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A Walk In the Park  & Aya's Finest Hour.Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.Professional, conscript, or volunteer, they all have run away from battle.A Note on terminology and the metaphor of Cael's WorldThe terms Weave of Fate and 'Weave ' are interchangeable. Weave expresses the intersection ~ the sieve that all the possible futures entered to create what we perceive as this 'now'. Fate is the keeper of the sieve. The Present is what is happening right now. It is that infinitesimal which we interpret as Reality.The Legend is what happens when the present is pulled back through the weave and becomes the past. It is called the Legend because, as the former presents fade into the past, they blur; each becomes less precise and more open to interpretations. (It is as if you were looking at one thing through a prism; as you shift your stance, what you see appears to change.) Within the Legend exist mystic creatures, divinities, demons, spirits, all the Paradises and Hells.The Endless Black Sands is the final resting place for all failed legends. It is the place where all is forgotten until even former realities break down into the Black Sands. That Alal found a way to cheat this doom and retrieved Shammuramat, was truly remarkable; even though Fate 'balanced accounts' with him by sending Ajax and his war band along that path as well.If you wonder how that was a balancing, consider this:The only people Alal cares for (in his own brutal fashion) are Shammy, now Sakura, and his only true offspring in 5,000 years, Cáel.Fate sent Ajax.With Ajax available to test Cáel, how could Alal resist the temptation to place one of the planet's greatest killer on a collision course with both of his loves in order to test Cáel?The Veil is a function of the Weave that protects sentient perception from perceiving the Weave and disguises the otherness of creatures of legend, unless they willingly allow themselves to be seen, which they usually do only so they can 'physically' interact with the Present. Some sentient minds, through horrific trauma such as the Augurs' self- poisonings, through the quirks of Fate via Holy Men, Mad Prophets and Doomsayers such as Temujin, or through the touch of legends such as Ishara, can sense the fluctuations in the Veil and the things behind it. Cáel, in truth, has been shaped by all three vehicles (Ishara, the Augurs and Temujin's legend.)Oblivion is what awaits Reality if the Weave ever fails beyond its ability to heal itself. This threat is what keeps the creatures of legend from constantly traversing the Weave. They have to weaken the Weave to do so or to use powers in Reality, the greater the distortion they create, the greater the weakening that occurs.End Note(Two days ago, with thirty days left)"That was fantastic, Lady Yum-Yum," I sighed."What did you just call me?" she panted softly. We were naked in one of our Task Force bedrooms that was actually used for sleeping, and now sex. I was still pressed against her reposed body, despite our recent exertions. She was on her stomach, arms stretched down her sides.She was sweaty and short of breath. She still had her wits about her and an awareness of our situation: victory sex, me still aroused and her fingernails scratching my thighs and buttocks. My equally sticky body was pressing down on her, even though I supported my weight with outstretched hands placed on either side of her shoulders."Lady Yum-Yum," I mumbled as I kissed the back of her head. "That was the first thing that sprang to mind when you introduced yourself." I could see her working that through her highly complex mind."When writing your memoirs, please remember to me refer to me that way," she began to flex her thighs and abdominal muscles, so that her ass was pumping against my hips."Only if this helps persuade you to give me a repeat performance.""I'll consider,," she purred, then paused to catch her breathe. "You are in phenomenal shape, young man. Do any of your other lady-loves have pet names?""Nope," I grunted as I withdrew.She had teased me with anal sex hints repeatedly, yet never delivered. She liked the game and the power she wielded. My body being on top of hers was only an illusion of a tactical advantage. She knew me pretty well already. I wasn't the kind of guy who would use physical strength to overwhelm her vulnerable position. This being so, a cerebral skirmish only excited her more.We waged a war that was based on intakes of breath, the shimmying of muscles and the trembling of fatigued flesh. The prize for me was the winning. Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke played tricky-clever, but I was better. And at times like this, she admitted it. She gave me what I wanted. I rolled her.Straight, face-to-face fucking. The Lady's pulsar gaze trapped my vision. She smiled, grudgingly at first, then more and more sensually as my glans returned to her g-spot that it had scouted out earlier. This was 'surrender by the Fathom method'. She gave me what I wanted, so I took what I wanted, and pleasured her at the same time."Mmm, you are a bad, bad boy," she lapsed into her trashy West-End Londoner accent. It was perfect and an erotic whiplash when added to her native, refined manner of speech. This wasn't a trick this time, it was a treat. It was a gift, reciprocated. The tactile sensation of her cervix becoming a soft, spongey chalice for my final penetrations was icing on an all-so-luscious cake.I tendered her a tribute worthy of my first love, Dr. Kimberly Geisler. It was strange to find a woman like her. Outside of Kimberly, I had found only one other woman who graciously offered her ultimate pleasure paean to the hundreds of lovers who had become before. That other woman, it still floored me, was Buffy Du, no, Buffy Ishara, First of my House."Oh!" and several heartbeats later, "Cáel!" several hissed series of breathes and then, "Goddess! You are better than good!"Two thoughts collided within me:A) I had never seen a more controlled orgasmic explosion in my life. I was going to have to tell Buffy about this, once we were safely in bed. If it was office talk, she'd punch me through a window and that would make Aya cry. I couldn't have that.B) Goddess? I thought she was Anglican. This needed further study. This treatment was really nice. I leaned in, kissed her. Lady Yum-Yum smiled. "Take me to the shower. Play time is over, Cáel," and she was back to all business."You are treating me like a fleshy vibrator," I pointed out."But you are a very finely-trained, fleshy vibrator, you wonderful boy," she stroked my cheek. "Shower! Now!" So, like a Good Boy, International Merchant of Death and Chosen Son of a Divine Amazon Goddess, I slid off her, then cradled her in my arms as I rose from our totally trashed mattress.I didn't smile when it was confirmed that I wasn't carrying her out of any romantic after-coitus gesture. She couldn't walk. Woot! It took a bit of effort to get us into the walk-in shower and to get the water just perfect, all while keeping her cradled. She helped out by keeping her arms tightly around my neck."Cheeky bastard," she whispered in my ear. "You are gloating." Then she nibbled on my earlobe for good measure."Damn right," I did gloat as I let her slide down to her feet. "You are pretty sweet for an Old Chick." She wasn't angry, oh no."If you were trying to get me to say, 'I'll get you next time," she licked, nipped and sucked on my nipple as if I was the one with the mammaries in this relationship, "it worked." Double-Woot! I was going to get that damn four-way! I did coax a vigorous shower-quickie out of my Lady. Afterward, she shifted herself so she could get under one of the steaming showerheads."Cáel, why didn't you use a condom," she mused. Gak!"You aren't on Birth Control?" I panicked. She laughed at me."No. I've never been a fan of hormones replacement. I like the way I am. Do you expect the women to do all the anti-pregnancy measures?""No," I gulped."Don't' be so worried," she laughed. "We had unprotected sex one time. The odds are astronomical that an 'oops' happened, right?" Yes, it was a single sexual encounter, but included three firings of the one-eyed hydra, sigh."You are asking a man who has five children on the way, Fathom," I cautioned her."Oh, I'll update my files and make an appointment to seen a local, reliable O B G Y N," she slipped back into her unflappable British resolve. "Get along. I need to get cleaned up," she cupped my scrotum, ", again. So scoot." I scooted.I had updated my condom supply despite the forbiddance Dot Ishara, my Matron Goddess, beamed to me from the Other Side. She could only complain so much. I'd upped my selection of fortune cookies and added a fresh raisin chocolate brownie for my next visit with her. I had to get over to the other side of the floor to get a fresh shirt, and boxers.Yum-Yum had ripped off my shirt (a little kinky) and boxers (a little painful). I wasn't going commando, so I decided to quick step it before something important happened that required me to yank yet another solution out of my sexually-fueled creative imagination.How Lady Yum-Yum and I ended up in bedThe Secret Societies' long awaited war had begun in Africa and in India. The Amazons couldn't effectively reinforce these two homeland regions. No, my people's edge came from my stupid stunts (e.g., the fight outside that club in Chicago), the judicious application of a few kind words and a whole lot of targeted killing on my part along with that of my Amazons.Those actions convinced the Booth-gan (aka the Thuggee, but we no longer say that because it irritates them) and the Coils of the Serpent to toss in their lot with their local Amazons. They did the whole 'hostage exchange' thing as well. Two children from each side. That was a no-brainer on my part. All three concerned parties were willing to let their adults die if necessary. Their children were another matter.In Asia, the Seven Pillars had made only minimal progress. We now suspected the 7P had planned to roll over the three of the 9 Clans that were in their Sphere of Influence, the now 6 Ninja Families, the Black Lotus and the Booth-gan in rapid succession. A preemptive strike against both the Khanate and the Ninja were supposed to cripple those two factions.Against the Khanate, that had been a dismal failure. In Nippon, the Ninja were in dire straits and would be decades recovering from the original 7P blitz. But the combination of US black ops help and the infusion of Amazons and Okinawans had staved off extinction for the moment. Strategically, these failed actions were tying down 7P resources that the largest Secret Society had planned to move elsewhere.In China, the Black Lotus exhibited the same resilience and deceptiveness they'd shown in combating the Seven Pillars by themselves for the past 65 years. The chaos gripping the PRC was a blessing from the Ancestors, the four sacred spirits (lung/dragons, phoenix, unicorn and tortoise), and the nine entities (I now really had to know this stuff.) Word that a 'dragon' had appeared in the West had only heightened their desire to aid in our new alliance.Those factors meant a reprieve for India. As the 7 Pillars began ramping up their operations; increasing racial tensions, minor terrorist action and military and industrial sabotage; the Booth-gan and Amazon united resources and purpose. The Booth-gan would assassinate 7P operatives and pawns while the Amazons would hit 7P front companies and businesses based out of the People's Republic of China. (This activity also helped ratchet up India-PRC tensions and anti-PRC public sentiment in India.)In Africa, the Condotteiri had squandered precious hours reallocating resources before launching their assaults. Like everyone but the 7P, they had been caught flat-footed by the renewal of the Secret War. The Coils of the Serpent had never been overly antagonistic toward the Condos, since their interests rarely collided. The same went for the Coils and the Amazons.Two factors inspired a deep Amazon-Coil bond. They were both groups with deep African roots and a shared Central-Western African spirituality. Added to that was the growing power of the Coils of the Serpent in the past fifty years. Their main opponents had been the Illuminati who had a Eurocentric view. Pan-Africanism was in the Coil's best interest, but ran contrary to European economic interests.Long term, allying with the African Amazons was a good investment for the Coils. The 9 Clans relationships had already proved to be advantageous on multiple occasions in the past. The leaders of the Coils knew their power was rising with the fortunes of Sub-Saharan Africa. To them, the rise of the PRC and the Seven Pillars was a looming threat in the East.They had been handed a golden opportunity to deal with this enemy before the enemy was ready to deal with them. They had been 'gifted' with over 2000 highly-skilled, fanatical Amazon warriors as stealthy muscle to add to their own, more subtle arsenal. For the Amazons, it was access to continent wide clandestine intelligence network that could unmask their enemies' hiding places.The Condotteiri wiped out an Amazon freehold in Cameroon and a few Coils safe houses in Lagos, Nigeria. In the Republic of Mali, over 250 Condo mercenaries were slaughtered at a 'secret' installation and their armory was looted. Ebola kept breaking out in the West. The dominant regional powers, the Republic of the Congo and Nigeria, were tottering as a result of decades of economic mismanagement, civic, ethnic, tribal and religious strife, corruption and unreliable militaries.The scene was ripe for a secret conflict as well as public carnage. For the Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce (JIKIT), this presented a dilemma. They were involved with a growing global struggle that went far beyond the Khanate and Central Asia. Their secret society allies strenuously objected to bringing any more 'outsider' people into the group.Handing over covert intelligence to other governmental agencies in the US and UK, then telling them they wouldn't divulge their sources went over like scuba diving with cement goulashes. Explaining to upper level bigwigs that they had a 'trust-based' team went nowhere. Those officials didn't care about a bunch of domestic/international criminals' sensibilities.They wanted names and faces. They wanted addresses, phone taps and bank account numbers. It would all be 'Secret', 'Top Secret', or 'Eyes Only'. It would all be vulnerable to all kinds of governmental subpoenas too. No threats were made from 'my' side. They'd killed more people than the Black Death and the lives of a few thousand bureaucrats (and their families) in London and Washington D.C. didn't mean shit to them.Selena did offer to kidnap some family members to get the message across. Javiera put her hands over her ears and began singing 'la-la-la' as she stormed out of the room. Lady Fathom suggested that we arrange a private meeting with the UK Prime Minister and the US President. It took a few seconds for Mehmet and Javiera to realize she wasn't kidding.That was a nearly impossible task, which on this taskforce meant we had to give it a shot. Let's just say that the US Attorney General, Eric Holder and Chairman John Jay of the British Joint Intelligence Committee thought their respective representative had lost her God-damn mind. I went to the Khanate for help.Twenty-four hours later Azerbaijan, Turkey, Tajikistan, Armenia and Georgia (yes, two tiny Christian nations) joined the Khanate. The integration of the first two nations had been in the works since the formation of the Turkic Council in 2009. For me, Temujin upped the time table strictly for our benefit. Turkey and Azerbaijan became the two newest states within the Khanate.The third, Tajikistan was different and the shakiest addition. The unoccupied title of 'Khwarazm Shah' was created, suggesting the Iranian Tajiks had a special status inside the Khanate. 'Khwarazm' referenced the Khwarazmian dynasty that ruled the last of the great, Persian-led, Iranian Super-States and dated back to the 13th century AD. 'Shah' was Persian for King.The announced status of Armenia and Georgia was quite a bit different. They become 'Protectorates', i.e., semi-autonomous states within the Khanate who were 'vassal' states, responsible only to the Great Khan and his personal representative in the region (ah, that would be me.)So, the first three entries made sense, strong geographic, ethnic and/or religious ties, plus this was part of the Khanate's agenda anyway. But Armenia and Georgia? That was the doing of the other regional secret society, the Hashashin.The Caucasus Mountains were the backyard of the Hashashin. They knew who to blackmail, pinch and kill to make the 'take-over' possible. The main stumbling block was the long Khanate-Hashashin history: the Mongols had destroyed the historical stronghold of the Hashashin, Alamut, in 1256 CE. In a way, that disaster had transformed the sect, making it move away from their strict Nizārī Ismaili roots and into a more ethnically and religiously diverse group that was centered in the Caucasus region.Temujin made it clear to this group that he was making a deal under my auspices. Both Armenia and, Georgia (as well as the future Kurdistan, his plans for the creation of that last state were told to me under condition of secrecy) would be part of my palatinate principality (along with Hungary, if we ever got there). Riki Martin defined the terms for me: I was the voice of those three regions in the Khan's court.They wouldn't have to deal with Muslim Khanate officials. They would deal with me and 'my officials'. If the Khanate had a problem with my principality, they came to me to resolve the issue. That translated to me giving a nod to the existing regimes ruling in Armenia and Georgia (along with the infusion of a few Hashashin supporters.)Publically the future of those three political and ethnic entities would be confirmed later. The existing governments knew three things.1) I was that madman who had led the charge in Romania, clearly a man of bravery and humility. The odds were good that I was going to be a man they could rely on to adequately represent their interests with the government that currently mattered the most (aka The Khanate.)2) The Great Khan thought the world of me and in this nascent New World Order that meant way more than membership in NATO, or begging the United Nations to apply sanctions of dubious value.3) There would be a change of leadership by about 2040. Children of excellent ethnic parentage would succeed me in this ceremonial role in the region. These new princes and princesses would be the scions of the line of Nyilas and representatives of the various states (translation: I was going to be sexing it up with Georgian, Armenian and Kurdish members of the Hashashin).That would establish the three 'cadet' branches of House Ishara (Nyilas) (which I've listed because all three alphabets are so freaking beautiful) that could weave the Amazons, 9 Clans and the varying ethnic identities into a quilt that could stand together as a force in the Great Khan's inner circle. This new spate of aristocratic, 'Archer'-themed lineages would be:1.       Moisari, in Georgia.2.       Aġeġnajig, in Armenia.3.       Ram- alsham, in Kurdistan.This fiction made the key named entities happy. The combination of all these events applied another jolt to the heart of the global power structure (after all, Turkey was in NATO) and made the US and UK governments back off.By tidying up the world map, we'd brought our governmental chiefs to the chilling revelation that their sole conduit for insider information regarding the ongoing global calamity had reacted to their intransience by simply letting them be blind-sided by events. After the fact, Javiera and Lady Fathom relayed that message very clearly.

