York City Ballet’s affiliate academy, on the morning of May 15, 2018. She woke up in the apartment of her twenty-eight-year-old boyfriend, Chase Finlay, a principal dancer at N.Y.C.B., who was away at the time, and thought to check her e-mail on his computer. What she found on the screen was a series of photographs of women’s private parts, including her own, plus a brief clip of her having sex with Finlay.

According to the complaint in a lawsuit that she later filed, there were text messages, too. Finlay, sending someone a photograph of Waterbury naked, asked, “You have any pictures of girls you’ve f*cked? I’ll send you some . . . ballerina girls I’ve made scream and squirt.” The exchanges included several participants, notably two other N.Y.C.B. principals, Amar Ramasar and Zachary Catazaro, and a young donor, Jared Longhitano. “We should get like half a kilo”—of cocaine, one assumes—​“and pour it over the . . . girls and just violate them,” Longhitano wrote to Catazaro and Finlay. “I bet we could tie some of them up and abuse them like farm animals.” “Or like the sluts they are,” Finlay rejoined. “Yeah,” Longhitano wrote back. “I want them to watch me destroy one of their friends. And they know they’re next. I bet we could triple team.” Finlay also reported that he had just “fucked a 20-year-old ballerina and her sister! That was my first threesome with family members. It was incredible!” In another thread, a former student at the ballet school thanked Finlay for sending a picture of himself and Waterbury engaged in a sex act: “I can’t stop looking at Alex’s tits lol.”

Waterbury got herself a lawyer, Jordan K. Merson, one of the attorneys who had just obtained a settlement in which Michigan State University agreed to pay five hundred million dollars to young gymnasts molested by Larry Nassar. Merson sought a settlement for Waterbury, but N.Y.C.B. refused, and there the matter appeared to rest, until the end of August, when the company announced that Finlay had resigned, and that it had suspended Ramasar and Catazaro after receiving allegations of “inappropriate communications.” A week later, Waterbury’s lawyer filed a lawsuit seeking compensatory and punitive damages for the pain and humiliation she had suffered, together with the damage to her reputation and, therefore, to her job prospects. Soon afterward, Ramasar and Catazaro were fired. (A lawyer for Finlay called the claims “distorted and inaccurate,” and Catazaro’s lawyer said that he would be seeking to have the complaint dismissed. Longhitano declined to comment, and a lawyer for Ramasar argued that one of the women had consented to having her photographs shared.)

Furthermore, Waterbury alleged that New York City Ballet and the School of American Ballet knew about this misconduct, or should have. The suit described a party that Finlay and other members of City Ballet had recently thrown at a hotel room in Washington, D.C., inviting underage girls, whom they “plied with drugs and alcohol.” The damage to the hotel came to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. But, according to the lawsuit, the hosts of the party, though they had to pay for the repairs to the hotel property, were not otherwise punished; instead, they were simply advised to confine such behavior to New York City, where “it would be easier to control.” This, apparently, did not mean control of the behavior but control of the repercussions—that is, damage control. By means of such tolerance, the suit claimed, N.Y.C.B. signalled to a group of male dancers “that they could degrade, demean, mistreat and abuse, assault, and batter women without consequence.” (An N.Y.C.B. spokesperson called the lawsuit baseless and said that, far from having “condoned, encouraged, or fostered” the men’s behavior, it had investigated the matter and taken “immediate and appropriate action.”)

Losing these dancers was a serious sacrifice for N.Y.C.B. Before the scandal, it had had only fourteen male principals. Now, in one fell swoop, it lost three, and two of them, Ramasar and Finlay, were stars. Accordingly, some people speculated that additional revelations might be coming, and that the company was trying to cover itself. Sexual misconduct in a ballet troupe, just as at the Metropolitan Opera or at Miramax or in the Roman Catholic Church, may be judged less severely by the public than the failure of those in charge to punish or remove the malefactors. The one confronts us with a bad person, the other with a bad world.

In other ways, too, N.Y.C.B. tried to prop up its reputation. At the company’s fall fashion gala, in September of last year, the curtain rose not on a ballet but on a large, loose collection of the troupe’s dancers, in street clothes—people like you and me, people who presumably did not fantasize about tying women up like farm animals. Stepping out from among them, Teresa Reichlen, a seraphic-looking principal dancer wearing a dress that covered her from neck to ankle, delivered a speech, reading it, modestly, from a printout. “We the dancers of New York City Ballet,” she began, in an echo of the Constitution’s We-the-People, “will not put art before common decency or allow talent to sway our moral compass. . . . Each of us standing here tonight is inspired by the values essential to our art form: dignity, integrity, and honor.” That is, what happened was just the work of a few bad apples. Management totted up the donations that Jared Longhitano had made to City Ballet and gave the money to the organization Women in Need. The amount was only twelve thousand dollars, but the institution was doing what it could to assert that it still embraced the faith of Balanchine. Dance is a moral matter.

There was much at N.Y.C.B. to suggest that this was not true—above all the career of the man who had been the company’s boss for the preceding thirty-five years. Peter Martins, a Dane who was trained at the Royal Danish Ballet’s excellent school, joined City Ballet in 1969 and was a sensation—beautiful of face and form, and with big, wonderfully precise feet. He was also six feet two, which meant that he could partner just about any woman in the company, and he was superb at doing so. Women danced better when they danced with him. His partnership with Suzanne Farrell, many would say, was the starring act of N.Y.C.B. in the late seventies.

Ballet historians still do not agree on how, or whether, Balanchine, as his health began to fail, chose Martins to succeed him as the company’s artistic director. Martins says that Balanchine telephoned him early one morning in the summer of 1978, invited him to breakfast, and offered him the job. But Balanchine never anointed him publicly. After the great man died, a number of his close associates—including Betty Cage, the company manager—questioned whether any such offer had ever been made and said that Balanchine’s choice would have been Jerome Robbins, whom he had appointed as a ballet master in 1969. The board of directors diplomatically named both men “co-ballet-masters in chief.” This arrangement continued—with Robbins working mainly on his own ballets and Martins looking after the rest of the repertory—until 1990, when Robbins resigned from the company and Martins became its sole artistic director, a position that he retained until last year, when he retired during an investigation of his treatment of the troupe’s dancers.

People trying to assess Martins’s career should keep in mind that, in the history of ballet, he had what was probably the worst case, ever, of big shoes to fill. Balanchine was an artist on the order of Bach or Tolstoy, in the sense that he had a long career, an enormous range, and a kind of poetic force that made people, when they saw his ballets, think about their lives differently, more seriously. If, at the end of time, anyone ever congratulates us on being the human race, he will be one of the prime exhibits. By contrast, Peter Martins, however beautifully he danced, was, at best, a middling choreographer, until, in the late eighties, perhaps under the strain of being compared with Balanchine night after night, he became something worse, a very pissed-off person.

Even early on, there was a spirit of antagonism in his work. His first piece for New York City Ballet, “Calcium Light Night” (1978), to music by Charles Ives, was a severe, sarcastic, and also rather witty duet, with the woman and the man taking turns dragging each other around the stage on their bottoms. This was the opposite of Balanchine’s woman-worshipping duets. The element of aggression might have been put down to youthful iconoclasm, but, as the years passed, it did not diminish; it grew. In 1988, Martins premièred a new piece, “Tanzspiel,” to a score by Ellen Taaffe Zwilich. In it, we see a lone man coming forward. As in a Balanchine ballet, a woman (or the ghost of a woman, or the memory of a woman) approaches him from behind. But then, instead of mesmerizing him, she grabs him, hangs on him, falls to the ground in desperation. He fleetingly responds, but mostly he recoils. Eventually, just to get rid of her, it seems, he strangles her, then dances around the stage with her lifeless body.