Tom Elliott has been alerted to an "odd" Labor Party meeting which took place in the Box Hill Town Hall last night.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Australian aviation officials only found out about a Chinese "live fire" drill in the Tasman after a commercial pilot picked up warnings mid-flight on an emergency radio frequency. Mike Fransham, a commercial airline pilot of 38 years, spoke to Alexa Cook.

Monique and Katherine spoke with Jacqui Felgate about the vision. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

US Agencies Alerted To Prepare For Imminent Government Shutdown After Americans REJECT Deep State Spending Bill That Expanded Covid Lockdown Powers, Trump Warns “This Is A Biden Problem”

This Week’s Featured Interview: A new book, THE SCIENTISTS WHO ALERTED US TO THE DANGERS OF RADIATION, is a devastating look into the history of radiation harms and the scientists who attempted to reveal the truth by defying political and institutional pressures. It explains how those who tried to warn us were censored and discredited...

The Cybercrime Wire, hosted by Scott Schober, provides boardroom and C-suite executives, CIOs, CSOs, CISOs, IT executives and cybersecurity professionals with a breaking news story we're following. If there's a cyberattack, hack, or data breach you should know about, then we're on it. Listen to the podcast daily and hear it every hour on WCYB. The Cybercrime Wire is brought to you Cybercrime Magazine, Page ONE for Cybersecurity at https://cybercrimemagazine.com. • For more breaking news, visit https://cybercrimewire.com

pWotD Episode 2689: September 11 attacks Welcome to Popular Wiki of the Day, spotlighting Wikipedia's most visited pages, giving you a peek into what the world is curious about today.With 488,772 views on Wednesday, 11 September 2024 our article of the day is September 11 attacks.The September 11 attacks, commonly known as 9/11, were four coordinated Islamist terrorist suicide attacks carried out by al-Qaeda against the United States in 2001. On that morning, 19 terrorists hijacked four commercial airliners scheduled to travel from the East Coast to California. The hijackers crashed the first two planes into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City and aimed the next two flights toward targets in or near Washington, D. C., in an attack on the nation's capital. The third team succeeded in striking the Pentagon, the headquarters of the U. S. Department of Defense in Arlington County, Virginia, while the fourth plane crashed in rural Pennsylvania during a passenger revolt. The September 11 attacks killed 2,977 people, making it the deadliest terrorist attack in history. In response to the attacks, the United States waged the multi-decade global war on terror to eliminate hostile groups deemed terrorist organizations, as well as the foreign governments purported to support them, in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and several other countries.Ringleader Mohamed Atta flew American Airlines Flight 11 into the North Tower of the World Trade Center complex in Lower Manhattan at 8:46 a.m. Seventeen minutes later, at 9:03, the World Trade Center's South Tower was hit by United Airlines Flight 175. Both 110-story skyscrapers collapsed within an hour and forty-one minutes, bringing about the destruction of the remaining five structures in the WTC complex and damaging or destroying nearby buildings. American Airlines Flight 77 flew towards Washington, D. C. and crashed into the Pentagon at 9:37 a.m., causing a partial collapse. The fourth and final flight, United Airlines Flight 93, also changed course towards Washington, believed by investigators to target either the United States Capitol or the White House. Alerted to the previous attacks, the passengers revolted against the hijackers who then crashed the aircraft into a Stonycreek Township field, near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, at 10:03 a.m. The Federal Aviation Administration ordered an indefinite ground stop for all air traffic in U. S. airspace at 9:45 a.m. (59 minutes following the first impact), preventing any further aircraft departures until September 13 and requiring all airborne aircraft to return to their point of origin or divert to Canada. The actions undertaken in Canada to support incoming aircraft and their occupants were collectively titled Operation Yellow Ribbon.That evening, the Central Intelligence Agency informed President George W. Bush that its Counterterrorism Center had identified the attacks as having been the work of Al-Qaeda under Osama bin Laden. The United States formally responded by launching the war on terror and invading Afghanistan to depose the Taliban, which rejected the conditions of U. S. terms to expel Al-Qaeda from Afghanistan and extradite its leaders. The U. S.'s invocation of Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty—its only usage to date—called upon allies to fight Al-Qaeda. As U. S. and NATO invasion forces swept through Afghanistan, bin Laden eluded them by disappearing into the White Mountains. He denied any involvement until 2004, when excerpts of a taped statement in which he accepted responsibility for the attacks were released. Al-Qaeda's cited motivations included U. S. support of Israel, the presence of U. S. military bases in Saudi Arabia and sanctions against Iraq. The nearly decade-long manhunt for bin Laden concluded on May 2, 2011, when he was killed during a U. S. military raid on his compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan. The war in Afghanistan continued for another eight years until the agreement was made in February 2020 for American and NATO troops to withdraw from the country. The last members of the U. S. armed forces left the region on August 30, 2021, after which the Taliban rapidly returned to power. Ayman al-Zawahiri, another planner of the attacks who succeeded bin Laden as leader of Al-Qaeda, was killed by U. S. drone strikes in Kabul, Afghanistan on July 31, 2022.Excluding the hijackers, the attacks killed 2,977 people, injured thousands more and gave rise to substantial long-term health consequences while also causing at least $10 billion in infrastructure and property damage. It remains the deadliest terrorist attack in history as well as the deadliest incident for firefighters and law enforcement personnel in American history, killing 343 and 72 members, respectively. The loss of life stemming from the impact of Flight 11 made it the most lethal multi-plane crash in aviation history followed by the death toll incurred by Flight 175. The destruction of the World Trade Center and its environs seriously harmed the U. S. economy and induced global market shocks. Many other countries strengthened anti-terrorism legislation and expanded their powers of law enforcement and intelligence agencies. The total number of deaths caused by the attacks, combined with the death tolls from the conflicts they directly incited, has been estimated by the Costs of War Project to be over 4.5 million. Cleanup of the World Trade Center site (colloquially "Ground Zero") took eight months and was completed in May 2002, while the Pentagon was repaired within a year. After delays in the design of a replacement complex, six new buildings were planned to replace the lost towers, along with a museum and memorial dedicated to those who were killed or injured in the attacks. The tallest building, One World Trade Center, began construction in November 2006; it opened in November 2014. Memorials to the attacks include the National September 11 Memorial & Museum in New York City, the Pentagon Memorial in Arlington County, Virginia, and the Flight 93 National Memorial at the Pennsylvania crash site.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 01:20 UTC on Thursday, 12 September 2024.For the full current version of the article, see September 11 attacks on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Mastodon at @wikioftheday@masto.ai.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm standard Matthew.

Dr Aleksandra Janus is a Polish Cultural Anthropologist with a Jewish background from Warsaw, Poland. Living in the capital flattened by Nazi bombs and then recreated by Communism, her multi-layered identity has always conjured mixed feelings about former Jewish memory and cultural spaces. As President of the organisation, Zapomniane Foundation (which means forgotten in English), one of her jobs is to trace mass graves in forests, cityscapes and death camps across the country in cooperation with local villagers, WWII survivors and non-invasive scanning technologies. Alerted by her friend Karolina Jakoweńko, she's come across an interesting proposition – an historic synagogue in the area of Poland that belonged to Germany before WWII. Once owned by a thriving Jewish community who were exterminated by the Nazis, now decades later the synagogue is in the hands of a private owner and Jewish people no longer live in the village. Synagogues in Germany were at first destroyed by the Nazis but not this synagogue – it miraculously survived. So, she's trying to grapple with the idea - does she buy a synagogue back to revive it or leave it where it belongs - in the past. The BBC's Amie Liebowitz travels across Poland to explore the daily life of Aleksandra and her quest to both bury the dead and re-sanctify spaces. Driving through cities, forests and villages in between, Amie and Aleksandra alongside her colleagues unpacks what this purchase could look like and what post-Jewish, post-German spaces represent in modern Poland. Presenter/ Reporter: Amie Liebowitz

Send us a Text Message.Hey there fellow true crime enthusiasts! Pour yourself a drink and join us as we discuss the murder of Mary Ann Moorhouse in Lincoln County, NM. Alerted to an intruder on the massive Coe Ranch, Mary went to investigate. Unfortunately, there were two pieces of information she didn't have. Not only was the owner out of the ranch out of town and she was alone, but and axe wielding man was waiting for her. While this sounds like a movie plot, this is a true story. And as always, we will be discussing this case with a few drinks, so join us as we try wine from Noisy Water Winery in Ruidoso, NM.Follow Us On All The ThingsFacebook - https://www.facebook.com/bloodandbarrelsInstagram - https://www.instagram.com/bloodandbarrelsTwitter - https://twitter.com/bloodbarrelspodSupport Us – Rate & ReviewIf you enjoy the show, one of the best ways you can show your support, which is completely free, is to rate and review us on your favorite podcast platform.Apple Podcast - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/blood-barrels/id1574380306Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/show/57j8QbqAz8mdzjqaYXK2I1?si=f51295c1576d4bcbSee More About Us & Find Blood & Barrels MerchWebsite - https://bloodandbarrels.comMerch - https://bloodandbarrels.com/merch/#!/allJoin The Family!Join the Blood & Barrels Patreon family for exclusive content and perks starting at $1/month.Support the Show.

 U.S. Customs and Border Protection field operatives seized 266 pounds of cocaine last week from a tractor-trailer entering the country outbound from Canada, the agency revealed Tuesday. Alerted by K-9s, CPB field operatives found 100 bricks of narcotics stacked behind a false wall in the trailer trying to cross at the Blue Water Bridge port of entry. Agents arrested the driver, a Canadian citizen, once testing confirmed the drugs were cocaine.Support this podcast: https://secure.anedot.com/franklin-news-foundation/ce052532-b1e4-41c4-945c-d7ce2f52c38a?source_code=xxxxxxFull story: https://www.thecentersquare.com/michigan/article_a2e20bc8-54ca-11ef-ba81-c3d8427de8b6.html

A $9 billion measure will be on the ballot this fall for L.A. schools - we'll tell you how much it will raise property taxes if passed. Last night's shake alert went to half a million people before the quake near Bakersfield. People in San Bernardino are returning home to see what's left after the Edgehill Fire. A road rage incident turns to murder in West Hollywood. And why are $1 tickets to the Hollywood Bowl not selling? The L.A. Local is sponsored by the LA Car Guy family of dealerships. 

THE HALF-MAD CATIn the elementary school for household pets of all kinds, one of the most popular classes was that of the talking cats. There was a somewhat strange cat: he spoke in hops, wrote words backwards, numbers upside down, and often had his head in the clouds.Everyone said, "But that cat is half mad!"One spring morning, the cats had gotten up an hour earlier because the teacher, a very pretty, white and yellow kitten, was going to take the class to the park near the school to play and have a picnic. Everyone was very happy and couldn't wait to leave, dressed elegantly as usual: some with a colored bow on their head, some with a blue tie, and some with an orange scarf, but each with their own multicolored backpack.But if everyone was ready and happy to spend a different day outdoors, just imagine the Half-Mad Cat!He was at least three times and three quarters happier than the others. So happy that for the occasion he wore a bow and a half on his head, three ties around his neck, a rainbow scarf, and an umbrella on his wrist.Along the way between his house and the school, he did incredible acrobatics, walking on his hind legs and having fun doing somersaults: three forwards and one backward.Passersby stopped to watch him because he was funny and also a bit ridiculous. He was really curious and half mad, this cat!Before departure, the lovely teacher checked that everyone had what they needed: nothing was missing, not even great joy — which in the end was the most important thing."Ready, let's go!"In no time, the Half-Mad Cat was already on the road. Seeing a traffic cop passing by, the cat said to him:"Excuse me, Mr. Traffic Cop, we're in a hurry, could you lend me your tools to direct traffic?"The cop, chuckling under his mustache, played along and replied:"You seem nice, but be careful. I'll be watching you."With the whistle in his mouth and the baton in his paw, the cat began:"Stop! Right! Stop! Left! Turn here! Go there! Everyone do the roundabout!"In doing so, he had blocked all the traffic, and the traffic light was cracking up with laughter, flashing red, green, and yellow.Despite all this commotion, the school-kitten crossed the street, thanking the traffic light, Mr. Traffic Cop, and, of course, the Half-Mad Cat.In pairs, they entered the park along the tree-lined avenue. At the end was a little grey elephant making sure everyone kept pace and in line.Once they reached the central meadow and set down their backpacks, it was free rein for everyone who could now jump, run, and play on the grass.The little elephant kept an eye on everyone: "Careful, kittens! Don't get too close to the pond because if you fall in, I have to fish you out."But as if nothing happened, the cats chased each other, did somersaults, and had the time of their lives. The children played with them too, and some flew kites of different colors and shapes that everyone looked up at.In all this joyful celebration, the Half-Mad Cat, who often did as he pleased, decided to copy the children, opened his umbrella, and flew into the sky like a kite.A strong gust of wind made him flutter a bit to the right and a bit to the left. Suddenly, the umbrella closed, and the Half-Mad Cat landed precisely in the pond with all the kites."Splash! Splush! Splish! Splesh!" And endless meowing."Oh no! Help. Help. Help. Save the Half-Mad Cat!"Luckily, under the west bank of the pond was the famous Gorgonzola Bath, where the local mice went to sunbathe together. Alerted by this commotion, they immediately realized that a rescue was needed.There was no time to lose!Without hesitation, they dived into the pond and, helping each other, saved the Half-Mad Cat.The entire school let out a sigh of relief, while the mice, soaking wet but happy, began to joyfully hop around.The little elephant, who didn't even have to get wet, thanked the mice who were already playing hide and seek with the cats.And the Half-Mad Cat?Well, as if nothing had happened, he was drying off in the sun apart, watching the clouds in the sky that were smiling and dancing, winking at him.On that magical spring day, the picnic turned into a great adventure and, with full bellies, the cats walked back to school.The fact is that in every backpack, a mouse had snuck in, wanting to live with a cat, because by now they had all become friends.With the usual imagination and a pinch of magic, from then on, cats and mice loved each other very much and went to school together."One had never seen such a cheerful class," said the little elephant.And the Half-Mad Cat?After the dive into the pond, he no longer spoke in hops, and wrote words straight, but with his new mouse friends, he enjoyed coloring the blackboard with the chalkboard eraser.Mad, yes, but only halfway!

Raises $347,000 to surpass emergency fundraising goal A month ago, Clearwater was on the brink of financial insolvency, with employees being furloughed and the future of the storied environmental organization in doubt. But on Tuesday (June 4), the Beacon-based nonprofit announced it had surpassed its emergency fundraising goal of $250,000 by $97,000 and counting. "The response proves that we're critically important to our community and to the Hudson Valley," said David Toman, the group's executive director. "Now we need to steward this goodwill and take it forward into the future." While financial difficulties are not new for the 55-year organization, the most recent shortfall was unprecedented. When Toman spoke to The Current last month, he attributed the deficit to factors such as the pandemic, years of decreased bookings for educational field trips aboard the historic sloop after the 2007 financial crisis, and several costly rainouts and cancellations of the Great Hudson River Revival fundraising concert. The problems were compounded by Clearwater falling behind over four years on annual voluntary third-party audits, which led to the group briefly losing its nonprofit status and becoming ineligible for grants. Although many in Clearwater felt that the group was turning things around because of increased bookings for the sloop, a new strategic plan and executive director was needed. Toman, who was chief financial officer for the Mohonk Preserve, was hired two years ago for his financial acumen and brought the group's financial reporting back up to speed. The gap in grant funding meant it could no longer afford to pay staff or chart a course forward without immediate outside help. Toman said that gifts, small and large, poured in, including a $25,000 matching grant. Alerted by news stories, two foundations made first-time, $25,000 gifts and promised to continue support. "We struck a chord with a lot of people who want to make sure that Clearwater is here for the long haul," he said. With the staff back on the payroll, Toman is assembling specialists to plan. The priority will be finding ways to diversify the revenue stream, particularly during the slow periods of late summer (when schools and camps are out of session and not booking sails) and the winter (when the sloop is docked in Kingston for annual repairs). What won't change is the focus on environmental education and bringing the public out on the river to help them imagine a cleaner and more accessible Hudson. "We know there are environmental leaders in government and nonprofit organizations who are protecting the river right now who got their start from Clearwater," Toman said. "This is only the beginning."