“Tanzspiel” was talked about long afterward. Part of what made it shocking was its apparent echo of the so-called “preppie murder,” two years before, which was given huge play in the New York press. In August, 1986, two private-school graduates—Jennifer Levin, who was eighteen, and Robert Chambers, Jr., a year older—were having sex in Central Park in the middle of the night when she died of strangulation. Chambers’s story was that she had pressed him for “rough sex” and was killed accidentally when he tried to stop her from hurting him. His defense team portrayed Levin as sexually rapacious, and, when the jury was unable to reach a verdict on the charge of murder, he pleaded guilty to manslaughter. Less than two weeks before the first performance of Martins’s ballet, with its depiction of female sexual demands provoking male violence, Chambers received a sentence of five to fifteen years.

Presumably for ticket buyers in search of milder material, Martins later created versions of Russian classics. Each was curiously unsatisfying. “The Sleeping Beauty” (1991) was radically shortened, and it had a strange ending, in which the crowns of the King and the Queen are removed from their heads and transferred to the Princess and her consort—an action that was hard to interpret as anything other than Martins telling his audience that they should stop pining for Balanchine and get happy with his successor. In 1999, the company danced Martins’s “Swan Lake,” a ballet that traditionally ends with the Swan Queen and the Prince drowning themselves in the lake and, in many versions, going to Heaven together. Martins simply has the Swan Queen walk out on the Prince. The message seemed to be: Isn’t this the way it happens in real life? People get together; they have problems; they split up. So what? In 2007, Martins made a new, brutal “Romeo and Juliet.” In Shakespeare’s play, Lord Capulet, furious over his daughter’s rejection of his marriage plans for her, says, “My fingers itch”—in other words, I feel like hitting you. In Martins’s ballet, Capulet actually did hit her, delivering a slap on the face that echoed through the theatre. (Within weeks of Martins’s retirement, the slap was removed.)

But it wasn’t just the revised stories—people deposing their parents and smacking one another around—that made Martins’s work look ruthless. More serious was the tone of the dancing in the company’s storyless ballets. Balanchine ballets that had seemed to be about the most exalted matters in our lives now sat cold and dry on the stage. The dancers appeared to be concealing their performances, as if they were afraid that we would see them defacing these revered works.

The situation was worse in Martins’s own ballets. The dancers often looked like body snatchers. When Martins had a success, it was usually with something fast and furious—for example, his “Harmonielehre” (2000) and “Hallelujah Junction” (2002), both to frenetic scores by John Adams—where the steps were so hard that no one expected the dancers to do more than get through them. The company rose to the challenge, and it was quite a sight—you felt as though your face were being scraped off. The experience didn’t stay with you afterward, though. I remember having a conversation about Martins in the late eighties with one of N.Y.C.B.’s female stars, who told me, “He hates ballerinas. He hates beauty. He hates Balanchine.”

In 1982, Martins began dating Darci Kistler, almost twenty years his junior, a tall, sweet-faced blond dancer from Southern California whom Balanchine had plucked from the School of American Ballet and installed in the company two years earlier, when she was only sixteen. She and Martins were together on and off throughout the eighties, and they married in 1991. One night the following year, the police in Saratoga Springs, N.Y.C.B.’s summer headquarters, got a call from Kistler, reporting that, after an evening out, she and Martins had had a fight, and that he had beaten her and thrown her into the next room, cutting her ankle. Martins was charged with third-degree assault, and spent the night in jail. Kistler later dropped the charges, though she never withdrew her account of what happened that night. Readers should bear in mind that Kistler was not only Martins’s wife; she was one of the leading female dancers in his company, and was often described as Balanchine’s last muse. And Martins damaged her leg, the thing on which a dancer dances. That’s like damaging a pianist’s hand.

Before Martins married Kistler, he had a relationship of legendary storminess with Heather Watts, an N.Y.C.B. principal. “I saw him pick her up and slam her into a cement wall,” John Clifford, another principal, reported. Gelsey Kirkland, in her 1986 memoir, “Dancing on My Grave,” recalled watching Martins drag Watts up and down a flight of stairs.

Given the notoriety of such episodes, it’s remarkable that it was not until December, 2017, that N.Y.C.B. and S.A.B. announced that they had begun an investigation into Martins’s behavior. While this was going on, Martins took a leave of absence and a four-person committee was appointed to manage artistic operations. (He was also suspended from teaching his weekly class at the school.) Why was he finally being questioned? Because, the newspapers reported, S.A.B. had received an anonymous letter containing “general, nonspecific allegations of sexual harassment” by him. A good deal of Martins’s treatment of women was a matter of public record, so there was something odd about an investigation prompted by something as easy to discredit as an anonymous letter making unspecific allegations.

Soon, however, more dancers—and not only women—began to speak to the press about mistreatment by Martins. Jeffrey Edwards, a very refined soloist, told Robin Pogrebin, of the Times, that in 1993 he was physically abused by Martins. He said that he lodged a complaint with the company’s general manager and with the dancers’ union, describing the episode in detail, but that no real action was taken. Edwards soon left the company and now teaches at Juilliard. A former child dancer named Victor Ostrovsky recalled a rehearsal in 1994, when he was a twelve-year-old student at S.A.B. He was horsing around with some other children in the ballet when Martins grabbed him by the neck. “He’s yanking me around to the left and to the right,” Ostrovsky told Pogrebin. “I felt like he was piercing my muscle. I started crying and sobbing profusely.” He soon left S.A.B.: “I was depressed; I was embarrassed. He assaulted me onstage in front of the whole cast.”

In an interview with Salon, Wilhelmina Frankfurt, a tall, commanding N.Y.C.B. dancer from the seventies and eighties, recalled an incident, mid-performance, in which Martins, she said, “pulled me into his dressing room and exposed himself to me. And I had on a tutu. I mean, with an American flag on it, and I ran out because I had to do the finale.” Another encounter she had with Martins, she said, “is so big I don’t think I can talk about it.” The company had no human-resources department for her to go to, and, even years later, once the investigation was under way, she’d been unable to give her version of events. The investigators, she said, would not allow her to bring a witness unless both she and the witness signed nondisclosure agreements. (The company disputes her account.)

The accusations did not always involve force. A number of dancers have claimed simply that Martins slept around among the female dancers, and that roles were often allotted accordingly. This, alas, is a time-honored tradition in ballet companies—and Balanchine’s career was marked, even shaped, by serial infatuations—but it is no longer honored, and managements are now scrambling to institute codes of conduct.

N.Y.C.B.’s investigation had been in progress for only a few weeks when Martins, who was then seventy-one, seems to have tired of the whole business. (Or did the board finally tire of him?) In any case, on January 1, 2018, a few days after being arrested for drunken driving, he announced his retirement. He still denied all the allegations against him, and he expressed confidence that he would be exonerated, but he wanted, he later said, to “allow those glorious institutions”—New York City Ballet and its school—“to move past the turmoil that resulted from these charges.”

Six weeks later, N.Y.C.B. and S.A.B. issued a statement that the Martins investigation “did not corroborate the allegations of harassment or violence both made in the anonymous letter and reported in the media.” No report on the inquiry was ever published, so it is impossible to know how this surprising judgment was reached. And although certain important dancers stood by Martins, the news that he never did any of the things that others had reported was received with considerable skepticism. As Victor Ostrovsky asked, how was it possible that the rest of the cast could recall nothing of what Martins did to him, as a child, at that rehearsal? “They all knew what happened,” he said. Many people in the dance world were disappointed that Sarah Jessica Parker, the vice-chair of N.Y.C.B.’s board of directors and a vocal feminist, had remained silent throughout the affair. (She eventually texted the Times, saying that the safety of the company’s dancers “is paramount to me.”) It was a few months after all this that Alexandra Waterbury logged on to Chase Finlay’s computer and found the photographs of the dancers he had caused to “scream and squirt.”

After Martins left, the boards of N.Y.C.B. and S.A.B. formed a search committee to find a new artistic director. Who that person should be is a mystery, not just to observers but also, no doubt, to the boards. N.Y.C.B. is different from other large ballet companies—the Bolshoi, the Paris Opera Ballet, England’s Royal Ballet—in that it has almost no history of succession. The company was created by Balanchine and his patron Lincoln Kirstein for Balanchine, to show his work. And though Jerome Robbins was eventually given significant space—perhaps a third of the troupe’s stage time—there was never any question of whose ballet company it was.

What everyone would want now is a great ballet choreographer, aided, as Balanchine was, by a superbly capable executive director and staff. But there is only one absolutely first-class ballet choreographer currently working in the United States, Alexei Ratmansky, a Russian, who is the artist-in-residence of American Ballet Theatre, across Lincoln Center’s plaza, whence he is unlikely to be seduced. Ratmansky had his fill of managing ballet companies in the five years, from 2004, that he spent as the artistic director of Moscow’s hidebound Bolshoi Ballet. His contract with A.B.T. allows him to do a good deal of freelancing at other companies, and he seems to like this.

But, however gifted Ratmansky is, no one is claiming that he is the equal of Balanchine. Furthermore, many people, for obvious reasons, have recommended that the new artistic director be a woman. The company, to its credit, has recently mounted ballets by a number of female choreographers. The executive director, Katherine Brown, is a woman. Would the audience accept an N.Y.C.B. run by two women? Why not? In the past, it was often run by two men. Lately, female City Ballet alumnae who have gone on to notable careers as teachers or administrators have been revisiting the troupe’s halls, and various names have been floated, but not on the basis of choreographic achievement. Whereas modern dance has been dominated, in large measure, by female choreographers, classical-ballet choreography is a career that in most Western countries has been all but closed to women, and this is changing only very slowly. To my knowledge, only two twentieth-century women—Bronislava Nijinska and Twyla Tharp—regularly made ballets for major international companies. So if it is hard to find a topflight ballet choreographer who is prepared to move to New York, it is even harder to find a woman who answers that description.

But a distinguished ballet company does not need to be headed by a distinguished choreographer. The example always cited is that of Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes. Serge Diaghilev was not a choreographer at all, but he had the energy and discernment to foster young people who were. After he died, the graduates of his troupe more or less staffed the directorships of Western ballet—Léonide Massine and Bronislava Nijinska in Europe and America, Marie Rambert and Ninette de Valois in London, Serge Lifar in Paris, and, notably, George Balanchine in New York.

This is no doubt the model that N.Y.C.B.’s search committee has in mind: someone with taste who is willing to share the throne or, periodically, to yield it. Peter Martins made no new ballets for N.Y.C.B. during the last five years of his directorship, and one of his virtues—they should be noted—was that he could spot talent in others. He was the first company director in New York to present a ballet by Ratmansky. He also cultivated Christopher Wheeldon, N.Y.C.B.’s resident choreographer from 2001 to 2008, who is now one of the leading lights of international ballet. Wheeldon’s successor as resident choreographer is the thirty-one-year-old Justin Peck, who, whatever his title, is increasingly emerging as the artistic face of the company. Peck, who still dances as a soloist with the troupe, is a man of great skill and productivity. He seems, however, to lack a subject. His casts, even when they are not wearing sneakers, and jackets emblazoned with protest slogans, as they did in his recent “The Times Are Racing,” often seem like teen-agers, a notion that is highly vulnerable to cliché and sentimentality. The audience claps loudly for his work. He was viewed by many people as a top contender to succeed Martins, but he told Gia Kourlas, of the Times, that he didn’t want the job. It’s not hard to see why. At this point, like Ratmansky, he can have pretty much any gig he chooses. Why should he narrow his ambit?

But the audience’s receptivity to Peck is touching. They like him, above all, I think, because he cheers them up and makes them feel, after all the scandals, that something good may once again come out of New York City Ballet. And if that something good is not, in addition, wise or profound—well, any port in a storm. After all, Balanchine never said what he wanted after his death, or how he thought the company should go forward. “Après moi, le board,” he once declared, and, boy, did he know what he was talking about. ♦

Source: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/02/18/what-went-wrong-at-new-york-city-ballet

[confrontingbabble-on]

“This post, instead of arguing against the existence of god, will focus on why a belief in god is scientifically but most importantly morally unsound...

Our mind, body and psychology is fine tuned to deal with tragedies like individual deaths from predators or illness, but events like volcanoes, hurricanes or tornadoes could end tribal societies in minutes: how does one comprehend that without the aid of science and study?

We as thinking and analytical creatures yearn so much for explanation that we prefer an utterly baseless, contrived theory over no theory at all. Disasters that in reality pay no attention to our trifles then must be a product of something, anything at all. Believing one to be punished due to sin is more comforting than the realization nature gives no heed to our lives, let alone deaths. The personification of Earth and the Universe serves to give meaning to this tragedy, portraying it as a purposeful punishment of a spiritual parent rather than the blind trashings of chaos. The concept of God is this very personification – a denial of a disinterested universe, a yearning for meaning, and a cry out against the apathetic crises we so often endure. Karl Marx is often quoted as saying religion is an opiate, but this portrayal is a betrayal of the true, unabridged statement:

“Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness. To call on them to give up their illusions about their condition is to call on them to give up a condition that requires illusions.”  – Karl Marx, Deutsch Französische Jahrbücher

Evolution forced our species to be paranoid, fearful, and leader oriented, but also to incessantly search for meaning. Religion was our first attempt at philosophy, morality, astrology, biology and meteorology. Its privilege is that it came before any other existential framework, and thus retains an exceedingly personal and comfortable position in our society – old habits die hard.

Faith is a habit brought upon by necessity, but not truth. Man created god, and while the concept of deities ever binds and tears our world in a very tangible sense, no supernatural being, certainly not a personal one, created the universe, Earth, man or nature. As our species grows from its infancy, old crutches including religion may be thrown out, to secure both solidarity and foster progress in a new age where we strive to ascend beyond basic, Darwinian fears and come to find we don’t need the coping mechanism of myth after all.

If you are reading this, you are an atheist. No this isn’t hyperbole – you are an atheist, everyone is. You don’t believe in Thor, Gaia, Brahma, Jupiter or the thousands of deities worshiped by the estimated 4,200 religions that have existed – so called “atheists” today just go one god further and dispel the myth of Yahweh and the holy spirit along with the countless, yet equally probable others.

I bring this up to show how simple and intuitive a non-belief in god is; so simple that any Christian would discount the existence of Poseidon in a heartbeat, and so intuitive that discounting these entities follows with literally no logical persuasion: a Christian, Muslim or Jew never placed the burden upon themselves to disprove the sun god Ra, nor should have they, instead the logic was as trivial as “I see no reason to believe in Ra”.

The hypocrisy, with a nagging implication of ethnocentrism, is to apply this self-evident truth to only gods one was not grown up believing in, and to assume a priori that this same logic does not apply to the gods of one own’s culture. Indeed, to the religious, every god is the one-true-god. If one wishes to believe in a god while being logically consistent, they must concede belief in any one specific god is assuming this myth, by its very virtue is more true than any of the thousand identical myths with equally compelling evidence.

My argument begins with a rebuttal of these personal, named gods. Those who are deists – believers in some transcendent, higher form that influences the universe – manage to avoid the problem of identifying their heavenly idol of choice by abstracting their belief to the point of near irrelevance. Theists however cannot make such an evasion – they claim to know not just the name, gender, and appearance of the entity that birthed the universe, but also its (usually his) opinion on what you should eat, when and in which direction you should pray, who should be burned at the stake, who should be grovelled to, and who you should sleep with and how.

Those who so humbly claim to know the mind of god justify laws, social expectations, wars and executions on this very clairvoyance.

Throughout the past and today, organized religion has stood in ferocious defiance of science and social progress at every turn, from evolution to stem cell research to woman and gay rights. An incredible certainty is imparted through religion, unlike any other moral system the religious are so intensely sure in beliefs that revel in their own lack of evidence.