The Beauty PageantBy thomas_dean. Subscribe & listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. On stage, Gloria towering over me insisted on hearing my husband Jerry's reaction to enforced chastity, "What virile man wants his cock in a blocker while his wife is fertilized?""The decision was joint," I retorted."Really?" Gloria expressed shock. "Your guy's nuts were locked down," Gloria laughed, "after you guys weighed the alternatives and made a joint decision. You are married to a saint.""As close as any man could be," I retorted. "Like a prince, we kissed as his pubes were vaporized and his phallus was encased in the cock-blocker."Gloria declared, "Nurse Warbler is right! Most guys don't mind pussification. They get to jerk off and hang out in a gym. Those too lazy to shower have an excuse not to bathe..." Gloria's voice trailed off into a laugh. Turning to me and the college girl, Gloria asked, "How did your guy take the good news of pussification?"When I outlined Cindy's proposal to my husband Jerry, Jerry believed, "It is generous. I could launch myself into a consulting business, but the sacrifice is all yours. You have to decide.""Hmm," I replied, "Oh, the sacrifice is yours as well. The clinic doesn't pretend we're eh, you're capable of voluntary abstinence. You get pussified, pubes shaven and cock blocked. The cock block only comes off at the clinic to release of eh, tensions, to use the gym, and to shower."In the treatment room, looking down at Cindy's bare back as she crouched on her hands and knees on the table, I commented "`non-surgical temporary sterilization, hmm, why don't you just call it pussification?" I lifted one of Cindy's arms and then the other to sweep the hospital gown away, leaving her naked in my presence for the first time. My hands had migrated toward the base of the spinal column. I was now manipulating the muscles of her butt."Pussification!" Cindy turned her head to look at me beaming with a big smile. "In medical school, we learn how to express simple concepts in the most opaque manner. The medical term might be an anti-androgenal agent designed to produce male infertility on a temporary basis."Sighing with relief at the release of taut muscles in her butt, Cindy mumbled about the relief of stress."And were you able to come up with a medical therapy?" I continued chatting."The risks of chemical castration," Cindy murmured, "brittle bones, fractures, arterial disease, and cardiac complications are too great and the benefits of lower ejaculate too insignificant to warrant use.""So, chemical castration is ineffective?" I asked."Only excising both testes permanently renders the man incapable of impregnating a female," Cindy advised, "temporary removal, storage, and replacement through micro-surgery is not cost-effective."As Cindy lectured, I reached for the depilatory cream. Placing my left hand to press down on her lower spine, I reached under Cindy's pelvis to spread the defoliant between her legs across her lower abdomen in an arc sweeping through her mound and the crease between her vaginal lips. As the cream vaporized pubes, Cindy cooed. "I never expected that this would be so relaxing on such a trying day."Taking a deep breath, Cindy continued her explanation of rejecting an anti-androidal medication, "The expedient of enforced chastity through application of an inexpensive device which prevents erection, ejaculation and penetration is far more effective form of --."Gently whacking Cindy on the butt, I suggested, "Pussification."My wise-crack made Cindy laugh so hard that tears welled in her bright blue eyes. "I needed that," Cindy acknowledged, "on a day that went so bad on which I had to make a hard choice."Meeting Dr. Velour poolside, she commented on my bikini bottoms, "I see your menstrual cycle has resumed. I have been concerned that women who use that implant which stays the cycle might find difficulty when it returns.""No worse than my pussified husband suffers," I sighed, "With both on the rag, hopefully we won't kill each other.""It's hard on the guy whose dick is locked down in the sling--during first few days," Gloria told the naked women assembled on stage. But in Surrogate's pool, it's the most effective form of birth control. At first, the guy is crotchety, irritable and bad-tempered. Once the guy gets in the routine of visiting the clinic to be hitched to a post for a mechanical release, the nastiness goes away."On stage, Gloria speculated, "Getting hitched to a post and jerked off becomes addicting to men. After pregnancy is confirmed, the chastity shield can come off, but the guy will prefer coming here.""Indeed!" I responded."After a few months of the hitching post," Gloria claimed, "You might as well have your guy castrated. He's useless. Besides--the sperminator is more dependable." Shrugging her shoulders to jiggle her nipples, Gloria smiled, "Fair exchange, he gets a mechanical cunt and I get a cock that won't go limp."I replied pithily, "Two hearts, one dream."Turning to me in the treatment room with an inviting smile, Cindy breathlessly whispered, "Say nothing. Help me off the table. Strip off your sweaty clothes off. Let's chill together." Cindy assured me, "No one will see us. No one's down in the visitor's shower at this hour. We'll have plenty of time alone."In the shower, Cindy giggled when my boobs bounced as she tore my sweaty top over my head. My bottoms swept away, I was standing in front of her in panties. Cindy spreading her legs partially squatting, stroked her clit. "Role reversal," Cindy declared, "you're prissy missy and I'm the frisky fox."Clutching me in a tight embrace, she assured me, as she stretched and snapped the elastic band of my panties, "To say yes to bliss, just plant a kiss, don't do me wrong and string me along."Advised, "eh, acquiring both Jerry and me requires his consent," Cindy paused peeling off my panties.Cindy pulled back. Her soft blue eyes turned steely. Her voice lost its silly giggle. Sweetness left her voice when her tone turned harsh into the bite of command when she demanded, "With the kind of money, I pay Dr. Velour, I'm entitled to a happy ending." She paused for emphasis. With hands on hips, sugary sweetness gone she barked, "Top me off."When I reported the scope of Cindy's demand to Dr. Velour in a pool side conference, I expressed dismay, "Cindy doesn't want to merely rent out my belly, she wants to buy me and castrate my husband."A grim look crossed Dr. Velour's face. Dr. Velour spoke hesitantly, "Cindy, eh, Dr. Craft is in line for a grant to adapt my sperminator, interface it with the male reproductive organ as a prosthetic device after orchidectomy-eh castration. It's quite an opportunity.""At the expense of neutering my husband," I protested."Jerry could become the ultimate modern man, with detachable nuts," Dr. Velour declared, "potent when you need him; harmless at other times.""That comes at a heavy price," I replied, "to both Jerry and me.""Your husband would create a consulting company," Dr. Velour reminded me. "I'll ask Dr. Craft about funding for a healthy volunteer. The 26 year old man is an appealing poster boy competing for grant money, but perhaps there is room for other subjects. You'll stand on stage as a prospective Surrogate?"On-stage, red-haired Gloria complained, "I wonder when someone is going to show up. We've been freezing our butts off for more than an hour.""I think we're just being strung along." I said with resignation.Eventually one of the women from admin came down to the theatre to tell us to dress and go home. Gloria smirked, "We're such sheep we have to be reminded to dress before we go out on the street."In days ahead. to my surprise, I didn't hear directly from Cindy but busy with my work wondered how much longer I should punish myself by teasing Jerry.Filling the doorway in a gown which barely reached her mid-thigh, Gloria beamed triumphantly as she stood on the scales and announced, "I'm here for 'The Big One.' And I specifically asked for you.""I'm honored," I replied."Well, I got selected. I meet the doctor--a single parent--who inspected us on stage," Gloria advised me, "It was a touch choice, this Dr. Craft told me. Good deal, promise of a plenty of benefits.""I'm very happy for you," I replied. I wasn't surprised. After `The Beauty Pageant,' I had switched on the implant anticipating the removal of Jerry's chastity shield.Oh, it works out well all around," Gloria informed me, "Dr. Velour plans to branch out. She's in line for government funding to develop a sperminator into a fake dick for men who lose their balls." Looking around the room, Gloria added, "She hasn't decided how long she'll hold onto this place.""Detachable nuts!" I exclaimed, "Now women need not beg off sex with the 'I'm on my period' excuse.""What did I tell ya, sweetie?" Gloria hugged me, pressing fleshy breasts into mine as she stepped off the scales, "Despite the attraction of a young one with a flat tummy, seasoned birthers are more reliable."With a sharp whack to her butt, I ordered her on the examination table. "With your experience, you know the drill. Lay on your back, raise your knees and spread 'em.""I am in a hurry, Dr. Velour has referred my husband to a specialist, I'd like to go along, but...," Gloria start to protest."Then lets get down to work," I spoke in a firm, but pleasant tone as pushed her legs further apart."Now it's open wide enough," I noted as I led the fingers of her right hand to stroke her clit. "Press it down like a button," I whispered. The thumb of her other hand massaged the creases between her vaginal while her fingers explored the widened tunnel. "Work it hard, I'll fetch the sperminator."Down in the subterranean level, I obtained the device from Dr. Velour's office. I called Jerry to get him to drop by for a shower. Quelling his protests, I affirmed, "I have news-it's important." When breathlessly, Jerry promised to come right over."Something we've been both waiting for, but we'll have more privacy to discuss it at 9:30PM."I smiled in reflection. I'd use a women's greatest strength: overcome brute force with finesse. I'd ride Jerry's cock raw my way, cowgirl style.Returning to the treatment room, I found Gloria's freckled skin burnished bright red and drenched in sweat. Gloria demanded, "Ram it in. Cram it in before I explode."While I held up the spermiator and prepared to plunge it in, Gloria moved her hands to play with her breasts. After a pause, I smiled at the whizzing sound of the vibrating spermator as I thrust it spermantor inside her. The thumb of my free hand pressed on her clit. "It's like a on-off switch," I joked as Gloria suddenly went an orgasmic, lifting her ass and crashing it against the table.How long that went on I'm unsure. When Gloria nudged me awake, I was naked except for my white sneakers, standing bent over the examining table vaginas lips locked tightly together by Gloria's long legs. Released I staggered to my feet."Tomorrow, same time," Gloria kissed me as she donned her gown to leave, "I swear you entered me." Shaking her head, Gloria sighed, "They say that's myth; it doesn't happen, but I know it does.""Glad to be of service," I slapped her rump as she passed by me. Giggling, she jumped.It was easy to switch some hours with the nursing assistant assigned to the late-night crew. Warning me as she prepared to leave, "You're it: inspector, shower girl, towel girl and escort. After 9:30PM, the most you'll get is one or two sperm donors. Almost never, you get a surrogate.""Guys tip better," I noted.After an evening rush, by 8pm there was only an occasional visitor. Clad in a thong towel loosely slung over my shoulder, I stood in the male donor's locker, reading a book. When Jerry entered, I threw aside the towel dangling my boobs.. "You know the drill, hun," I said in an impersonal tone without looking up. I stifled the protest which was starting to form on Jerry's lips, "Faster if you please," I looked down at my electronic chart, "Mr.Warbler, in all honesty, too late for feigned modesty, or play strip tease," I paused to ring out in a cadence, "jeans and top, shoes and socks,, everything off, totally defrocked , down to bare anatomy//To get your cock unblocked."Standing hands on hips, bare but for the triangular shield covering his male accoutrements, Jerry looked away as I pushed the button. "Your cock blocker is released," pointing to a cylindrical container, I directed, "remove it. I need to examine your erectile tissue." I deliberately used inflated terminology.Hesitating, Jerry questioned, "Do you think-I mean, should we-are you authorized to?" The tone of hopeful anticipation entered his voice, "Your news?""I have important news but first," I barked an order, "Like everybody else, assume the position for genital inspection," I commanded. "Quickly," I urged him, "Hands behind your head, feet apart."Kneeling to tease his penis with my finger, I teased Jerry, "Look it grows. OK into the shower.As Jerry turned to go to the shower, I condescendingly patted his butt. I marveled that stealth surmise and cunning can overcome superior physical strength all the time.Chapter 11: Casting My SpellWearing only a thong with a towel slung over my shoulders, I switched some hours with another nursing assistant to cover the late-night shift at the Fertility clinic. My bare boobs bounced peering out from under the towel as I shifted my weight. The evening had been slow, only an occasional donor to be freed from the cock blocker, showered towelled and led to a hitching post. Most of the evening was spent sitting around in the locke