Simply defining what faith is undermines any notion of consistency under theism: faith is belief without proof, valuing mysticism and tradition over skepticism or debate, and a willingness to trust thousand year old texts over scientific rigor and basic intuition. Faith is not a virtue, and often those who are most flawed in their ways have the most faith in themselves. Why is it religion has a monopoly on suicide bombers, genital mutilators and plane-hijackers? Because religion forces one to trust their priests over politics, social laws, and basic human dignity. One cannot, for example, be both patriotic and religious – god must come before all else, including one’s nation, one’s decency, and especially one’s family – as taught by the Christian depictions of Abraham and Lot, who are permitted by divine authority to kill their son and allow their daughters to be raped.

It has been said in a morally normal world, the good do good and the evil do evil, but only religion is capable of coercing the good to do evil. This may seem broad, but consider: there is no good act a nonbeliever is incapable of doing, but the list of evil acts only a believer could commit are endless. It would seem therefore, no moral teaching or insight is unique to religion, while it offers much in the negation of morality. The idea that without god, anything is permissible, first conceptualized by Fyodor Dostoyevsky underestimates both human morality and religious fundamentalism. In fact precisely the opposite is the case – only with God on your side is one capable of acting independent of the usual social expectations that keep us from murdering, torture or otherwise. Afterall, how could such menial, materialist, human trifles stand in the way God’s will, carried out by his divine instruments? Religion, unlike any other modern philosophy, permits its believers to supersede ethics and veto common sense, with the confidence and conceit only the faithful are capable of mustering.

Simple study of religious texts makes this obvious – one must actively self-deceive at worst and thoroughly self-edit the texts at the best in order to believe the either of the Testaments, Qur’an or Torah are moral. The God of the old testament revels in genocide and ethnic cleansing, contrasted by the ever praised enlightening god of the new testament, a book which unlike its more direct counterpart mandates the existence of hell – an idea whose nefariousness is only tempered by habituation. The new testament describes to us a universe where not only is your every action, word and thought judged by a supreme, supernatural dictator, but this authoritarian existence can never be escaped, even through death.

The myth of morality found within the new testament is often perpetuated by the belief that the ten commandments serve as some moral guidance for modern, western society: in fact only the opposite is true, let us consider each.

You shall have no other gods before me. A petty attempt to limit the mind and intellectual exploration of man. This is not morality, this is establishing religious hegemony and intolerance.

You shall not make idols. Further insistence Christianity has a monopoly on the divine. If seen as a barring of depictions of God, every mosaic or church painting of Jesus or holy scenes violates this.

You shall not take the name of the lord your god in vain. Stating Jesus Christ of Nazareth is so inhumanly hallowed as to ban the very uttering of his name without purpose.

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Establishing a holy holiday.

Honor your father and your mother. Of the first five, this is the first commandment that has any relevance in the modern, morally advanced world. Regardless, familial kinship is a virtue valued unanimously throughout every culture since even before Christ – the bible neither invented this unstated axiom nor does it exude any notable or consistent respect for family values anyways.

You shall not murder. Another unstated moral assumption, no individual, culture or society ever believed unjust murder was acceptable – we simply wouldn’t have gotten this far if we hadn’t.

You shall not commit adultery. A condemnation of the unfaithful to eternal damnation. Cheating on one’s spouse should not be encouraged, but should it be equated to murder or held as holy instruction? Should an abused wife who sought freedom from a hostile relationship via extramarital relations be condemned to hell?

You shall not steal. The advantage of modern legal systems is their flexibility and proportionality on legality – theft is not deemed an evil equal to murder, nor are misdemeanors seen as inherent evils, but instead a lesser of two evils or an unsavory outcome of unavoidable social situations. Divine instruction lends no room for interpretation or context that is essential in any advanced society.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. While often misinterpreted as an imperative against lying, “bearing false witness” was intended to prevent witnesses in religious courts from lying under oath – a condition which presupposes capital justice, and capital punishment, be served under the guidance of the Church.

You shall not covet. I, and presumably God, saved the best for last. You shall not covet: an impossible request met with the ultimate punishment. Jealousy is a fundamental part of the human psyche, and if capitalists are to be believed it drives our very economic systems. Christianity defines us as imperfect and demands us to be flawless. These rules are not higher moral guidelines that serve as a Platonist ideal – they are dogmatic, sadomasochistic and ignorant of the complex human condition.

One is expected to believe this collection of commands was written by the very hand of god in order to help us achieve divine approval and moral enlightenment. Compared to other charters on ethics such as the US Constitution or even the Geneva convention codes, these commandments pale in comparison – they are utterly incapable of addressing complex moral and societal issues like totalitarianism or discrimination, nor offer any weighing mechanism in order to balance varied crimes. Should both murder and theft be met with the ultimate punishment of eternal damnation?

In today’s pluralist society the irrelevance of the commandments and general ethics of the bible have become increasingly apparent – today we simply do not need moral absolutes dictating strict sexual relations or religious belief. Today we have the insight of philosophers, legal study and the hindsight of thousands of years of attempts, failures and successes in government and structured, enforced morality.  The bible and its ethics may have at some point kept a murderer from killing or a thief from stealing, but today they only serve as an ancient relic of times where slavery, discrimination, genocide and incest were the norm. If not fully misleading and only imperfect, one should question the divinity of these mandates. The commandments, at best, were a first stepping stone towards today’s moral guidelines written for humans, by humans, which guide without pretending to have or demanding divine authority. There are no appeals with religious judgement.

The reason it is so vital to highlight the inconsistencies and irrelevance of the bible’s ethics is because one of the most widespread arguments for religion is that it offers us a basis of morality. So I hope it is clear: the bible is not ethical, nor should we expect a holy text written by first century scholars in bronze age Palestine to be particularly enlightening. I do not wish to discredit the insight of ancient thinkers however, it goes without saying philosophers, writers and mathematicians of ancient times often built the foundations of our modern world, but in some respect they mustn’t meet the same standard as set by those who claim to be the followers and instrument of God’s will. Furthermore every imperfection is magnified when millions have died in crusades, witch hunts and holy wars fueled by these very texts. The bible should not and cannot serve as a foundation of morality, and we do not need it to.

I may seem to have a vendetta against Judeo-Christian creation myths, but I only focus on them due to their prevalence and impact on my own life and society in America. Perhaps surprisingly to many conservatives today, I do not find Islam to be particularly threatening to America’s core values – I do however find the core texts and beliefs of Islam to be fundamentally offensive and counter to basic human rights. More accurately, I might claim to believe Islam is primarily a threat to Muslims – a diverse group of worshipers who are not bound to nor even necessarily promote the humanitarian disaster that is Islam and the theocracies based on its teachings. Islam’s problems begin right from the get go – Islam claims to be the last and final religion: a moral, legal, existential framework that demands influence in every aspect of a human’s life from clothing to food to sex.

Of course some areas of the religion are admirable – halal, while being any activity that is considered “allowed” under Islamic doctrine (in contrast to the other four Ahkam—fard (compulsory), mustahabb (recommended), makruh (disliked), and haram (forbidden)), offers many advantages in food preparation and animal treatment. Unfortunately the rich history and historical value of Islamic study is often overshadowed by the truly grotesque elephant in the room – Islam’s persistence to embrace the flaws of ancient religion and society. Take Sharia, the legal framework informing much Islamic tradition – under these laws, non-Muslims, women and minorities are all treated as lesser than Muslim males, and automatically suffer harsher punishment and longer sentencing. Furthermore Islamic majority theocracies are infamous for human rights abuses and a general lack of concern for female, let alone homosexual rights. The journal Free Inquiry 2009 succinctly encapsulates modern Islam’s moral shortcomings which include “legal inequality of women, the suppression of political dissent, the curtailment of free expression, [and] the persecution of ethnic minorities and religious dissenters”. In short, Islam stands in solidarity with its theological counterparts – a stance shrouded by a patina of charity and ideological consolation, but a stance that inherently opposes human decency and logic. Religion, it appears, is uniquely incapable of, on the macro level, standing as a pluralist, humanitarian moral framework.

Those sympathetic to the faithful or belonging to faith themselves may ask why, as they often do, religion must be held to the same rigorous standards of proof and testing that science is held to – why can’t religion just be a comforting white lie we tell our children and ourselves in face of the uncertainty of life and eternity of death? Religion, in this respect, does offer a legitimate place of comfort for many, and can satisfy the desire for community and neighborly company inherent to us all. Ask the devout – so many look to religion as a center for community gathering even before a place of worship.

Furthermore, in the case of Christianity especially, many religious people barely follow their own holy texts and see God as some ephemeral figure that is not bound by the bible or otherwise – instead he a loosely Freudian father figure that can manifest whatever the believer wishes him to. In a way, this vague, compromising faucet of religious belief is more desirable than the dogmatic, extremist approach: someone who only goes to church to appease their religious parents is preferable to someone who wants to blow up that church for their own god. For this reason I am not worried about the impending “invasion” of Muslim immigrants nor the forceful implementation of Sharia that conservatives and our newly-elected president fear – mainly because our secular constitution is built to prevent such a theocratic coup, but also because the massive majority of Muslims are kind enough to not follow their holy texts to the tee, and align themselves more with humanitarian notions before Islamic doctrine. My point here is that religion satisfies needs exterior to worship, and in a hypothetical, fully secular world many would fear what would come in the place of religion – what could satiate these needs without turning to dogmatism, divisiveness or fearful superstition in the way so many faiths have today?

My answer, and the answer of a majority of most atheists today, is that secular humanism is a prime candidate to come in religion’s wake. Yes – governments and legislation founded on Darwinian, strictly scientific moral outlooks have in the past lead to humanitarian disasters (Nazism, the French Revolution, aspects of Communism), but these crimes were never unique to nor followed causally from science. Science was improperly used, just as religion is, as an excuse to carry out racist intentions. What I can tell you is that no nation built on the secular morals of Locke, Robespierre, Jefferson or Einstein could ever commit crimes against humanity in equal or greater degree than is exuded by theocracies. Naturally, tragically, humans have a tendency to want to kill and subjugate each other, so even nations based on these ideals such as the United States have their own share of abuses – but this is even more justification for guiding principles that attempt to ascend petty division and prejudice – principles founded on secular ideals of humanism, diversity, just law and equality under state.

What I have found is that the nonreligious, in the face of the nihilist cliche, often come to appreciate human existence even more than those who claim it marches under divine guidance. The religious, after all, see humans as inherently flawed projections of a perfect deity, projections that eternally yearn for and perhaps follow divine instruction, but by their very nature are designed to be imperfect. The nonreligious, on the other hand, see humans as nothing more than moderately evolved apes, that through experience, hardship, failure and success have created via their own agency modern technology, morality and philosophy. Religion damns humans to heaven, the expectation ultimate perfection; reality damns us to be tragically flawed, while giving us the opportunity to ascend beyond the expectations of any holy book, god or religion.

“We were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted to battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen. We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.” – Robert Ardrey, African Genesis, 1961 –

Demanding the success of man was inscribed to history by a omnipotent being millennia ago, or misattributing the accomplishments of lifesaving doctors or world-changing engineers to God only diminishes the power of the individual and the majesty of human creation. God did not eradicate smallpox, the combined skill and determination of the medical community did; God did not send man to the moon, the work of a generation and the technical prowess of an entire nation did. Religion revels in the same ignorance the patients of Nepal’s “Miracle Eye Doctor” Dr. Sanduk Ruit in North Korea exuded upon finding they could see again after undergoing his treatment, who after seeing for the first time in years exalted their great leader, not the doctor standing before them.

It is a fundamental mischaracterization to conflate atheism with nihilism, cynicism or any attitude that surrenders spiritualism or notions of subjectivity. Reciprocally, religion does not hold a monopoly on beauty, nor does a scientific, rational attitude demand a submission of one’s humanity. The pop culture notion that science and math are these sterile, emotionally distant schemas which offer nothing in terms of inspiration ignore the inherent beauty of rational frameworks and their implications upon reality. Understanding the mechanisms and precedent conditions behind a night’s sky full of stars offers so much more beauty than believing a deity popped them into existence. And in terms of past works of art, as put by Richard Dawkins: we will never know what Michelangelo would have painted on the ceiling of the Natural History Museum of the Vatican. Artists, surprisingly, need a salary too, so they are drawn towards the people who have money – which consistently throughout time has been the church.

Point being, secular science and rational, atheistic philosophy possess a beauty unlike the superficial trappings of religion which appeal to our lesser attributes of tribalism – they offer a window to cosmological mechanisms and fundamental properties which truly ascend beyond the human realm in a way not unlike gods, but without the ignorance or human-centric narcissism. In this respect religion is somewhat the cop-out philosophy to the question of why anything matters, it demands the universe was made with us in mind and as the supreme end goal. Science, however, has realized we are not the pinnacle of creation; instead it showed us how little we are, how ignorant we have been and how far we have to go. Progress as a species as defined by religion is gifted by external means, while secularism defines it as the fruits of our internal, collective labor and sacrifice. Religion might be the comforting perspective, but when has wishful thinking ever been the intellectually respectable or morally appropriate route?

Do I think we will one day reach a point where religion is replaced with rationalism, art is inspired by evolution not creationism, and humans see ourselves as a organism millions of years in development and not children appointed by divine mandate? I’m not sure, but I do know in many countries, from Britain to Japan to Sweden, religion is at an all time low and only a small fraction of many populations consider faith as an important part of their lives. Note that secular morality does not force this change under the threat of execution, ghettoization or inquisition – in contrast to so many theistic social upheavals. Historically, aswell, we have seen a general, deliberate tempering of religious ferocity via secular law and a diffusion of social justice through time. The correlation between advancement of society and the gagging of theism is no accident – as society develops religion can no longer revel in crusades, witch hunts or lynchings – and so this trend approaches the situation where theism’s dogmatic virtues has been neutered to the point of elimination or at least societal irrelevance, so we hope.

The author James Branch Cabell once said optimists believe that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true. But I hope our world, with all its flaws, will be remembered as simply a stage in human development, where the comforts of religion still shackled human agency and independence, but loosened these shackles were – by the same species that made them. Afterall, if god won’t save us, then we have nowhere to look but to each other.”

From...https://gamesortheory.com/2017/02/22/on-religion/

[artist-tyrant]

Part 1 of The Arian Tabulation from Generations of Betrayal by NSLeumas

Other than the 16-years under Emperor Theodosius I (379-395), the xtian-religion of the Roman Empire from 325 to 552 (227-years!) was NOT R-C, but Arianism; excepting intermittent-emperors who, while they favored R-C, were not-willing to destroy freedom of religion to achieve it. Those 16-yrs. set serious precedents that J-R would use 2-centuries later when it finally got going with Pope Gregory I. Theodosius was asked by Co-Emperor Gratian to save Constantinople from destruction by the Goths (375). He did more than that unfortunately, by salvaging a Romanism as close to dying as it would ever be, for J-R supplied cannon-fodder (men) & arms to his-legions, so he paid a large-tribute (from citizen-taxes) to the Goths to get them to withdraw back to the Balkans—thus he swept-away all obstructing J-Cs path & saved their bacon (damn!). “Towards 378-9, the small & depressed remnant of the Orthodox Party in Constantinople sent him (Gregory of Nazianus) an urgent summons to undertake the task of resuscitating their cause, so long persecuted & borne down by the Arians of the capital (Rome) . . . the Orthodox Party speedily gathered strength; & the small apartment in which they had been accustomed to meet was soon exchanged for a vast & celebrated Church…”