Clinic Nurse explains heterosexuality to sperm recipient.By thomas_dean. Subscribe & listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. I was busy in the morning playing the warden, releasing the bulls, the male donors, from the chastity shield and inspecting their genitalia. Unfortunately, word spreads quickly in the clinic. The bulls chided me about my prospective transfer to the female section. "Afraid of dealing with real men," upbraided one bull. His teasing brought a round of a hearty laughter."I'll return the compliment," I retorted, "in this locker, I wear the crown. Under lock and key, I keep your implement. It is I who frees you from peeing sitting down." Later, descending into the subsurface level, I found myself walking with a group of bulls, phallus dangling free, headed to the gym. One, a Mr.Tim Bogen, a relative newcomer, pulled me aside.Worry etched on his face, Bogen requested permission to pose a question. "What would you think if your husband registered here as a bull?"I pondered for a second. "I'd sleep more nights through, wake up fresh still in my PJs more often and get more cuddling time. My eh—partner would learn the use of his tongue. I might like some cunnilingus, now and then. How does your partner feel about your role here?""She came here on one of the partners' days when they allow the bulls to eh -" The bull hesitated."Screw," I suggested."Kind-of," Bogen spoke hesitantly, "Eh—Interaction is subject to strict supervision. Females are protected, like prized animals, from unplanned insemination," the Bogen grimaced, "Bulls must use a sperm collection condom.""I guess Dr. Velour has an exclusive output contract with her bulls," I surmised."The clinic starts off females in milk extraction," the bull recounted."I'm sure it's just an experiment to see if the exercise of the nipples will fool the body into producing milk," I assured Bogen. "Participants, mostly college girls picking up a quick buck, are paid to have their nipples exercised. What's the worry? You are permitted to work her nips at home. It can lead to renewal, a new beginning of tender moments and bonding.""With me in chastity?" questioned Bogen."With you in chastity," I replied in a comforting voice, "the exercise might increase sexual tension and spur sperm production.""But where does that lead to—for her?" Bogen wondered, "Titty tugging is just a beginning. Each step makes the next step easier. Taking money to have her tits pulled can become selling her body for milk production and then getting knocked-up for surrogacy.""You really starting to worry about a concern that has yet to present itself. Perhaps, you should explore your feelings with Dr. Velour and your partner," I spoke with an encouraging voice, "I'm just a Nursing Assistant in training, not qualified to counsel you and your partner."At the foot of the ramp, I promised to raise his concerns with Dr. Velour. Entering the small theatre next to Dr. Velour's office, I found myself alone with Dr. Velour, now in her freshly pressed pleated dark skit with heels and white lab jacket over a sweater. The other nursing assistant trainees had not arrived."They'll be down," Dr. Velour informed me, "in a few minutes; Pat is exercising her nipples; Cassie needed to take a shower after working up a sweat in the gym; Beth is expressing milk. They'll be down after a shower."Apprised of the Bogen's concerns, Dr. Velour congratulated me, "you did right by referring the bull to me for guidance." With a hand on my shoulder, Dr. Velour asked, "What do you think makes a good Surrogate?""Physically fit enough to carry a baby to term, ovulating, able to conceive," I replied."Physical capability is important. Most women are, but what should I look for in a young woman who wants to be a surrogate?" Dr. Velour inquired."A motivated person," I replied."Indeed, motivations. That's what I look for," Dr. Velour exclaimed, "What I look for in a surrogate starting out is the antithesis of a good mother. First, she's less interested in bringing life into the world than securing an advantage for herself, an objective, material purpose, an expensive house, a limited-edition car, a dream vacation, something beyond their means that a woman might be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for, giving up a child. Second, it is helpful, that a woman be a bit of an exhibitionist, one who enjoys being the center of attraction, the star of the show.""I don't mean to inquire into your personal affairs..." I started."But you've heard that I financed my medical education by playing surrogate, three times," Dr. Velour chuckled. "I came away in good condition, don't you think?  No scars, genitalia intact, abdomen uncut." With a laugh, Dr. Velour reminisced, "medical people are so self-centered that no one noticed I was pregnant—every year.""You were not the center of attention?" I was stunned."A couple years later, I went to a reunion," Dr. Velour recalled, "an alum approached me... `Weren't you the girl who skipped graduation because you were pregnant in the last year and delivered? What did you end up having?'" Dr. Velour smiled as she reflected, "`Money to pay the tuition,' was my response.""Then, you were not the center of attention?" I was confused."Most women feel they are or should be as their baby balloons out," Dr. Velour explained, "Sometimes a husband can be jealous." With a reassuring back rub, Dr. Velour promised, "I'll call the bull in, for reassurance."At that Cassie the gymnast entered in scrubs. The sleeves were cut off to reveal her biceps. Following her were Pat, topless big breasts bouncing, and Beth also topless with pads covering her nipples. "Sorry, Dr. Velour," hands cupped in front of her breasts, Beth apologized, "I've been expressing. I need to sop up the drip."I was somewhat surprised to see both ladies enter in yellow shorts and slippers, displaying their breasts, Beth boldly, Pat looking around nervously gauging our reaction."Let's start with Pat," Dr. Velour began, "But first I begin with an explanation, not an apology. There are no apologies in medicine we're always right." Dr. Velour looked from face to face. Her remarks drew some giggling and a few chuckles."In our last session, we had Amy Warbler get dressed in order to come down here to strip behind the privacy screen. The purpose of requiring a patient to disrobe is control. Beth," Dr. Velour called on the surrogate, "could you explain how our heifers enter to express milk?""It's an assembly line. Heifers report, disrobe," Beth outlined the procedure, "shower, line up for examination, handed a pair of yellow shorts and slippers, assigned a booth for milking.""Human breasts are a secondary sex characteristic, not a sexual organ," Dr. Velour lectured, "They are designed for two purposes: to attract a mate and to produce milk for the sustenance of an infant."Velour called Pat to center stage, "Lets start. The areola, the ring around the mammary papilla, the nipple," Dr. Velour ran the pad of her index finger around Pat's areola, "of a blond, like Pat, is usually a subdued off-white." Dr. Velour looked to Beth. "Under those pads, a brunette, or any other dark-haired woman like Beth should have darker, more prominent areolas."Beth looked with a smirk on while Pat turned her head away as Dr. Velour's hands massaged Pat's breasts. "The Female Breasts," Dr. Velour taught, "infused with network of nerves, spread out widely, are extremely sensitive to physical contact." Placing her hands under Pat's breasts as if weighing them in the palm of her hands, Dr. Velour asked whether Pat suffered any neck or back pain from the weight of her breasts.Rolling Pat's nipples between thumb and index fingers, Dr. Velour lectured, "In bringing down the milk, the heifers in the experimental program start with manual manipulation of the nipples. Unlike milking a cow, by simply squeezing the bossie's teat from the top to the bottom, manual manipulation of human breasts must take a subtle, gentler form of palpating or massaging the nipples to simulate suckling an infant."Ordered to drop to the ground, Pat presented on all fours. Dr. Velour squatted in front of Pat, "Taking the nipples between thumb and index finger," Dr. Velour discoursed, "gently tug one then the other. The subject will after she gets used to the position become quite stimulated." Rising and assisting Pat to her feet. "Try this at home with your partner, but there is another way."Turning to Beth, Dr. Velour called for comments. "Sometimes, direct oral stimulation, properly done, mouth covering the tit," Beth explained, "will be more effective in bringing down the milk.""More efficacious as well as more affectionate," Dr. Velour smiled before she invited Beth to demonstrate. "Beth, you have the most experience," Dr. Velour urged Beth on, "show us how direct oral stimulation is done."Supporting Pat's breasts with the palm of her hand, Beth, with a smile, jiggled Pat's breasts. "Nice jugs," Beth smiled. Beth locked eyes with Pat. Pat's hands tentatively reached out to clutch Beth's shoulders.As Beth craned her head to lick Pat's left nipple, Pat placed her right hand on Beth's head to hold Pat close. Beth slobbered her tongue around Beth's left nipple. Capturing Pat's nipple in the mouth, Beth started suckling.Turning to Cassie and me, Dr. Velour orated as if she were lecturing a theatre full of students, "Suckling creates a vacuum instrumental in bringing down milk. The breast pumps employed in the clinic operate on the same principal. The pump captures the whole nipple and creates a vacuum replicating a mouth suckling." With a smile, Dr. Velour exclaimed, "The body is a marvelous machine!"In front of us, the suckling became louder and more intense as Pat's left hand reached around Beth to clutch Beth in a hug. Beth's hands falling on Pat's hips, yanked Pat's yellow shorts off. The shorts fell to the floor, Pat kicked them off. The two tumbled to the platform of the stage."Breast feeding is a pleasurable experience," Dr. Velour observed, "pre-natal or pre-adoptive practice can reinforce the pair bond which many believe essential to child rearing. The human body is a well oiled machine. Unfortunately, there is no turn-off switch," Dr. Velour chuckled. "We can allow these two go orgasmic for the moment."With the sound of an impending orgasm echoing in the background, Dr. Velour turned from Cassie to me. "One of our bulls has expressed concern over his wife," Dr. Velour explained the problem I had raised, "After his wife came on a couple's day, she decided to join our programme as a Heifer to stimulate her breasts to induce lactation."Cassie chirped, "She wants to be a Moo-Cow and he's worried. I don't believe it""That's the problem," Dr. Velour observed. "It is possible that the husband might fear his role as the center of attention in the relationship is endangered by competition from his wife. Amy, do you have any suggestions?"My attention was riveted on the tussling in the background. I watched Beth's lips slip away from suckling Pat's left breast, planting kisses down Pat's abdomen with a smack. When Beth reached Pat's mound, I heard Pat emit giggling sighs of delight. Pat's legs wrapped around Beth's neck; sucking sounds became louder as the grasp of Pat's legs drew Beth in deeper.Prompted by Dr. Velour to advance a solution for the bull's problem, I saw the answer in the scene unfolding before me. Still watching Beth and Pat in the throes of orgasm, I proposed, "Meet the couples together. Allow the bull to suckle the heifer, suggesting scientific standards require observation for monitoring the technique." Looking at Beth and Patty locked in an embrace on the floor, I added, "that way both will share center stage.""Hmm." Dr. Velour opined, "just let their bodies' wiring take over."In front of us, Beth and Pat shook with successive waves of orgasm. Transfixed by the spectacle on stage, I, sandwiched between the firm body of Dr. Velour and muscle-bound Cassie, felt overheated. "Stimulating, isn't it?' Dr. Velour threw an arm over my shoulder to whisper in my ear."If I were still in school," Looking toward Dr. Velour with a sheepish smile, "I'd skip school this afternoon, find Jerry and fuck myself blind."Cassie laughed. Dr. Velour with an enigmatic half-smile changed my assignment for the day to shower girl in the heifers' shower. "Keep you away from temptation. As you know I have an exclusive on all the Bull's spermatic secretions."The rest of the day passed routinely for a fertility clinic. I spent the afternoon as towel girl in the heifer's section. At the end of the workday, I was approached by Dr. Velour to share a spigot in the employee's shower. Asked for my reaction to working with women, I reflected, "Different things are dangled in your face; the saucy comments and suggestions are subtler; the objective is the same: a cheap jives rather than cheap thrill, but no requests for nipple stimulation, manipulation, suckling, or massages.""How disappointing!" Dr. Velour sounded sympathetic. Turning, Dr. Velour requested I soap her back. Starting with her shoulders I spread the foamy liquid on her shoulders, massaging her neck, lathering her arm pits when she spread her arms out. Holding her head back to look up at the ceiling, Dr. Velour opened her mouth and held out her tongue to catch the gentle beads of water falling on her when I passed the sudsy froth along the sides of her breasts.As I rubbed the bubbly mass down her spine, Dr. Velour, eyes shuttered, demanded, "lower, lower, work out the kinks of a long day." The droplets of soap sparkled as I applied the creamy solution and kneaded the firm, muscular half-moons of her butt.I looked around. Everyone had left me with Dr. Velour alone.Splaying her legs and bending over, Dr. Velour, exceptionally agile, reached for the floor with her hands. Presenting her crack invited an intimate massage. I had seconds to think of a diplomatic solution to keep contact impersonal. I leaned into Dr. Velour teasing her back with my nipples and excused myself for a second in an apologetic tone, "I need to leave you for a second to reach for surgical gloves. Don't go away."Dr. Velour muttered with an undertone of disappointment, "If you must."Locating surgical gloves, I stepped into the Shower girl's bottoms. Topless, I reasoned, ought to be enough stimulation. Returning to Dr. Velour, I first squeezed the bubbles out of a washcloth between those firm half-moons. Then I worked the effervescent fluid into her crack, massaging her sphincter with the pad of my thumb, entering her warm vagina with my index, middle and fore fingers.She moaned as her orgasm overtook her. Though I had intended to keep the contact impersonal, the electric charge of her orgasmic contractions jumped from her body to mine. A flush branched out from the cheeks of my face to my chest. My nipples went erect. I started to laugh at myself for donning bikini bottoms. I felt the urge to rip them off and rub my vagina into her muscular legs. I leaned into her back. We swayed together as the ripples of orgasm shot through our bodies.Suddenly, with a jerk, Dr. Velour pushed me off and stood on her feet. Casting a scurrilous glance at the bikini bottoms clinging to my ankles, Dr. Velour cautioned me, "Kick those things off before you trip."Hands on her hips, Dr. Velour congratulated me, "Not bad! Remind me to give your class some lessons in massage." Staring through me dispassionately, she observed, "It may come in handy." Looking around the empty room, Dr. Velour told me to rinse off. "The night crew will be reporting in soon to service the bulls who come in for a shower after work."Before the heat of our encounter faded away, Dr. Velour walked down the catwalk toward her private changing room. Watching her retreat down the walk of shame, I wondered what had I begun? I had wanted to ensure that contact would be impersonal. Dr. Velour intended nothing different. I felt I betrayed myself husband, but most of all I had betrayed poor Jerry.

PS Derek Robertson was married with two young children. He had been an officer since 1973 and had been posted to South Norwood for three years. Alerted by the wife of the postmaster at New Addington Post Office to an incident, PS Robertson and other officers responded. PS Robertson went to the side of the Post Office where he saw three men escaping. He tackled them and was stabbed in the ensuing struggle. Despite the best efforts of the HEMS crew that attended, PS Robertson died. Sentencing Judge HHJ Auld described the attack as "wanton and savage". Sgt Robertson's murderer, Robert Eades was sentenced to life with a minimum term of 25 years.Derek was posthumously awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal1 March 1996. May PS Derek John Carnie Robertson rest in peace. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Fertility clinic nurse explores magic of sex play in study.By thomas_dean. Subscribe & listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Chapter 4: Fun & Games People Play.My tall and muscular husband Jerry, pleasantly bemused, encouraged my studies and offered his body for practice."First, I wash my hands and introduce myself," I went through my checklist, "Good morning Mr.Warbler. I'm Nursing Assistant Amy Warbler. After I release you from chastity, I'm going to conduct a testicular exam, a complete physical inspection of the genitalia, the penis, scrotum, and testicles.""Oh, please do," said Jerry with a smile.I moved his chin to the right and ordered Jerry to put his hands on his head.Passing my written and practical test, with Jerry's help, I found myself in a somewhat more staid, professionalized environment. On duty, I was addressed as Miss Warbler. I wore medical scrubs replete with a name tag that identified me as a Nursing Assistant.Co-opting in the trial run-through for the hands-on portion of the exam, Jerry complained that I should borrow surgical scrubs for more realism in my exam. "There's something to the medical accoutrements, the scrubs, the name tag, and the stethoscope that promote cooperation of the subject."With Jerry's size and strength, I needed all the help the prop of an improvised costume could bring to assure his pliancy.To accommodate Jerry's quest for realism, I wore one of his white shirts, backwards, over a loose, billowy pj bottom. I preferred the short sleeve shirt to tease Jerry with a glimpse at my breasts. Jerry's T-Shirt fit loose enough; I only buttoned the top button to make sure the top flowed with my movement. To Jerry's suggestion that, on duty, I wear a bra or a T-shirt under the scrubs, I reminded him that paying customers give tips."Tips for Tits!" Jerry exclaimed. "You must model this exceptional garment for me. Bring a pair home.""To leave at the end of my shift," I replied, "I have to walk naked from a communal shower along a steel mesh parapet for 100 paces. How can I spirit scrubs out of the clinic?"Still, even after elevation to a demi-professional caste, we had to strip, stow our street clothes in a locker, and walk naked along a catwalk about 100 feet to communal showers. Instead of the 4AM race of the cleaning crew to the showers, we leisurely strolled to the showers. One of the women walked with the man, idly chatting. Next to me walked a cherubic brunette Darrie. "Think of it as short for Darling," she told me."Appropriate name," I replied, "for the angel who releases the male donor from the cock block to release the built-up eh—tension.""Angel Darlin', now that would be a nice name," Darrie chuckled, "the guys call the nurse in the locker the Angel of Mercy. We call her the `Warden.'"In our practice for my hands on exam, Jerry expressed interest in experiencing me in the role of the Angel of Mercy."Not ready to recognize me as your warden," I chided Jerry.Perhaps, Jerry suggested as he stood naked in front of me that I should have obtained permission to borrow a chastity belt for that purpose. "The clinic might have allowed issuance of the belt, but not the electronic notebook. You might find a chastity grows on you. Without the release button on the electronic notebook, you'll find the belt is easier to get into than to get out of."Under the spigot next to me, Darrie, looking around the shower, sighed. "You're new. The only problem with working at the Fertility Clinic is," a silly expression appeared on her face, "it grows on you.""Quite an interesting comment," I replied, "about an institution designed to grow eh, people.""The longer you are here," Darrie smiled, "the more you're bound up in it, the harder it is to leave, and the more you find yourself willing to do."Though there were enough spigots in the shower for us to keep a respectful distance from each other, we tended to congregate within arms' reach of each other. "I'm going to help you-just for the first few customers-In the locker-just to show," Darrie proposed, "you how to handle eh, the ropes." We both giggled together before she asked, "Soap up my back, will you be a luv?"Turning her back to me, Darrie waited for me to apply a washcloth from the short hairs of her neck to her shoulder blades down to her butt. "Are you married, luv?" When I acknowledged, she prodded me, "to a guy?" At my nod, she added, "you'd do well as shower girl, but today you play warden, unlock them on the way in and lock them tight on the way out."At the clothing counter, Darrie recommended that I wear a T-Shirt under the scrubs, "It being your first time, you might not want guys gaping at your swinging tits.""Tits bring Tips," I quipped.In my practice with Jerry, I went through the protocol: "Second, once the subject has disrobed, the subject should present naked standing in front of you. Some prefer to perform the examination kneeling to the side of the patient. Most examiners prefer to stand to conduct an initial appraisal of the subject's general condition.""Hands on your head, Mr.Warbler, if you please, legs apart," I ordered in a cheerful voice."Why do you need to keep an eye on my hands?" Jerry asked. "Does a 90 lb woman facing fear losing control over a naked, sex crazed man recently sprung from chastity?""Interesting choice of words," I replied.When Darrie and I peeked in the male donor's locker, three or four men completely undressed were milling about inside. Darrie pointing out a fair skinned nervous sort criss-crossing his chest with his arms, "Probably, the new guy, Mr.Flesher," she surmised.Naked except for an inverted triangular shaped dome covering their crotches, the men awaited release. Standing at the entrance the male donor's locker, Darrie whispered, "Unexpected things," an evil smile peered on her lips, "especially with new donors can happen when the projectile is unleashed. Never stand directly in the path of an eruption."We both giggled when I quipped, "Interesting concept."Entering the male donor's locker, Darrie barked, "Line up," Darrie pointed to a line down the middle of the room, "Hands on your heads, the one on top of your head you think with, if you expect your schlong to swing."There were some catcalls from the guys lining up. One called out, "Wear a bra if you're afraid I'll cop a feel.""While I keep your schlong locked," Darrie shot back, "fondling my tits in a moment of joy will bring your cock quite a shock.""You just want to smell my pits," screeched another."Just to check, forsooth," Darrie quipped, "underarms remain smooth and clean and not hirsute." Darrie leaned over to give me advice at an audible whisper, "it's good to keep chappies happy by wiggling your tush and acting a little sassy.""Consider this a eh, dress rehearsal. You're suitably naked and I'm in an improvised nurse's costume," I commenced a test-run of the examination. As Jerry stood hands over his head, I announced the next step, "Third," pausing to seize his penis for examination, I continued, "thoroughly inspect the penis frontal and dorsal,-eh all sides for lumps, swellings, ulcers or scars."At my touch, I could feel Jerry's penis begin to pulsate and gel from flaccid to rubbery. I noticed Jerry's lips pursing. I heard my heart pounding in my chest. Breathlessly, in a dreamy voice combining technical book learning with pillow talk, I gushed, "think of the penis as engineering miracle of erectional hydraulics, a natural pump capable of accomplishing a surge of blood flow within seconds. When the penis swells with blood, the pelvic floor muscles launch the penis eh, into ecstasy."Ecstasy? I questioned myself. That's contrary to protocol which impersonalized intimate contact. Putting aside the delicacy of social conventions, I, focusing on the objective, must conduct procedures by the book step-by-step. The heart may beat faster, the temperature may rise, but the purpose of intimate contact is professional. "Physical contact with a female nurse during a delicate examination can produce a natural reaction in a male patient," I reassured Jerry."Priming the pump triggers the launch. I hope so," Jerry replied.Announcing as we swept into the locker room, "Gentlemen prepare to launch your rockets, 10-9 -8-7 ...," Darrie pushed a button on her notepad. The clang of the plastic covers falling to the ground followed. While I collected the fallen shields, Darry declared, "Fun time! Examination of the genitalia."When she reached Mr.Flesher who managed to conceal himself at the end of the line, he was shaking; his fair skin was burnished red. In a soothing voice, Darry assured Flesher, "There's no shame in a natural reaction to physical contact with a female during a genital examination."Hushing the other men, Darrie sent them into the shower, noting, "Go take care of what you came here to do."As the other men filtered out into the shower, Darrie called me over. "Mr.Flesher," she addressed him, maintaining eye contact, "Let me introduce Amy Warbler, our new Nursing Assistant. I need to report to Dr. Velour our boss that Nurse Warbler is fully capable of conducting exams on her own. Can you help me teach our Nurse Warbler the art of an intimate examination? It'll only take a sec. Then you can get hitched to the hitching post for release. That's what you came here for, right?"In practicing with Jerry, I pronounced, "Fourth, inspect the scrotum. Hmm," I interjected, "I get to keep hold of your joystick. Moving the penis out of the way, inspect all sides of the scrotum. Lift the scrotum to check its underside."In the locker, Darrie thanked Mr.Flesher, "Good! My examination will only take a couple more minutes before you're on your way to the hitching post, release and ecstasy."In my dry run with Jerry, I reached the Fifth stage "palpating," I interjected, "that's an inflated medical term for examining by touch, the testicles.""Inflated? That's an interesting word. Sounds like fun," Jerry's laughter went into the falsetto range when I pinched a testicle."With my thumbs and index fingers," I explained, "I roll the testes between the fingers to detect potential abnormalities. Feel along the duct work, the epididymis tube and the duct deferens which deliver the sperm for ejaculation.""Go easy," Jerry's voice ventured into the falsetto range."That wasn't so bad. Your examination is over," I advised Jerry, "You're free to have fun. Thank you for being such a good boy," I patted his tush, "for behaving yourself and cooperating." I turned my back on Jerry to take off my gloves and drop them in the bathroom."Free!" Jerry exclaimed. When I felt his hands gripping me. Lifted off my feet, I felt the pj bottoms slide away. Bent at the waist, I heard Jerry yell "I don't have to be good, no more, but it will be good."In the locker, Darrie concluded Flesher's examination. "Not so bad, was it? You passed your exam with flying colors," Darrie counselled Mr. Flesher, "You're dangling free. Go have fun with it!" As Flesher walked away, Dearie whispered, "never turn your back on a released donor."At home, Jerry exclaimed, "Time for fun." A wild expression cropped on his face. "The pump's been primed, the torrents will flow." I felt the warmth of his body nestle between the half-moons of my ass while his nimble fingers separated my vaginal lips. Then he hesitated."Go ahead. Fuck me." I ordered Jerry. Tease, denial and release, I wondered as I gasped when Jerry penetrated, was that the magic?Chapter 5: Nature of the AttractionIn my senior year in college, I worked several hours in the early morning before classes in a fertility clinic. It was part of my internship toward my degree in Industrial Psychology. In my rotation as a student intern in the clinic, I, through study and practical training, had earned a promotion out of maintenance into the Nursing Department as an assistant.Smart in her white lab coat and dark dress, Dr. Velour introduced the study to three nursing assistant candidates gathered in her office."We start our study with the male body because it is less complex, designed for an important, but momentary role in reproduction," Dr. Velour's word brought a ripple of giggling to the motley group of prospective nursing assistants."This is a business," Dr. Velour expounded, "We have to recruit livestock, groom their bodies, generate interest in purchasers, draw and refine the product and sell it. Initially, our question in dealing with the men, is what makes a man want to `bind his loins' in a cock-blocker, hitch his penis to a machine and discharge his seed into a hitching post? The answer at least initially is curiosity."I chuckled. Ever since I obtained this internship, my husband Jerry has beseeched me to sneak him in to test his equipment. Didn't I put out enough? I lay crunched up like a pretzel, hands bound behind my back with my bra, complaints squelched with panties in my mouth too often to think differently.It was hard to think of Jerry tied docilely to a hitching post at the Clinic to be jerked off. For foreplay, Jerry preferred wrestling me to the ground. Taken by surprise, forced face down, with Jerry strong hands tugging at the waistband of my jeans, I'd spur Jerry on by pleading, "Don't rip my clothes, Jerry. I don't get paid till next week."Was Jerry jealous or afraid my job involved physical contact with other men? No, Jerry was so curious so much so he wanted me to reenact the protocols in sperm extraction."You come to the clinic through different pathways, bringing different experiences to the study. Dr. Velour looked from student to student, "we have Amy, here, a student in Industrial Psychology at the local college. Perhaps with Amy's background in Industrial Psychology, she will develop a clearer idea the motivation of the persons involved in the people involved in the donation process. Amy?""My ugh-experience tells me curiosity is a good hypothesis," I replied. The room filled with chuckling, "Men are always looking for a new spot to anchor their spar in."When the laughter subsided, Dr. Velour pointed out a girl with muscular forearms and legs, "Next, we have Cassie. She's a gymnast who has been working in the gym; Pat," Dr. Velour pointed out a college girl like me, "a participant in our experiment in inducing the mammary glands to produce milk; and Beth," Dr. Velour pointed to a woman in her mid-thirties, "a surrogate.""Regardless of sex, however," Dr. Velour continued, "the brain is the largest sex organ. Oh, the body reacts to physical stimulation and once aroused can control the mind, but the mind creates the expectations in given situations.""Thus, because male body's function in reproduction is limited," Dr. Velour ex

In this video, I detail an extraordinary stock alert I identified at $0.05, which surged to a high of $3.90 within four days, demonstrating a remarkable potential gain of 7,700%. This analysis serves two primary purposes: to underscore the effectiveness of tactical charts and to introduce the benefits of joining my trading community. By joining, you would gain access to timely alerts and insights that have the potential to yield significant returns, far exceeding the cost of membership. I will walk you through the process of accessing the community, including the various chat rooms hosted on Discord and the power profit scans where the alerts are posted. I will demonstrate how these tools and resources can help you make informed trading decisions. Additionally, I will provide a detailed overview of the membership pricing structure and explain why it offers substantial value for the cost. It is crucial to understand that while such high returns are exceptional, being part of a knowledgeable and experienced community can significantly enhance your trading skills and opportunities. I emphasize the importance of leveraging technical charts and being surrounded by quality traders to maximize your trading potential.

258.ਗੁਰੂ ਜੀ ਨੇ ਕਿਵੇਂ ਸੁਰਤੀ ਵਿਚ ਗੁਰਸਿੱਖ ਨੂੰ ਮਾਇਆ ਦੇ ਹਮਲੇ ਤੋਂ ਬਚਾਇਆ।How Guru ji alerted a Gursikh during deep Meditation of forthcoming danger?

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Skype of Cthulhu presents a Call of Cthulhu scenario. The Dreaming Stone by Kevin Ross. May, 2022 The Enchanted Wood Alerted that someone or something is pursuing them, the investigators continue to look for an escape from this strange world. Dramatis Persone: Jim as the Keeper of Arcane Lore Edwin as Tassos Iordanu, Occult Mathematican Steve as Jackson Clarke, Gym Owner and Amateur Historian Gary as Brent Andrew Wier, Accountant Rachael as Amy Roberts, Occultist Meredith as Ricky Harkins, Author Randall as Richard Gallum, Book Hound Download Subcription Options Podcast statistics

This week we discuss Enel removing turbines from Osage Nation land, Dominion's 2.6GW offshore wind farm, delays and fallout from offshore wind projects in MD, NJ and NY, the impacts of long project timelines, energy trading opportunities in Denmark, and differences in mining rights between the US and Australia. Sign up now for Uptime Tech News, our weekly email update on all things wind technology. This episode is sponsored by Weather Guard Lightning Tech. Learn more about Weather Guard's StrikeTape Wind Turbine LPS retrofit. Follow the show on Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, Linkedin and visit Weather Guard on the web. And subscribe to Rosemary Barnes' YouTube channel here. Have a question we can answer on the show? Email us! Pardalote Consulting - https://www.pardaloteconsulting.comWeather Guard Lightning Tech - www.weatherguardwind.comIntelstor - https://www.intelstor.com Allen Hall: Okay, Rosemary, over in Turkey, there was an interesting flight. So they were headed from Istanbul to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and the passengers, weirdly, heard somebody in the cargo hold. Yelling for help and I thought oh my gosh. This is a horror movie scene. So the passengers Alerted the evidently the flight attendants or the stewardess is there and then they went to the cockpit and told the pilots Hey, wait, there's somebody stuck in the cargo hold and They diverted the flight and when they got on the ground, they couldn't find anybody. Rosemary Barnes: Anymore. Allen Hall: Oh, anymore which is what didn't what the stories indicate. Rosemary Barnes: Isn't that the obvious Unless someone hit a tape recorder in a loudspeaker in their bag, I would like to think that's what it was, but it doesn't really seem you can divert the flight, but that's surely only going to reduce the risk of harm to this stowaway by a tiny amount. Once you've gone up to Altitude and gone down again, the landing gears come up and gone down and then, yeah, that's horrible. Allen Hall: Yeah, if they're in the landing gear area, that's not a good place to be. Philip Totaro: If it was a stowaway, because there have been cases where baggage handlers have sometimes, unfortunately, been, like, caught in the plane. And that's happened even in the United States. It's extremely rare, thankfully, but that does happen. But to land after everybody's this is like a Twilight Zone episode, Allen. Everybody's like hearing a knock on the thing, and somebody crying for help, and then there's nobody in there? What's going on? Ghosts? Allen Hall: That is so weird. Rosemary Barnes: Was the Twilight Zone always so gruesome? I don't know. This is the way to start in a high note for the episode Allen. Allen Hall: I just thought of you when I was thinking of Rosemary when she flies. She's got to fly for 14 hours at a time. What do you do when you're over the Pacific Ocean and here's everybody knocking from the cargo hold? It's that is a horror scene. Philip Totaro: Hopefully you don't, jeez. Allen Hall: My, my first thought was hopefully it was like a cat or a pet that, sometimes cats can sound like humans and make that kind of helping noise or a bird or something, please let it be something like that. But Rosemary had to go to the human level and scare us all. So there you go. Philip Totaro: Gaslighting Rosemary again. Allen Hall: All right, Rosemary, Equinor. Has entered into an agreement with BP to independently pursue separate offshore wind projects under bids for those New York actions that are going on. BP is going to take full control of Beacon Wind off the coast of Long Island, and then Equinor is going to take Empire Wind. Which is right nearby. The deal provides both companies flexibility to pursue priorities, obviously, for their individual corporate strategies, so they broken the ties financially. This has financial impacts, though, Phil. Equinor is expected to have a write down of about 200 million,

American troops could be sent to Palestine to fight for Israel. The Intercept news organization obtained a US Air Force memo that describes military orders to be on standby to forward deploy troops in case of a ground war in Palestine and Israel that requires American intervention on behalf of Israel.Rick Wiles, Doc Burkhart. Airdate 01/31/2024Join the leading community for Conservative Christians! https://www.FaithandValues.comYou can partner with us by visiting https://www.TruNews.com/donate, calling 1-800-576-2116, or by mail at PO Box 690069 Vero Beach, FL 32969.Now is the time to protect your assets with physical gold & silver. Contact Genesis Gold Today! https://www.TruNewsGold.comGet high-quality emergency preparedness food today from American Reserves!https://www.AmericanReserves.comIt's the Final Day! The day Jesus Christ bursts into our dimension of time, space, and matter. Now available in eBook and audio formats! Order Final Day from Amazon today!https://www.amazon.com/Final-Day-Characteristics-Second-Coming/dp/0578260816/Apple users, you can download the audio version on Apple Books! https://books.apple.com/us/audiobook/final-day-10-characteristics-of-the-second-coming/id1687129858Purchase the 4-part DVD set or start streaming Sacrificing Liberty today.https://www.sacrificingliberty.com/watchThe Fauci Elf is a hilarious gift guaranteed to make your friends laugh! Order yours today!https://tru.news/faucielf

Trump will not be allowed to “sow chaos” and make a mockery in front of a jury of next week's E Jean Carroll MULTIMILLION DOLLAR CIVIL FRAUD CASE if the federal judge orders him to behave or ban him from the trial, as her lawyers have asked the judge to do in a late night court filing. Michael Popok of Legal AF reports on the likelihood that Judge Kaplan will order Trump to behave at the jury trial or risk contempt and being tried in abstentia. Go to https://neurohacker.com/legal for up to $100 off Qualia Mind and use code LEGAL at checkout for an additional 15% off any purchase! Remember to subscribe to ALL the MeidasTouch Network Podcasts: MeidasTouch: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/meidastouch-podcast Legal AF: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/legal-af The PoliticsGirl Podcast: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-politicsgirl-podcast The Influence Continuum: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-influence-continuum-with-dr-steven-hassan Mea Culpa with Michael Cohen: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/mea-culpa-with-michael-cohen The Weekend Show: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-weekend-show Burn the Boats: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/burn-the-boats Majority 54: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/majority-54 Political Beatdown: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/political-beatdown Lights On with Jessica Denson: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/lights-on-with-jessica-denson On Democracy with FP Wellman: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/on-democracy-with-fpwellman Uncovered: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/maga-uncovered Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Katt Williams Has Alerted More Americans to the Dark Side of [SG] Treachery