(Ency. Britannica, 11th Ed.; V.12, p. 563-c). The famous J-C Church of Ambrose, @ Milan, was surrounded by Arianism, Gallicanism, Paulicianism, Marcionism, & Mithraism (still very-popular throughout Italy). Nominally an Arian, Gratian suppressed Mithraist temples & ceremonies in Rome, forbade legacies of property to their-vestals, & confiscated their-revenues, while ignoring the outcries of Mithraist-members of the Roman Senate—instigated by Ambrose! But this unprecedented-grant of J-C freedom was momentary, for at its northern-border, the Roman Empire faced the armies of 3 large-tribes (Goths, Vandals, Huns). That same year, Valens, Emperor of the East, was defeated & slain by the Goths, bringing Gratian to the throne. Later, Gratian’s pro-JC policy, & his decline into indolence, cost him the loyalty of his army; w/o defense in 383 he fled to Lyon only to be slain by his general Maximus, leaving his western-empire for Theodosius to appoint a successor. Three-years earlier, to adhere to the responsibility given by Gratian, Theodosius had himself baptized R-C, while the ARIAN(GOTHIC) armies waited-out another 12-yrs. to attack him & take all the tribute. It was under these fragile-circumstances that he issued his famous decree—the THEODOSIAN CODE, which reads in-part: “We order that the adherents of this faith be called Catholic Christians; we brand ALL THE SENSELESS FOLLOWERS of the other religions with the infamous name of HERETICS, & forbid their conventicles assuming the name of churches. Besides the condemnation of divine justice, they must expect heavy penalties which our authority, guided by heavenly wisdom, shall think proper to inflict.” (Schaff; Nicene & Post-Nicene Christianity, V.1, p. 142) (Kurtz; Church History, V.2). (He, at least, had the ‘decency’ not to call it “Christianity”.) He backed his-decree with A TRAIL OF BLOOD & KILLING, halted only by his death (395); one of his-campaigns—the massacre of 7,000 christians & others @ Thessalonica in 390—even drawing the criticism of his-own Bishop, Ambrose. It lasted 12-short-years, for the empire was in 395 after his death immediately REinvaded, by Alaric I, who took Thrace, Greece, Italy—threw the T.-CODE into the flames, & REestablished Arian rule for another 131-years! BUT he made a tragic-error, for which civilization was to pay for the next 15-CENTURIES!! Even with his armies in control & his generals in the courts, even with people still-struggling to recover from 12-years of persecution-death-barbarism & the example of what J-R would do if given the reigns of power—instead of exterminating J-R then & there, he ALLOWED Ambrose to approach him with a deputation of JC-senators & plead for mercy. And with all the judgement of a baby touching a vampire, he GRANTED it!! (So-like today’s gullibles re ‘toleration’!!) The bill for this horrific blunder was paid by every xtian-nation in the area 131-yrs. later, when they got Justinian!

Some measure of the fear that J-R had of Arianism is in the fact that the Council of Nicaea was called to invoke the temporal-power of the empire to suppress them. Yet, how-fearsome it still-represents to Anglicans & Romanists is seen in Stanley’s book, in which he has two long-chapters about the Council w/o citing this highly-significant fact; but it is in bits & pieces in censored/one-sided church history texts. In an OBJECTIVE history of Arianism is found Its threat to J-R, & for logical-reasons, ie, it being popular, growing-rapidly, holding to Internalism, & having powerful-friends in the Imperial Court; J-R was desperate to stop it, but the only Device they had was a Council.

There were solid-reasons for its popularity. Eusebius, Sozomen, etc, & their later critics (Mosheim, etc) place the conflict between J-C & Arianism MISTAKENLY on their disparate-views of the relation of Christ to God, MISinterpreting what was really there, at the expense of its application to contemporary-theology; as that argument—now 1,676 yrs. old—is still very-much at issue, ie, contemporary-views re what Xtianity really-is & what it was intended to be. The relationship of Christ to God was not the real-issue @ Nicaea (tho’ that is what came-down from JR-historians) but was re internal vs. external concepts. The real-issue was JRs externalizing the Logos vs. Xtianity’s maintaining it as internal-change. Not the nature of Christ, but the LOCATION of the Logos/Christos/Power-Spark-of-God re the human-body was at stake. JR was imposing its bogus Trinitarianism, but ARIUS rejected ALL the JR-concepts (Nicene Creed; physical-resurrection / Trinity; external-Logos / Human-Sacrifice for others’ sins / External Redemption). Arianism held to the Original-concepts (God-power existing in ALL MEN only by-which they redeem-themselves).The Ju-historians of that time (on whom too-much modern-analysis still depends) wrote the real nature of these arguments INcorrectly to further disguise (for posterity) the true nature of the debates. Instead of A Christ (proper-noun) & HIS link to God ((as told)) they spoke of THE Christ (adjective) & ITS link to God, ((they did not)) which alters the extraneous fanaticism, ie, in their true-form free of distortions they were not debating the nature of Jesus at all, but the nature of the human soul. But it still wouldn’t dispel the general-condition of that period/time as being the lowest intellectual depth in 1,000-yrs. (Guizot).

Arius’ views on the nature of Christ (as told by JR-writers) have been DISTORTED at the expense of the more-revealing components of Arianism; exactly the same done to our good Atheism (by theists). The Arian-philosophy = Arius said worshipping Christ as Deliverer was idolatry (Adeney, p.45) & that it (THE Christ), NOT he, belonged to our nature; Arius rejected both Testaments, having his-own selection of scripture-lit; He rejected JCs “Faith” as being a trick, designed to make laity dependent-upon priests. He held to Gnostic-logic, advocating it was dangerous to give one’s power of deductive-reason to the interpretation of others (priests or otherwise), especially re one’s link to God; His-system was deliberately-free of the obscurities & burdensome extrapolations of popular-theology in the idea that the essential problem of transfiguration was not theological or analytical, but mystical/spiritual. Adeney (& others) claims that this (& his-training at Antioch) means his system of logic was Aristotelian (which does not hold-up under examination). He’d taken training (not from a Romanist-Aristotelian) from Lucian, Bishop of Antioch (285) & from a confirmed-Paulician (Paul, ArchBishop of Samosata), making his logic Platonist (internal); Arius said that the “sonship” of Christ was only FIGURATIVE, distorted from its Original Logos-doctrine, ie, the “son of god” being symbolized by Jesus. In this sense, the Christ-within could be conceived as a mediator, as it was via the Christos that men are spiritually resurrected & their-souls reunited with God. But the idea of a PERSON named ‘Christ’ outside the body had no meaning/application to the process of salvation of souls whatsoever; He repudiated John’s Logos-doctrine; He held the church-process be made simple, not bogged down in burdensome unending dogma-protocol-ceremony-ritual-edifices having naught to do with individual-morality or the work of the soul.

These were all ENTRAPMENTS J-C was weaving to create the mythical-dream of “holy-upliftment”, but that delivers nothing.Gwatkin (outspoken-antagonist) lists other-points re Arienism, ie, Pelagianism (Pelagius; “Free-Will”); Dualism of god & man (Platonist-Zoroastrianist); Freedom/Independence of man; were essential-elements with Arius. Jesus was human (like us) but had been transfigured, placing the Logos within humans (where it was before Philo). But Gwatkin said Arius was “denying the Lord’s dignity”. To the contrary, it is Original-teaching.From this it’s evident Arius’ views were not-extreme, but were non-ju, rejecting those OT-claims J-C was foisting. He could never have brought such ju-lies to the Gothic & Burgundian Tribes of the North, so after his-death, Arianism spread-across Southern-Europe (from Dacia & Moera, now modern-Romania, to Southern-France & into Spain). And it was this preserved-Internalism which penetrated the Roman Empire.

Arius was under-attack because he had brought Gnostic-Christology forward as a formal theology surviving on its-own as popular & gaining adherents; whose authenticity/credentials he could demonstrate with JC unable to challenge (w/o force). His-theology, therefore, was in the mainstream of xtian-thinking. The JC-bishops at Nicaea did not favor Gnosticism & were trying to override it again out of their-own churches from within.

Unquestionably, tolerance & a break with past-precedent was granted JC by Constantine’s Edict, but nothing to fit the lying-impression of standard historical-treatment. There were ramifications, & considering these, changes first-impressions that JC became the official-theism via this-edict, as if by magic-thaumaturge… far from it. It’s true, Xtianity’s condition improved in 312. It’s not-true, that JC was the only beneficiary, or that Paganism was put to the torch, or that any other substantive-change accompanied the edict re the status of the other-religions prevalent in Rome before 312, for Rome continued to be what it was before, ie, open to all; every-theism had freedom there, EXCEPT J-C.

By the time of the Council, Arius was 75. For 45-years he’d been consecrating his-own bishops & churches as part of the Greek-church which had yet to be controlled by JC. When the doctrinal-conflict arose in the G.-church, many of his-bishops went North on their-own to begin converting those-tribes. Others remained within the empire to try to rectify-control in the G.-church, while still-others split-off to form their-own independent-churches. By 350, there were 5 distinct branches of Arianism within the empire alone.Initially, Constantine’s endorsement went to the JCs, mainly on misleading info about Arius, from his-opponents. (Another ju-tactic, even today re foreign-policy, re Aryans, re everyone jews hate!) But Arius had powerful-friends, among them Constantine’s daughter, Constantia, a confirmed-Arian. Although they disagreed, at her urging the Arian-priests at the Council signed its-creed, revealing heavy political-pressure/ju-lies around Constantine; it being in their-interest to placate with low-profile at that-time. Another powerful-friend at this Council, Eusebius, Bishop of Nicomedia, had the backing of Constantine, & endorsing the Arian-cause, calmly brought him to reconsideration. In 329, Constantine sent a cordial-letter to Arius, requesting his-presence at Constantinople. There, he became SO CONVINCED from Arius’ CAIM & COMPASSIONATE explanation ((the way to go for AAs teaching/mentoring AAism!!)) that he reversed his-policy, deposed J-C & Athanasius their-leader @ Alexandria, & re-established Arianism in the empire. (Athanasius, father of Greek-Orthodoxy, fled! -Mosheim; ibid, p. 296-7); (Can we do this to them today!?!).

Through Eusebius, Arius gained the support of yet-another in Egypt, ie, Miletius, of Lycopolis (Asuit, south of Cairo), whose letters, envoys to the emperor, & diplomatic-persuasion, helped in his reinstatement. The independence of the Miletian-Party also shows the frailty of JC in 325 as the standard of xtianity. During the Diocletian Persecution (306), Miletius split from the Alexandrian See, ordained his-own churches & bishops in Egypt & Palestine (Church of The Martyrs, Thebes), &, 50-years after his-death, partly by having joined the Arian-cause, his anti-JCism totalled ¼ of xtianity in that region, ie, the formalized Miletian-Church.With the JCs out of office at Alexandria, in 330 Arius went there to take his-chair as Bishop amidst the cheers of his-followers, but then was given A POISON causing HIS-BOWELS TO DISCHARGE & he died IN EXCRUCIATING-AGONY! (Mosheim). (His-place was taken by another-Arian.) (+Note 23 = This is typical of Jew-Hatred/Cruel-Revenge! I must wonder, is such an end to a noble-man as he the reward by a just-“god”?) JC/JR continued-agitating during all of Arianism’s reign, creating a ‘see-saw’ effect among the emperors after Constantine, until the invasion by the Arian-Goths.

[newssplashy]

Kayode Fayemi: Governor-elect says he will review records of Fayose’s government

Fayemi also said that his transition team will work with Governor Fayose’s government to ensure that workers’ salaries are paid.

The Governor-elect of Ekiti state, Kayode Fayemi has said that he will review the records of Governor Ayo Fayose’s government when he gets into office.

Fayemi, who refused to use the word 'probe' said this while fielding questions on Channels Television’s News at 10.

The Governor-elect told the reporter that it will be stupid of him to say that he will not look into the records to see what happened before he assumed office.

You will recall that the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) hinted of a possible investigation into the activities of the Ekiti state government on Twitter.

 No development under Fayose

Fayemi also said that that there has been no development in Ekiti state since he left office in 2014.

He also stated that he is coming back to continue the good work he was doing when he was Governor of the state.

According to Daily Post, he said “The clock of progress and development in Ekiti stopped in October 2014. (My) coming back is to restart the clock and get it back to the developmental trajectory. What we have witnessed in Ekiti in the last four years is arrested development."

Reclaiming the land

Fayemi also highlighted what his victory means to the All Progressives Congress (APC) and explained what he meant by reclaiming the land.

He said “When I say reclaiming the land, it is not just about the physical reclamation of any land, it is about the reclamation and restoration of the values of our people.

“It is a return to decency, decorum and dignity. A return to a sense of self-worth and self-respect. A return to respect for our elders and traditional institution. It is a return to seriousness in government.

 “This victory means, at the Ekiti State level, a determination by our people to really have governance on a serious level back in Ekiti State. That’s why the people have shown faith, by returning us to power.

ALSO READ: Ex-President Olusegun Obasanjo congratulates Kayode Fayemi

"On a national level, this victory means that the propaganda out there about our party (APC) being a party of trialists and people who are just interested in a section of the country is not selling to ordinary Nigerian.”

Fayemi also said that his transition team will work with Governor Fayose’s government to ensure that workers’ salaries are paid, possibly before he is sworn in.

Kayode Fayemi was declared winner of the Ekiti state governorship election which held on Saturday, July 14, 2018, by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC).

source https://www.newssplashy.com/2018/07/kayode-fayemi-governor-elect-says-he.html

[societypress]

Mary Ann

Dawn Wells, Mary Ann of Gilligan's Island, wrote of Meryl Streep's speech at the Golden Globes:

"Amazing depth and perception radiated in Meryl Streep's speech tonight at the Golden Globes as she accepted the Cecil B. DeMille Lifetime Achievement Award. Thank you Meryl for making us artists proud" This was apparently controversial to many of her followers prompting some very negative responses.  I only just heard about it, and had this in response.

...

I'm just catching wind of this post, and after seeing similar reactions from people I have known for many years, I am once again amazed at the inability for people to think for themselves. This really doesn't come as any surprise because we are not trained throughout our lives to do that. We are trained to go to pep rallies and root for your team. It starts at a young age, and carries on throughout life. Most people are not critical thinkers. That is not an attack on anyone's character. It's just a fact.

This explains the defense of anything Trump says even when it is immoral, and or juvenile. This "man" gained most of the VAST majority of the Christian vote in this country. This fact alone speaks volumes as to what people know about their own good book they claim to believe in. People operate on keywords, without depth, and only superficial knowledge. Just say "Jesus" and they will listen... even though that person may not make a confession of sins...

As a manipulation technique, that's brilliant, if you're Donald Trump. It worked beautifully. But, that good book says you will know them by their fruits. Somehow his rotten apples got their vote. At least the serpent in the true used fresh fruit, just forbidden.

Now, we even have the Jim Baker crowd declaring that Trump may very well be JESUS returned, or at least his forerunner, although I don't remember there being any forerunner mentioned for the 2nd coming other than the shout of an archangel. But, I don't read it like I used to. From cover to cover and over and over, I did, and had to break it down to this.

There are nine pieces of fruit and six pieces of armor. Love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. By these "fruit" you will know them.

The six pieces of armor are the girdle of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the sandals of the gospel of peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, which is the Word...