Last time we spoke about the beginning of the Russo-Japanese war. The Japanese knew to have any chance in the war against the Russians, they needed to deliver a deadly surprise attack against her fleet within the harbor of Port Arthur. Admiral Togo took the combined fleet and dispatched a force under Uriu to neutralize Chemulpo and land forces of the IJA 12th division. Meanwhile Togo ordered 10 destroyers to toss torpedoes at the Russian warships at anchor in Port Arthur, landing a few hits. It seemed to the Japanese that the Russians were fully paralyzed, so Togo elected to bring the combined fleet in to bombard the Russians into submission. Instead of being paralyzed the Russians counter fired using shore batteries causing the Japanese to back off. War was declared afterwards by both parties and now battles would rage over land and sea to see which empire would claim dominance over Asia.    #74 The Russo-Japanese War part 2: the battle of Yalu   Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. The combined fleet set out again on February 14th after just two days in port. The Fuji was still in dry dock in need of further repair. Other than Fuji, the fleet was back at sea in force. Despite taking numerous hits, it turned out the Russian shells were not as effective as the Japanese ammunition which used a new compound called Shimose, refined into a powder that gave the IJN shells a greater velocity, thus much more effective on impact. In the meantime, only a brave attack by two Japanese destroyers was brought upon the Russians at Port Arthur. Other than that nothing much had come about. While at Sasebo, Admiral Togo discussed with his fellow commanders the situation. Port Arthur's harbor had basically become a large lake harbored the Russian ships, but at any moment they could be unleashed into the ocean. Togo needed to destroy the warships or trap them inside, and he came up with a daring plan. Togo sent out a special order, soliciting for volunteers for an extremely dangerous, practically suicidal mission. 2000 sailors volunteered, many writing their names in blood. The plan was quite simple, the volunteers were going to take ships and sink them at the entrance to the harbor. The ships selected were some very old steamers, capable of just 10 knots. On the evening of February 23rd, 5 old steamers set a course for Port Arthur with some torpedo boat escorts. Before the first light of the 24th, the Russian lookouts saw what appeared to be a steady convoy calmly approaching the harbors mouth. A Russian convey was long being awaited, thus many assumed it was them. Some Russian ships came in closer to examine the newcoming vessels closer and upon showering them with searchlights, the captain of the Retvizan quickly realized they were Japanese. Retvizan began opening fire, prompting the old steamers to run frantically through a gauntlet. The Japanese crews were blinded by searchlight as the guns of the Retvizan and shore batteries rained hell upon them. The leading steamer, the Mokoko Maru was hit by Retvizan at point blank range just due east of the harbor entrance. She sank quickly and the other steamers would face a similar fate one by one as they approached. Volunteer crews were shot to pieces or abandoned ship. Those who survived the shelling were rescued by torpedo boats. The mission was a terrible failure. The Russians did not quite understand what had occurred. Certainly the ships were no battleships, but some assumed it was another torpedo attack attempt and thus believed some warships had been sunk. Admiral Alexeiev desperate to boost morale send a message to the Tsar claiming a great naval victory. After further investigation, the steamers were found to be what they were and Alexeiev had to send a correction to the Tsar. Now all of this was going down in Port Arthur, but the Russians did have another force at their cold water port of Vladivostok. Under the command of Rear Admiral Jessel were the armored cruisers Gromoboi, Rurik, Boegatyr and Rossiya. Rear Admiral Kamimura was leading a cruiser squadron with torpedo boats around Tsushima. His duty was that of a picquet force to meet the Russian enemy if they came out to play. Alexeiev gave Jessel orders not to steam more than a single day from port. Jessel had thus only managed to sink two unarmed Japanese merchantmen with his small patrols.  Now upon the land, the former Minister of War, General Kuropatkin was appointed the land commander in Manchuria. He would depart St Petersburg on March 12th and arrive to Harbin by the 28th. For the sea, the disgraced Admiral Starck was to be replaced with Vice Admiral Makarov. The Russian government was trying to showcase to its troops, that the very best officers would lead them, it was a much needed boost of confidence. However Tsar Nicolas II also appointed Alexeiev as the Viceroy of the Russian far east, which gave Alexeiev higher authority than all government ministries in the region, making him beholden only to the Tsar himself. Alekseyev was a key member of the “Bezobrazov Circle” a politically motivated investment group led by Aleksandry Mikhailovich Bezobrazov whom sought to create a commercial enterprise, modeled after the British East India Company, reigning over Manchuria and Korea. A skilled lobbyist, Bezobrazov was the one who persuaded Tsar Nicolas II for Alekseiv's appointment. This would prove ruinous.  Makarov departed his previous command at fort Kronstadt and received news cruisers Novik, Bayan and Askold were damaged. While enroute he received a report the Bezstrashni and Viestnitelni were intercepted by Japanese picquet forces while returning to port. They were attacked trying to race to Port Arthur and Vistnitelni was unable to get away, being destroyed around Pigeon bay. Thus the new commander was getting this picture of his forces accumulating unacceptable losses without even engaging the enemy. Makarov unlike Starck was not so conservative, he sought real action. Makarov was what you would call “a sailors sailor”. He was in excellent shape, was a noted naval tactician and had a copy of a book on his adversary Admiral Togo in his cabin at hand. During his voyage to the far east, Starck retained command and continued to fly his flag upon Petropavlovsk. Makarov would hoist his aboard the soon to be repaired Askold by march 14th. Soon Retvizan and Tsarevitch were patched up adequately to be battleworthy and destroyer flotillas were sent out of the harbor to hunt the Japanese. On March 10th, the blockading forces were attacked by the Russians. The Japanese were surprised at the sudden aggressiveness of the Russians, Togo believed they were finally willing to come out and battle. At the beginning of the war most eyes were set on seeing the performance of torpedoes, they were a relatively new weapon. They actually proved to be quite a disappointment. The weapon that would really make its mark was the seamine. The Japanese made continuous efforts to sent destroyers out at night to lay mines near the entrance of Port Arthur. The Russians did their best to watch these actions and when the tides rose high they would employ grappling hooks to clear fields. This simply pushed the Japanese to lay mines 10 feet below the surface. This resulted in mines actually being placed at various depths, thus when the tides were much higher most ships could pass right over, but if the tides lowered, this led to collisions.  Now back to March 10th, that night the Japanese attempted a ruse. A flotilla of 4 IJN destroyers approached Port Arthur and began parading outside to trying to lure out some Russian warships. Now emboldened, the Russians sent out 6 warships to chase the Japanese who lured them in the direction of Laoteshan. While they were chasing, another IJN destroyer flotilla came from behind and began mining the waters at the harbors entrance at around 4:30am. Eventually the Russian shore batteries saw what was going on and began to fire on the mining destroyers who made their quick escape. The Russian warships chasing the other flotilla heard the gunfire and quickly turned back. The 4 IJN mining destroyers got into position to attack the incoming Russians. 4 out of the 6 Russian warships dodged this and ran for the harbor, but the Ryeshitelni and Stereguschi found themselves blocked. It was 4 against 2 as the destroyers battling it out. The Ryeshitelni was hit a few times causing steering problems but she managed to flee to the harbor, the Stereguschi however was not so lucky. A 1 pounder shell struck a steam pipe in her boiler and engines causing an explosion that killed most of her engine room staff. Stereguschi's captain tried to keep her on course, but her speed dropped and she was soon raked by all 4 Japanese destroyers. Her crew tried to fire back, until only 4 men of the crew were even capable of moving anymore. The IJN destroyer Sasanami let loose a cutter boat to board her as the Stereguschi was captured. The boarding party stepped over corpses and human body parts as they raised the Rising Sun flag. Suddenly the Russian cruisers Bayan and Novik were charging towards the mined harbor entrance. The Sasanami crews leapt back aboard to flee the scene as the Russians opened fire upon them.  It was a bit of excitement to be sure, but Makarov wanted real action, he sought to give battle. He began a intensive training of the fleet, performed tours and raised morale. Meanwhile on March 22nd the Fuji and Yashima were now stationed in Pigeon bay to fire to enforce the blockade effort. Suddenly they found themselves being fired upon by the Russians and saw cruiser Askold flying Makarov's flag. Fuji took a minor hit and had to return to Sasebo for repairs. Togo and his fellow commanders now were realizing the Russians were growing in stature. Meanwhile the IJA guards division was only beginning to unload ashore in Korea. The Russian navy charging out of Port Arthur serious threatened the Japanese troop transit, Togo had to stop them.  The same suicidal plan was employed again. The crews were taken from 20,000 volunteers, another 4 old steamers were allocated to the mission. This time each ship was ballasted with cement and stones alongside a fail safe detonating system. On the night of march 26th, the 4 old steamers sailed 10 knots for the entrance to the harbor. Just before 2:30am their escorts departed and at 3:30am they were two miles from the harbor mouth when they were detected. A gun went off on Electric Hill signaling the presence of the enemy. Search lights blasted everywhere as the 4 steamers began a marathon while dodging incoming shell fire. The frontrunner, Chiyo was making good progress until the Russian destroyer Silny came in close and torpedoed her side. The steamers behind her were fired madly upon causing massive casualties as one by one sank. Two Japanese escort destroyers tried to fire torpedoes at the Silny and maged to hit her in the engine room. In the end both sides took casualties, but Port Arthur remained open.  Makarov's patience was waning, on April 12th he was aboard the cruiser Diana searching for lost Russian destroyers who had been sent out to hunt the Japanese but failed to return. Diana's lookout spotted a ship and her captain requested permission to open fire. Makarov was not sure if the ship was the enemy or one of his own, so he simply said to approach it cautiously. Unbeknownst to Makarov it was another ruse. Togo had been studying the Russian warship maneuvers, schedules and behaviors. He had noticed a pattern, when ships approached port arthur, the Russians would come out to investigate them by going north and south and east to west under the protective range of the shore batteries. He had formed a plan, led by the Koryu Maru who was hiding in the area ready to lay mines at the harbor mouth. 48 mines had been laid at the harbor mouth. As daylight was coming upon the morning of April 13th, Makarov's force got close enough to the unidentified ship to realize it was the lost Strashni and she was being fired upon by 4 IJN destroyers. Strashni was being hit at point blank range, the majority of her crew were dead, she was a goner. Alerted by the naval fire, Makarov took the fleet in to battle. Cruiser Bayan was the first to arrive, joined by Askold, Diana and Novik. The Japanese quickly withdrew from them heading towards the main fleet. The slower Russian battleships were making their way with Petropavlosvk flying Makarovs flag, next to her was Poltava. They passed over the minefield without mishap. Makarov had ordered the area swept the previous night, but the sweep never occurred, he just got very lucky. Admiral Dewa watched the Russian fleet as they departed the harbor, Sevastopol, Peresvyet and Pobieda followed behind the flagship. Dewa sent word to Togo to spring the trap. Dewa opened fire drawing the Russians further south while Togo brought up the first division hoping for battle. When Makarov saw Togo's battleships on the horizon he quickly ordered his fleet to pull back under the range of their shore batteries. Aboard the Petropavlovsk was the grand duke Cyril, a cousin to the tsar, a famous artist named Vasili Verestchagin and Captain Crown. Makarov had expected a historic moment and wanted to share it with others. As Makarovs fleet got closer to the harbor he ordered the smaller warships to go inside it while the larger ships formed a line of battle. When the Japanese approached within 6 miles they would fall under the range of the shore batteries, Makarov expected a massacre upon them. Then at 9:43am a terrible explosion hit the bows of the Petropavlovsk rocking her, a second explosion ripped open a magazine and a third blew up her boiler. The ship quickly keeled over and went down bow first, as her propellers continued to spin. Within two minutes the flagship had hit 3 mines and fell under the waves, a complete disaster. The Japanese were only 10,000 yards away, cheering the explosive sounds. Togo ordered the men to take their caps off in silence when they realized it was Petropavlovsk that had struck the mines and sunk. At 10:15am Pobieda hit a mine, the Russians thought it was some sort of submarine attack and began firing wildly out the sea. When the Russians regained order they got back into the harbor one by one. Pobieda was the last to limp in. 630 men died aboard the Petropavlovsk, including Admiral Makarov, Vasili Verestchagin and Captain Crown, the Grand Duke Cyril had been launched off the warship from the explosion and although severely injured would survive. The death of Makarov shattered the morale of the Russian navy and in the motherland added fuel to an emerging revolutionary clamor.  The Japanese fleet were anchored off Elliot island on the 14th when they received the confirmed news of Makarovs death. Togo read out the telegram from Reuters and he ordered his fleet to fly their flags at half mast to give a day of mourning for an honored opponent that they esteemed a samurai for his aggressive behavior.  Makarovs death signaled an end to aggressive naval actions for quite some time. On May 3rd Togo launched further blocking actions. 8 steamers tried to perform the same suicidal mission as down twice before and failed like the others. Togo was so ashamed by the loss of life from these 3 missions that he stated the third mission had been a success, lying to the army. He did this under immense pressure, for it was his job to secure the sea lanes so Japanese troops could be safely landed along the Liaodong Peninsula. Luckily for him, the death of Makarov basically kept the Russian fleet bottled up in Port Arthur. Unluckily for him the Japanese saw their own losses to sea mines begin in May. On the 12th a destroyer hit a mine at Talienwan; the next day the battleship Hatsuse ran into a minefield laid out by the Amur and just like the Petropavlovsk was lost within a minute. She had hit two mines, one blew up her magazine, breaking apart her deck. The battleship Yashima closed in to help her but also hit a mine, but was able to limp away out of the sight of the Russians before she too sank. News of these ship losses were not released to the Japanese public. Chemulpo had been seized easily, the 12th division began landing there with ease. Now the 2nd, 12th and Guards division were of the 1st IJA, mobilized before the offset of the war. The Japanese held the advantage of being able to send troops faster via the sea, for the Russians the trans siberian railway still took a considerable amount of time. Thus the Japanese wanted to hit hard and fast, so alongside the 12th division the 2nd and guards were hoped to make a landing quickly after. The 12th division with some components of the 2nd division landed between the 17th and 22nd of February and began a quick march towards Pyongyang. The Japanese first entered Pyongyang on February 21st who quickly ran out some Cossacks. They set up supply posts enabling the rest of the 12th division to follow suit by the early march. Pyongyang became a focal point for supplies and provisions, the Japanese employed numerous Koreans for the logistical war effort. They bargained for provisions at a fair rate, for example purchasing pigs. A coolie army was hired, nearly 10,000 men strong. They were paid wages above the market norm and leaders amongst them received red bands to signify privileged positions within the Imperial Japanese Transport Corps.  On March 18th the 12th division advanced from Pyongyang to Anju dislodged two squadrons of Cossack cavalry there. Patrols from the first IJA indicated Chinampo lying around the mouth of the Taitong diver would make for an excellent landing point for men and supplies. Thus the commander of the 1st IJA, General Kuroki dispatched some forces of the guards and 2nd division from Hiroshima to land and secure Chinampo on March 13th. By the end of March the entire 1st IJA had landed in Korea. By this point the Japanese were confused at the lack of Russian interference, unbeknownst to them the Tsar had issued a directive to Alexeiev to overt any Russian action against the Japanese in Korea. The Russians still believed there was a chance the Japanese would just skirmish on the borders and not advance into Manchuria. Thus Alexeiev ordered the forces to allow the Japanese to land “on the whole extent of the western coast of Korea as high as Chemulpo and to permit their exploration as far north as the Yalu”.  While the Japanese were consolidating their logistical supply bases in Korea, the Russian logistics were facing countless problems. The Russians simply did not have the logistical organization that the Japanese had, they were basically living off the land. The Russians were coming into conflict with the local Manchurian populations who were actively resisting them. This was largely due to the recent war they just fought in Manchuria, Japanese funding Honghuzi forces and the Chinese and Koreans simply sympathize more with their fellow asian Japanese against the Russians. Honghuzi guerilla forces were working with Koreans along the northern border to harass the Russians, attacking and pillaging their supply lines. The Japanese war plan sought to have its 1st IJA attack and advance over the Yalu, while the 2nd IJA led by General Oku would land near Nanshan to cut Port Arthur off from the mainland. Now Kuroki's 1st IJA may have had better supply lines, but to move the entire army north into Manchuria was still a logistical nightmare. To be more efficient the 1st IJA would focus its bulk along the western part of Korea where sea access was easier. The port of Rikaho was selected as a new forward landing and supply base. After securing it the Japanese continued north towards the Yalu and by the second week of April were in the same spot their forebears had taken in August of 1894.  By April 21st they were concentrating due south of Wiju drawing supplies from Chinampo, Boto and Rikaho. At this point many foreign military observers and correspondents were arriving. There was a deep hunger to study how new modern weaponry and tactics would work out on the battlefield, both the Russians and Japanese would have foreigners amongst them taking notes. It was an interesting time after all. Since the American Civil War, Taiping Rebellion and even Franco-Prussian War of 1870, military technology had advanced exponentially. There would be as many as a hundred foreign military observers from over 16 different nations in Manchuria and Korea during the war. This would also be exploited heavily for spying. Many of the observers were British who held obvious sympathies with the Japanese and thus would covertly hand over information. Now back on February 15th, General Kuropatkin presented the Tsar his campaign plan to win the war against Japan, a war might I note he never favored having. Kuropatkin estimated he would require 6 months to achieve a force of 200,000, the number he believed was necessary to undertake an offensive. Thus he sought to spend the 6 months assessing the Japanese strength while establishing strong defenses to the north of their perceived limit of advance. Basically he wanted to trade space for time, he did not seek to establish defenses too far south. But Kuropatkin was not the top brass, it was Alexeiev and Alexeiev ordered Kuropatkin not to abandon any territory. Thus Kuropatkin was forced to form a line of defenses near the Yalu. He dispatched General Zasulich, the new Eastern Detachment commander on April 22nd with specific orders “to retard the enemy in his passage; to determine his strength, dispositions and lines of march; to retreat as slowly as possible into the mountains”. Opposite and across the Yalu from Wiju is Chuliencheng, the town sits about 2 miles north of the river. The Yalu splits into two rivers and at the split point are a chain of islands. There were no bridges between the two banks, thus crossings would need to be made by small junks and sampans. Taking some of the islands in the Yalu was imperative to ease crossing points. At Fenghuangcheng the Yalu divided and going north became the Ai river. At the junction was a 500 foot high hill called Tiger's head another important strategic location the Japanese would have to seize. Closer to the mouth of the Yalu on the northern side was the fortified town of Antung, which the Russians believed was extremely vulnerable to a Japanese landing attack. The Russian forces at the Yalu consisted of the 3rd Siberian Army corps alongside our old friend General Mishchenko's trans-baikal cossack brigade. At Antung, led by Major General Kashtalinksi were 2580 riflemen, 400 cavalry scouts, 16 field guns and 8 machine guns. On the right flank 4 miles to the north at Tientzu was a reserve of 5200 riflemen and 16 guns; at Chuliencheng led by Major General Trusov were 5200 riflemen, 240 cavalry scouts and 16 guns. The right flank extended from the mouth of the Yalu to Takushan all under Mishchenkos command who held 1100 cavalry, 2400 riflemen, 8 field guns and 6 horse drawn guns. The left from going from Anpingho to Hsiapuhsiho around 40 miles northeast on the Yalu was 1250 cavalry, 1000 riflement and 8 mountain guns. Excluding the reserves, there were over 16,000 riflemen, 2350 cavalry, 630 cavalry scouts, 40 field guns, 8 mountain guns and 6 horse drawn guns covering a distance of over 170 miles. Facing them around Wiju would be a Japanese force of 42,500 men. The Russians had spread themselves out thinly along the river. At the base of numerous hills were Russian trenches, uncamouflaged, in full view from the opposite bank. The Russian artillery likewise was in full view, a large mistake. The Japanese had employed spies, often disguised as fisherman going along the rivers mapping out the Russian artillery positions, by the 23rd the Japanese had acquired the full layout and order of battle. General Kuroki made sure to conceal his strength and more importantly his main crossing point. Using screens of large trees and kaoliang, if you remember the boxer series that is a tall type of millet, well they used this type of cover to move their artillery and troops in secrecy. The Russians occupied the islands in the Yalu called Kyuri, Oseki and Kintei. On the 25th 6 batteries were brought up to support an infantry attack. IJN gunboats began harassing the forces at Antung as a diversion, trying to deceive the Russians into thinking their right flank was where the fighting would be had. At 9:45pm two battalions of the 2nd division crossed using pontoons to Kintei island completely unopposed. Sappers immediately went to work constructing bridges. At 4am a force of 250 soldiers of the Guards division landed and attacked 150 Russians on Kyuri, dislodging them at the cost of 12 men. The Russians quickly abandoned Kyuri and Kintei seeing them as lost causes, but suddenly without orders the men atop Tiger Hill also began withdrawing when they saw men leaving the islands.  The Japanese engineers began constructing 10 bridges using pontoons as a feint attack was launched against Chuliencheng. A bridge was erected made up of native boats placed side by side going across the Yalu. This bridge was a decoy. Russian artillery fired upon numerous positions giving their locations away as the concealed Japanese artillery systematically took them out one by one. Over at Antung a small flotilla of 6 gunboats continued to harass the fort and trenches. The local commander was convinced the Japanese would land and attack, again this was a deception. After a few days Kuroki had all he needed to unleash a blow. He sought to advance to Tangshancheng, between Fenghuangcheng and Antung. He had orders to work in concert with the 2nd IJA's landing, this meant he was to a cross the Yalu on April 30th. However, Generals Oku, Kuorki and Admiral Togo met on April 25th where it was determined the deadline had to be pushed until May 1st or 2nd. Thus Kuroki was ordered to delay his attack until May 3rd. Kuroki concentrated his attention towards the weak Russian left flank. He required a crossing point over the Yalu to reconnoiter between the Yalu and Ai rivers. The Russians believed crossing the Ai would require boats, but the Japanese found a crossing point over at the right bank around Sukuchin. Kuroki had the 12th division focus on the right flank, the Guards in the middle to cross the Yalu via the Kyuri and Oseki islands to take a position on Chukodai island to the north and south of Tiger Hill, the 2nd division would hit the weak left. On May 1st the Japanese received some new toys from Chinampo, 20 4.72 inch howitzers organized into 5 batteries. Under the cover of darkness, these huge guns were placed into camouflaged trenches. Meanwhile back on the 29th of april the 12th division covertly crossed the Yalu during the night and moved 3 batteries into Chukyuri to cover the bridge making effort. At 11am on May 1st the Japanese artillery began firing, covering the 12th divisions as they crossed the right bank brushing aside light Russian opposition. Zasulich received word of this and tried to order reinforcements to Anpingho, but he still believed the activities of the 12th division to be a feint, a IJN flotilla was harassing Antung still. The reinforcements were thus delayed heavily. On april 29th and 4pm Zasulich despatched a battalion of the 22nd east Siberian rifle regiment with some mounted scouts and 2 guns to cross the Ai river and retake Tiger Hill. The Russians easily dislodged the Japanese platoon atop the hill who quickly joined their comrades over on Kyuri island.  The next morning the Japanese could see the Russians digging in on Tiger Hill, so the Guards divisional artillery on a hill south of a bridge leading to Kyuri island opened fire on them. There was no artillery response from the Russian artillery. At 10am two groups of sappers set out in boats to survey the waters opposite of Chukodai and at 10:30 were fired upon by a battery on some high ground north east of Chuliencheng. 6 4.72 inch batteries of the 12th division responded and within 16 minutes the Russian battery was neutralized suffering the deaths of 5 officers and 29 men. Another Russian battery east of Makau began firing and was smashed quickly by the Guards artillery.  Major General Kashtalinski took command of the Chuliencheng sector from Major General Trusov who became ill on April 28th. So severely had the Russian artillery and infantry suffered from the Japanese artillery, that at 11pm on April 30th, Kashtalinski requested permission from Zasulich to withdraw to some hills behind Chuliencheng. Zasulich refused this as Alexeiev's orders were clear, not to give up any ground. Zasulich then received news, the men on Tigers Hill had abandoned it fearing encirclement, some elements of the Guards and 12th division linked up and took it. The 12th division were advancing in three columns towards the Ai river during the night and as Thomas Cowen of the Daily Chronicle reported “The men had to march, wade, wait their turn at a plank bridge or shallow ford, help each other up a slippery bank, pass, in single file sometimes, through a willow copse, wait, climb, jump, mud-scramble, and march again, for about six hours, getting into positions, ‘lining out' in front of the long-extending Russian trenches. No light was allowed, nor a voice above an undertone, for the most part there were no roads to march on, but the men had to cross fields, grope in the gloom for strange paths, or struggle past obstructions where no path could be found, using dry water-courses as tracks till they led into pools, over stubbly cornfields, in and out among tenantless farm buildings, up country lanes and hillside footpaths, each officer and NCO peering into the gloom, feeling his way to the appointed spot, consulting a rough sketch plan and drawing his men after him.” At 3am the Russian 12th regiment reported back to Zasulich that they heard the sounds of wheels on the islands and believed artillery were crossing bridges, he did nothing. At 5am the morning fog dissipated and the Russians could now see opposite of them at Chuliencheng to Salankou at a distance of 6 miles, 3 Japanese divisions were in trenches waiting to pounce on them. Regimental priests egan sermons just before the scream of Japanese howitzers broke the morning quiet. The Japanese artillery were focused first on hunting Russian artillery, eventually some batteries at Makau fired back and within a few minutes were silenced. After this the Japanese artillery focused its full weight upon the Russian infantry in their trenches absolutely devastating them. In view of the lack of Russian artillery fire, Kuroki changed his plans somewhat and ordered the 12th division to perform an encirclement maneuver prior to the Guards and 2nd divisions attacks. By 7am all 3 Japanese divisions were advancing.  The Japanese stormed out of their trenches and rushed along the 200 yard wide waters of the Ai to the various crossing points like ants going through funnels. The Japanese troops carrying packs full with rations for 3 days moved as fast as they could through the water before being hit by the first Russian volley at a range of around 500 yards, about halfway across the river. It was an extreme range for the Russian rifles, but with the Japanese so packed up it was brutal. The Japanese did not loss momentum and soon were charging through Russian volleys up the river bank and knolls. Japanese officers began screaming ‘take cover and fire at will”. The 2nd division suffered tremendous casualties around Chuliencheng. The Japanese leapfrogged forward using fire and movement to great effect and soon were crashing into the forward Russian positions. When the Russians abandoned their forward positions for interior lines the Japanese artillery devestated them. The 12th east Siberian rifle regiment made a brave but hopeless counterattack and were swept aside. By 10am the main body of the Russian force were in a full retreat at Chuliencheng. The Japanese tried to storm a the road leading to Fenghuangcheng due north of Chuliencheng, but the full weight of the Russian retreat dislodged them. General Kashtalinski watched in horror as the right flank collapsed, however there was still hope. If Colonel Gromov held the left flank, they could maintain thir foothold on the Yalu. Colonel Gromov and his men were holding a position on the forward slopes overlooking the Ai river in the area of Potetientzu. His command held two battalions of the 22nd regiment and his focus was upon the right side where the guards division were now getting over the river and penetrated his thinly held line. Gromov then received news the 12th division were beggining to get over their part of the river. Gromov went over to see it for himself and he estimated there to be around 5 or 6 battalions advancing directly upon his position. He had no choice, he orderd a partial withdrawal, and as best as he could he tried to maintain order but a general withdrawal emerged as the Japanese gradually turned his flank. Gromov's intent was to pull back to Chingkou, but the rapid advance of the Japanese forces him to saddle between Chingkou and Laofangkou.  Other than Gromov's two battalions, the Russians were maintaining a reasonble withdrawal to defensive lines further back around the Hantuhotzu stream around two miles beyond the Ai. The force at Antung were being shelled by the IJN gunboats, aside from that they alongside the reserves at Tientzu had done basically nothing in the battle thus far. Kuroki ordered the Guards to occupy some hills above Hamatang, the 2nd division to advance upon Antung and the 12th to advance southwards to Taloufang. The 12th swept right through Chingkou en route to Hamatang smashing Gromov's men. General Kashtalinksi's men held the Guards and 2nd division back along the Hantuhotzu giving General Zasulich time to withdraw his troops at Antung to Tientzu. To over this withdrawal two battalions of the 11th east siberian regiment and a battery were detached to bolster Kashtalinski's position along the Hantuhotzu. The Guards and 2nd division had to wait for their artillery to catch up to them as the 12th were putting pressure on Gromov's men. At 12:15pm Gromov was forced to pull back to Liuchiakou and he sent a messenger to report such to General Kashtalinski's HQ. At 1pm a messenger of General Zasulich arrived at Gromov's HQ ordering him to retreat via Laochoutun. Meanwhile the messenger failed to get to Kashtalinski until 4pm, thus Kashtalinski would have literally no idea and thought everything was holding. Later Gromov would be courtmartialled for withdrawing the way he did. He would be exonerated later, but before that occurred he would shoot himself in shame.  Around 12pm Kashtalinski received word to his surprise that Gromov was withdrawing from Chingkou with the 22nd regiment in disarray and that the Japanese had seized Liuchiakou. His scouts were also telling him the Japanese were advancing on Laofangkou. Kashtalinski wanted to see this for himself douting his own scouts. What he saw was a complete disaster and he quickly ordered an immediate withdrawal from Hantuhotzu to Tientzu. His rearguard was the 11th company of the 22nd regiment who took up a position on a 570 foot high hill east of Hamatang. At around 2pm the 5th company of the 24th IJA regiment, the 12th divisions vanguard smashed into the southeast part of the Hamatang defensive line. Soon the 5th company held a blocking position forcing the retreating Russians to move further south of the 570 foot hill. Three batteries of the 12th division the narrived and began smashing Hamatang as the Guards and 2nd divisions men stormed forward positions. The 11th east Siberian regiment buckled and began fleeing into the valley beyond Hamatang already 26 officers and 900 men had been killed. The valley was around a mile wide, extremely open with fields extending up hillsides. There was basically no cover at all and when the Japanese took the heights they had an excellent view into the valley to fire upon the fleeing Russians. Suddenly the regiments priest in full regalia, grabbed a large cross and stood up. The surrounding surviving Russians around him stood up and the priest led the men through the valley to safety as he cried out “god have mercy” for Russians were being blown to pieces all around them. The priest was hit by 3 bullets before he fell bleeding over his cross as soldier grabbed him and carried him to the other side. The firing gradually lessened as the Japanese shouted banzais atop their hills and saluted the Russians withdrawing before them. The hero priest was evacuated to the Red Cross hospital at Mukden where he made a full physical recovery, though psychological he did not, he reportedly went insane.  The carnage was not found so great everywhere. 650 men of the 24th and 56th regiments who were holding out on a hill south east of Hamatang were pounced upon by a company of the guards division who screamed Banzai charging with their bayonets. The Russains lifted up a white flag and the Japanese allowed them to surrender. At 5:30pm the sun was setting across the battlefield, it had been a truly bloody sight. 2700 Russians lay dead, wounded or captured. The Japanese reported 1036 casualties. The Russians had lost 45 artillery pieces, 8 machine guns and 19 wagons full of munitions. The Japanese did not pursue the Russians fleeing to Liaoyang or Fenghuangcheng.  I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. The Russian fleet was trapped firmly with the harbor of Port Arthur allowing the Japanese to commence their land campaigns. The first major battle was at along the Yalu river which turned a crimson red with the blood of both sides. It was going to be a terrible war.   