Now, I realize we live in a time where the largest group of people out there do not identify with any religion. I am not a big fan of religion. There are thirty thousand flavors of Christianity worldwide, not to mention all the other religions in the world. I'm only expressing this here because the people who don't like what Meryl Streep said, which is bewildering to me because it was said with the greatest dignity, and grace; are the same people that protest your post I'm assuming because they were Trump supporters and there is a very good chance they also identify as being Christian. Dear Christians, please explain what she said that offends you? I listened to the same eloquent speech and thought it was well said.

If it was the "birther" comment, then it just proves my point that people latch on to keywords and can't substantiate their claims. Other than that, are we not a nation made of all different kinds of people? The most cherished documents of our nation were written in such a way as to leave room for people of faith of different opinions, cautiously against anyone trying to impose their interpretation above all others, and against anyone intending harm against anyone for their beliefs.

Jesus is not mentioned in our nations documents. The generic term "God" is. This was done by intention, and our founders were hardly orthodox in their views with such as Thomas Jefferson dissecting the Bible, removing all the mention of miracles, and keeping only the moral teachings. That's fine for Thomas Jefferson, but personally, I believe in miracles. I've seen them. However, 'you will know them by their fruits'...

The scientific mind, and this scientific generation denies these things. Perhaps they haven't been exposed to the same supernatural things others have, but while this was never a nation expressly "Christian", it was predominantly populated by Christians. We've been arguing about that since our inception.

I don't believe in atheism, but if an atheist doesn't intend to harm anyone for believing in God, and they operate in peace, then fine. I also don't believe in people like Jim Baker and his crew who say that Donald Trump might be Jesus. But, if they're not trying to cause harm to anyone for disagreeing, then let them believe what they want. It's just that I also believe when Jesus returns he's not going to be elected president. It will be an unmistakable event where every eye will see and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord preceded with the shout of an archangel... and he's not some guy from Queens born with a silver spoon in his mouth that somehow managed to get the Christian vote.

So, when you have a president elect who mimics disabled people, categorizes Mexicans as criminals, talks about building walls instead of bridges, and Tweets like a Twit on Twitter, then it's time we check our belief system before we go calling him the Messiah. After all, have you ever met a white guy named Jesus? That's a Latin name, the Latinos pronounce as HEY-SUS, not GEEZ-US. And, that's a good reason to believe God loves Latinos if you ask me!

Why would the translators of scripture choose to use the Latin name when translating into English what would be more accurately translated as Joshua? I can't answer that question, but that's what they did. Maybe they foresaw we needed that bridge on down the road where we are today in need of 'a bridge over troubled water'.

I know people who have accepted Donald Trump's explanation of what he did in mimicking the disabled reporter, but if you believe that I have a bridge in Brooklyn I'll sell you. I know people, I never thought would vote for such a guy, because of what basically amounts to peer pressure did. When everyone around you is doing something, you might tend to do it too. I worked in environments like that. I understand the herd mentality. I see it every single day in action. It's everywhere. In fact, we are wired for it. So, when someone breaks the mold, they are labeled as a black sheep. It's a tough place to be, especially if you're not a Liberal and you didn't vote for Trump. Especially, when you are a believer and can't understand how other believers could vote for Trump.

Yet, that is America, where we can agree to disagree, but if anyone can show me why all the uproar over Meryl Streep's words and make sense of it beyond superficial disapproval, then please do.

We do not live in a theocracy. For believers, there is God's law, and there is Grace. For those who are not believers, we have the the laws of our country. The biggest problem on both sides of the fence are that we legislate morality. Yes, our roots are in Judeo-Christian beliefs and the ten commandments are the foundation, but beyond that we don't need any laws for behavior in a nation founded on openness to ideas as it relates to faith. What we could use is a lot more decency from the left and the right. As far as I'm concerned the government does not belong in your church, your bedroom, or your garden, but who can disagree with laws against lying and stealing and murder...

So, here we are today in a society that includes people of all races and even gay people. I don't understand homosexuality, but this isn't a theocracy. So, we don't stone people to death for that here. Some think we should, but then we would be imposing our own beliefs upon others when the Christian faith is not by imposition, but by conviction. You can't force someone to be a believer. What we should require of every citizen is that you mind your manners.

After the election there was a rally downtown. They called it the F*** Trump rally. I did not attend. I'm not a "rally" kind of guy, and with all the anger that was being displayed and still is, except by Meryl Streep, I am reminded of one soul standing the crowd surrounded by angry protesters against Trump who were holding signs saying "F*** Trump" and "Not My President". Like it or not, unless you're seceding from the United States to form your own country, he is your president! Nonetheless, there was this one woman standing there calmly holding her sign that simply read, "Trump Is A Creep". We need a lot more of this kind of disagreement especially when whoever is elected is hardly going to affect your life.

I know all about anger. I lived many years with it as one of my most identifying traits. I'm not happy about Trump. I don't like him one bit. He represents what I like to call Mansion Capitalism, when we need a more modest approach to capitalism. We have created a nation full of people who are not satisfied. In some cases, that is justified, largely even our poor are rich compared to the truly poor across the globe. We need a lot less greed and lot more gratefulness. We've got greed at the bottom and greed at the top, suits and ties, suits and ties not.  We need a welfare system, but we also need welfare reform.  We need to learn from the lady in the crowd of angry protesters.

There isn't and there never has been a perfect president, nor shall there ever be one.  The best we can do is make sure everyone is taken care of, because I hate to tell you this if you come from the "self-sufficiency" crowd, it does take a village.  The question is whether you come from the Department of Peace, or the Department of Piss People Off.  If you're pissed at Meryl Streep and therefore pissed at Mary Ann... I don't understand.  What I do understand is Donald Trump spends most of his time trying to piss people off, and I'm no Liberal.

from BLAHG, BLAHG, BLAHG!!! http://ift.tt/2iICh5x via IFTTT

[newssplashy]

Fayemi also said that his transition team will work with Governor Fayose’s government to ensure that workers’ salaries are paid.

The Governor-elect of Ekiti state, Kayode Fayemi has said that he will review the records of Governor Ayo Fayose’s government when he gets into office.

Fayemi, who refused to use the word 'probe' said this while fielding questions on Channels Television’s News at 10.

The Governor-elect told the reporter that it will be stupid of him to say that he will not look into the records to see what happened before he assumed office.

You will recall that the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) hinted of a possible investigation into the activities of the Ekiti state government on Twitter.

 No development under Fayose

Fayemi also said that that there has been no development in Ekiti state since he left office in 2014.

He also stated that he is coming back to continue the good work he was doing when he was Governor of the state.

According to Daily Post, he said “The clock of progress and development in Ekiti stopped in October 2014. (My) coming back is to restart the clock and get it back to the developmental trajectory. What we have witnessed in Ekiti in the last four years is arrested development."

Reclaiming the land

Fayemi also highlighted what his victory means to the All Progressives Congress (APC) and explained what he meant by reclaiming the land.

He said “When I say reclaiming the land, it is not just about the physical reclamation of any land, it is about the reclamation and restoration of the values of our people.

“It is a return to decency, decorum and dignity. A return to a sense of self-worth and self-respect. A return to respect for our elders and traditional institution. It is a return to seriousness in government.

 “This victory means, at the Ekiti State level, a determination by our people to really have governance on a serious level back in Ekiti State. That’s why the people have shown faith, by returning us to power.

ALSO READ: Ex-President Olusegun Obasanjo congratulates Kayode Fayemi

"On a national level, this victory means that the propaganda out there about our party (APC) being a party of trialists and people who are just interested in a section of the country is not selling to ordinary Nigerian.”

Fayemi also said that his transition team will work with Governor Fayose’s government to ensure that workers’ salaries are paid, possibly before he is sworn in.

Kayode Fayemi was declared winner of the Ekiti state governorship election which held on Saturday, July 14, 2018, by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC).

via NigeriaNews | Latest Nigerian News,Ghana News,News,pulse, and Latest News In Ghana In a Splash