Contact your host with questions, suggestions, or requests about sponsoring the AppleInsider Daily:charles_martin@appleinsider.com (00:00) - 01 - Intro (00:14) - 02 - No 27-inch iMac for YOU! (01:12) - 03 - DO NOT get liquid in your USB-C ports (01:38) - 04 - Apple audio apps get updates now ... (02:27) - ... and FCP gets one later (03:15) - 05 - AirTag helps recover car (03:50) - 06 - AirTag giveaway in DC (04:29) - 07 - Apple warns Armenians (05:06) - 08 - 57 iPhone Pro Maxes too many (05:52) - 09 - Crash Detection saves one of our own (07:29) - 10 - Outro Links from the showApple confirms that there is no Apple Silicon 27-inch iMac in the worksMacs can now detect water in USB-C ports and spot warranty fraudApple updates Logic Pro with new features, GarageBand and MainStage with bug fixesFinal Cut Pro November update incoming with improved navigation, ML Object TrackerAirTag proves yet again it may be time to hide a tracker in your carWashington D.C. rolling out Apple AirTag program to help curb car theftApple sends threat alerts to iPhone users in ArmeniaMan's small iPhone order turns into $100,000 iPhone 15 Pro Max mix-upApple's Crash Detection saves another life: mineSubscribe to the AppleInsider podcast on: Apple Podcasts Overcast Pocket Casts Spotify Subscribe to the HomeKit Insider podcast on:•  Apple Podcasts•  Overcast•  Pocket Casts•  Spotify

The prime suspect in a deadly mass shooting in Maine was, or should have been, under law enforcement scrutiny for weeks. Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Tommy talks with Darrelle Scott, who was shot and paralyzed by then-13 year old Lynell Reynolds, and Darrelle's grandmother Dorothy White. Reynolds has now escaped the facility where he was being held.

With Ralph Riegel, Southern Correspondent with the Irish Independent

WHAT AN EPISODE! We travel to the World Between Worlds in Star Wars Ahsoka Part 5 Shadow Warrior. We loved this episode and chat all about it in our latest podcast.Ahsoka Part 5 "Shadow Warrior" SynopsisExecutive Producers - Dave Filoni, Jon Favreau, Kathleen Kennedy, Colin Wilson and Carrie BeckHead Writer: Dave FiloniPart 5 Written by: Dave FiloniPart 5 Directed by: Dave FiloniHera Syndulla arrives on Seatos where she finds no trace of Ahsoka nor Sabine Wren. Alerted by a noise at the Henge she finds only Huyang holding Sabine's helmet recalling that he told them both to stay together. While the X-Wings sweep the nearby forest for Sabine and Ahsoka, Jacen Syndulla senses lightsabers clashing above the noise of the crashing waves as he senses Ahsoka's presence in the World Between Worlds and reveals to his mother Hera and Huyang his own connection with the Force. Hera orders the X-Wings to begin sweeping the coastline for Ahsoka. In the World Between Worlds, Anakin explains to Ahsoka that he had been watching her through the Force and deduces that her loss with Baylon Skoll is partially due to her unresolved guilt over the events that drove them apart.He is here to continue their training and gives her the choice to “live or die” as his lightsaber ignites. As they duel Ahsoka has the bridge taken from beneath her and falls into a battle where she relives fragments of her past with Anakin during the Clone Wars. But Ahsoka doesn't want to simply be a Jedi of war and refuses Anakin's teachings, determined to not be held to the legacy of her Master's past nor those of his Masters from before. Her refusal leads to another duel between them, which Ahsoka wins and chooses to live, accepting that she wasn't part of the reason for Anakin's downfall. Ahsoka is recovered by Hera's crew after being picked up on Chopper's scanner. Once she has recovered she uses her powers to learn that Sabine is with Baylon Skol. As she contemplates what to do she sees the Purrgil overhead and realises there is another way to find the Pathway to Peridia. At the same time Hera is contacted by Mon Mothma who informs her that New Republic forces are en route to take her and Ahsoka into custody. As a New Republic Fleet led by Captain Girard arrives, X-Wing pilot Carson Teva is tasked with holding them up as Ahsoka force-connects to a pod of Purrgil to get them to take her and Huyang to Ezra and Sabine. Syndulla, Jacen, and Chopper stay behind, with Hera likely to be stripped of her rank at the hands of the Senate for the unauthorised mission, as the New Republic Defense Fleet watches the large pod of Purrgil jump to hyperspace with Ahsoka and Huyang.Star Wars Ahsoka Cast Part 5Ashoka Tano played by Rosario DawsonSabine Wren played by Natasha Liu BordizzoBaylan Skoll played by Ray StevensonGeneral Hera Syndulla played by Mary Elizabeth WinsteadShin Hati played by Ivanna SakhnoLady Morgan Elsbeth played by Diana Lee InosantoHuyang voiced by David TennantMon Mothma played by Genevieve O'ReillyCaptain Carson Teva played by Paul Sun-Hyung LeeC1-1OP (Chopper) voiced by Dave FiloniJacen Syndulla played by Evan WhittenWith Anakin Skywalker played by Hayden ChristensenA Return to a Galaxy Far Far AwayWe will discuss:- Our Top 3 Points (or Saber Points) of the episode- Notes, Quotes and referencesThe Ahsoka Cantina QuizDuring each podcast we'll ask a question about each episode in our Ahsoka Cantina Quiz. You can send in your answers each week to feedback@tvpodcastindustries.com At the end of the eight episode series the listeners with the most correct answers will be in with the chance of getting their hands on some Star Wars Ahsoka goodies. All questions will be updated on: https://www.tvpodcastindustries.comQuestion 5: What are the coordinates that Chopper gives Jacen to locate Ahsoka?Feedback for Star Wars AhsokaOnce you've watched the episodes you can email us to feedback@tvpodcastindustries.com, you can message us @TVPodIndustries on Twitter or join our Facebook group at https://facebook.com/groups/tvpodcastindustries and share your thoughts in our spoiler posts for each episode.Follow us and Subscribe to the PodcastIf you want to keep up with us and all of our podcasts, please subscribe to the podcast over at https://tvpodcastindustries.com. Where we will continue to podcast about multiple TV shows we hope you'll love.Next time on TV Podcast IndustriesThanks for joining us for our coverage of Star Wars Ahsoka Part 5 Shadow Warrior. We'll be back next week with our chat about Ahsoka Part 6.You can also join us on our main feed as we continue our podcasts on The Wheel of Time Season 2 available on Prime Video.Until then, Keep Watching, and may the force be with you.Derek, Chris and JohnTV Podcast IndustriesThe music for this episode Enemy Ships by Audionautix is licensed under a Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Want to help define the AI Engineer stack? Have opinions on the top tools, communities and builders? We're collaborating with friends at Amplify to launch the first State of AI Engineering survey! Please fill it out (and tell your friends)!If AI is so important, why is its software so bad?This was the motivating question for Chris Lattner as he reconnected with his product counterpart on Tensorflow, Tim Davis, and started working on a modular solution to the problem of sprawling, monolithic, fragmented platforms in AI development. They announced a $30m seed in 2022 and, following their successful double launch of Modular/Mojo

Welcome to The Nonlinear Library, where we use Text-to-Speech software to convert the best writing from the Rationalist and EA communities into audio. This is: ProMED, platform which alerted the world to Covid, might collapse - can EA donors fund it?, published by freedomandutility on August 5, 2023 on The Effective Altruism Forum. "The early warning disease network that alerted the world to the original SARS outbreak and the start of the Covid-19 pandemic appears to be in peril." "In February 2003, it was ProMED that alerted the world to the fact that a new disease that caused pneumonia had started to spread in China's Guangdong province. That disease became known as SARS - severe acute respiratory syndrome. In September 2012, an Egyptian doctor working in Saudi Arabia wrote to ProMED to reveal he had treated a patient who died from pneumonia triggered by a new coronavirus, a camel virus we now know as MERS - Middle East respiratory syndrome. Just before midnight on Dec. 30, 2019, a ProMED "RFI" post - request for information - was the first warning the outside world received of a fast-growing outbreak in Wuhan, China. That was the start of the Covid-19 pandemic." ""In its post dated July 14, the ISID revealed it had been having trouble raising the money needed to sustain ProMED. A fundraising drive that aimed for $1 million brought in $20,000. "To put it frankly, ProMED is in dire financial straits," the post said." This doesn't seem very expensive to sustain, and losing ProMED would be a step backwards when we're aiming for an effective global early warning system - surely a group of EA donors could save ProMED? You can directly donate here -/ but it might make sense to get in touch with ProMED before making large donations. Thanks for listening. To help us out with The Nonlinear Library or to learn more, please visit nonlinear.org

In this week's episode of C.O.T.M, we present the meaning of staying strong in faith also the grace that comes along with staying connected with God . We discuss the power of vulnerability with its benefits, and being spiritually alerted in the journey of life,etc!

Ronnie Johns joins Tommy to talk about how Ohio sports betting alerted on the LSU-Alabama baseball game. 

The boys are back to cover another video game movie adaptation, and this one isn't completely terrible. So join Mark, Nick, and Andy as they delve into the world of martial-arts tournaments, beach volleyball, and sinister global plots in 2006's DOA: Dead or Alive. You can find additional content by us over on the LGR website at www.lapsedgamer.com and you can get in touch with us via Twitter @lapsedgamer You can also see our videos over on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCAGtlQOKR97vqxhyXekAVwg Our streams can be seen at Twitch.tv/LapsedGamer The Lapsed Gamer Radio Team created this episode. Edited by Mark Hamer Original LGR themes, FX and music cues created and composed by Mark Hamer. You can stream or directly download our episodes via our Podbean homepage https://lapsedgamerradio.podbean.com If you're enjoying our content, please subscribe to and review Lapsed Gamer Radio on Apple Podcasts. "Dad! Not now I'm in my underwear!"

Situational awareness is keeping your head on a swivel, checking, and assessing your surroundings at all times. You never want to be in a position where your "guard" is let down, making you a "soft target" and not being mentally or physically prepared for a potential attack or encounter. It is important to know the four levels of awareness: UNAWARE AWARE ALERT ALARM Unaware: These are the people who are so distracted, head down and eyes glued to their phones, they walk into poles or fall down steps because they have no idea what is going on around them. Aware: This is the state we need to be in at all times. You are conscious of your surroundings, know who and what is around you, and have your "head in the game." Alert: Now you are in a heightened state of awareness, identifying a potential threat or multiple threats Alarm: At the level of alarm, the potential threat is now a real threat to the intended victim's physical safety. Whatever action you had planned in the alert level - now must be implemented. It is best to avoid, if possible, a potentially violent situation once we become ALERTED. Just as it is important to recognize these four levels of awareness, it is equally as important to TRAIN in these levels. Start visualizing your day, before you even leave your home. Mentally walk through your events and consider alternative options, looking for a secondary exit in a building or restaurant, and how you are going to get from point A to point B. Training through visualization is important to practice every day. Get out of the mindset "IF xxx happens, THEN I will do xxx. Rather, start thinking WHEN xxx happens, THEN I will do xxx. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

this is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it. {THE TIME CAPSULE] Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence. Nothing Here Exists. Amen. (I didn't write this.) The Colenel's Jounal. “Would he be mad reading this shit? “ I mean. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that... I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson--who--if coincidences actually existed--coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. Dude is funny. As for other dude? I'm so lost. It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts--or at the very least, my text messages. It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found. Why is Pasqualle so strangely familiar? What is this connection, i'm missing? Who am I, if not S U P A C R E E? I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed. So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all...he seems to love as much as I do--if not more. So, that one's my fault, as everything is. I wonder if the window of opportunity has truly closed. I wonder what to make of all this, at all. I'm so, so confused, and so lost, and so… ...confused... First, I levitated. Still can't get over that (literally) Then....everything else. Literally everything else. From playing drums at Ruskos set, to weirdly making my way to Excision, just “following a vibe”--my failed suicide attempt, and running away to Bass Canyon where, everything in my reality officially shattered. Now, here I am...about to be homeless, jobless, and lost in love. I can't shake it off anymore, I can't let it go. My brain's wrapped around all of it, all the time. Prayers, Mantras, Methods. I'm driving myself crazy trying to wish away the pain. I need to be...need to be… … Needed. Bearr needs me. Sometimes, in all the pain--I fail to see that. But he does--and if I can't make it in show business...how are we meant to survive? There's no room for depression and poverty in motherhood. After losing the twins...I just can't. I can't be sad and parent at the same time. And, maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it makes me stupid. Maybe I've just had enough. But there's nothing I wouldn't give just to know that there's love, somewhere out there for me. Is it selfish that that's all I want? I think i'm a good person, but maybe i'm wrong. I can account for hundreds of premonitions, predictions, visions--outstanding sensitivity to energy...but how could I misread, and misjudge, so easily? Something inside me never really made it out of that tent. Then, going back--maybe it was all of me, that never made it out of that ambulance. Am I just the special kid in class--and it's obvious I've been left behind? When I hear myself speak aloudt, I wonder if I am retarded. I feel other people also wonder. Either way, how would anyone have known about my musical history so broadly, as it's been displayed? There's no going back from it. I can't go back to being a regular “Skrillex” fan. It's almost like...almost like I can't go back at all. And I miss that, a lot--just being able to be honest about what my taste in music is, who my favorite musician is…. I tense up when I hear the word “Skrillex”. In good company, I can shrug it off, I guess…. But on any regular day, it still feels deep. It doesn't leave my mind, ever. I can pretend to move on, but I can't unlove. I can't unlove. So, i'm two-for-two...three-for-three, if you count Josh Pan's video, where his face swells up and he turns into a reptile… I remember waking up for work with swollen eyes, and bulging, puffy skin...the way the spiral to insanity began...not with suicide, at all--at least, in the traditional sense. I was working 80 hours a week. I needed it--I needed out of my marriage. Pasqualle's sweater Sonny's Sweater, now falling apart--because, yes--I've worn it every day for nearly a year. A red, white, and blue blanket, reminding me of my presidential ambitions--which have since, not faded...but become realistically reflected with this sense that, I have much to fulfill between now-and-never. I'll only run for President if I can afford it. I can only afford it if I am successful in music. I found it heartwarming that Mike Tyson is so enamoured by the culture. To see him swell with joy, such as I have, upon discovering the world of raves. Apparently, there will be some kind of permanent Oasis, someday...I hope I live to see it. Better yet, I hope I live to play there. I want my chance on all the stages, as selfish as it may seem. To earn a place behind the decks, an unrealized dream. But, can I find it to become all that it takes? To read and move a room, to create and connect with people, live onstage. To inspire a crowd--telling a story with music. To give love, the best way that I can. I miss myself...but no I don't. I do miss never having to worry about whether I was too fat to be found attractive by someone I vehemently admire--but never thought about sexually, in all of the years i've loved watching him live. But, its a vibe. Much ado about Elon Musk. I'm not smart enough to become a rocket scientist--and it's too late for me to become an astronaut, as I once dreamed...but there's something in the space above us all, that seems to connect the space between us all--and it's almost as is the walls are caving in. Time and space continues to collapse upon itself. I might be broken forever...but then, I always was. Who'd have thought the Grand Prize for your third suicide attempt is a Skrillex? I'm cursed, in the way that...it won't fall off. My brain won't un-Sonny itself. I'm on default to give a fuck now, and there's no turning back. I guess this is what I get for hating on *fangirls*...now i am one. Problem is, I'm a lot less cute. How often does shit like this happen? There's hypnosis through music--and then there's losing your entire soul to something outside of yourself. Why and how am I so out of place, in this world? ‘You're too good for this world.' Nothing's been forgotten, it's just getting more suppressed. I can pretend to move on, but I won't. I just found the Holy Mecca of research for my weird, invasive project. Apparently DeadMau5 had some kind of comedy show, or something--called “coffee run” It seems to be about...2014, but haven't bothered to check yet--I'm sure, though that this predates the infamous ‘fued'. Blah blah blah--i'm learning too much about these people. People. Real people. ...was interrupted to watch the new episode of Rick and Morty; Lucky me. One half-hour and several belly-rolling laughs later, I'm back...with slightly more self confidence that, if The Heavens grant me whatever kind of combination of confidence and focus that it will take to bring the Festival Saga If nobody's sampled this video, I've stumbled upon a literal goldmine. Life imitates art--and music imitates music. “I love it when it's super sweaty.” (How do I resonate with this so well?) “ A Los Angeles Real Estate Guy In Torono”, says Dillon. “Yeah, there's a few of those.”, Joel recants, stoically. Now i'm watching people who never mattered on YouTube, in a finally “Sonny says…” If i can ever make my brain learn the magic that makes something like Ableton somehow turn into a banger. “Does he drive?!” I've wondered this myself. “I don't think he does.” I knew it. Dillon Francis' awkwardness is reminiscent of mine...again, here I am wondering...who I might be if I were born a white male--if nothing was changed, but the body. CRUSTPUNKS. How did I get here? Oh, yeah. I specifically opened an incognito window to...fuck it. I know what I'm here for. The thing is, I don't know what i'm blessed with. I don't know that i'm talented… It could all just be a Grand Delusion… Do I hate myself enough to try this? A movie where the entirety of the fabric of [my] universe is music, and the musicians that make it. A universe that already existed in the Multiverse of Rick and Morty, since it's strange inception into my being. Wait, how the fuck did I get here? I was already on a writing tangent Probably--I hate enough to “ i get to go home--not tomorrow, but the next day” This experience is becoming so humanizing. It is a job, this music shit--Touring takes you everywhere but home. What the fuck is ‘home?' Perhaps I am meant for this shit, after all. I don't have a home, anyway. I also don't have any music under my belt, but--with any luck, I can pump out the LP I promised my twins. Today Marks 5 years since Skyy passed away. May 23rd will be 2 years, since Phoenixx left us. It's not a good time of year, for grief. With no friends I can trust (Annie's Toxicity is again rearing its head), no family that loves me the way a family should...I find myself completely isolating from what Love is, almost forgetting what it might have felt like. “How often are you home?” “KAAAAHHHHHHHHHN” If i'm ever lucky enough to learn how to make Dupstep--that deserves to go before a fucking deadly drop. I've officially seen Skrillex more times in person than ever on video--which disincluded, of course, the tent incident--something I'm realizing that if I'm unable to catch up with myself in time, I'll have to live with forever. Can I answer my own prayers? At this point, i've given up any expectation of what it might be like to achieved enough to earn any kind of place in that world *their* world... 5/6/2020 Life is unfair sometimes. Like--do I want tacos, or divine inspiration? Do I put off fasting for yet another day, just for the temporary comfort and satisfaction of eating? Does limiting my eating to once every 24-hour-or-less suffice as enough of a self-sacrifice, that my prayers might be answered? I highly doubt that it is, but still--I often ride the line between just allowing myself to feel good when I can (and food does, make me feel so....so good) and remaining steady in my fasting. Then, it has been over 6 months of almost constant fasting and praying, all over someone I haven't properly met--all over myself. Because, the longer I stay in this mindset--the clearer it becomes that it is all the same. At the core, there's only really one thing in existence. Skyy will have passed away 5 years ago tomorrow. To think, I should have had 5-year-old twins. They would have been so beautiful; I've never quite imagined them so, umti now. I miss my babies so much. Will I ever be okay again? I thought to record a song for Skyy, but it would never be ready by tomorrow, in the perfect way that I would want it to be. I don't want to put out anything less than the best. I'm being as patient as I possibly can with teaching myself--but grow frustrated in my limitations. The only thing standing between me, and the tools I need to make the music I have...is me. (Really, it's money.) Lack of money is keeping me from being unstoppable. With unlimited money, I'd have a home--I could fully pay all 4-years of my tuition at UCLA….ny dream school. I'd study music, anthropology, astrology….maybe even engineering. I can't make myself prettier--but I can make myself smarter. Google University just isn't cutting it. I want to make a difference in the world by any means, and i'm trapped behind the gate of poverty. I just want a closet full of harem pants, chuck taylors, and T-shirts with stuff I like on them. I just want to wear my kandi every day. I just want to be behind the decks atop the stages of my favorite places… I want to be someone's favorite DJ. I want to be one of my favorite DJ's favorite DJ I, I, I… How selfish. What does the world need? Less people. Well, i'm honestly one-less, I guess, if I can;t make it in music, in art. If I can't make a decent living just by being myself...i'm not meant to live at all. That much is true--no life worth living includes waking up every day to go to a job I hate, that barely pays my bills. No life is worth living that Something strange happens to me when my favorite people go ‘live' on instagram Social Media, a young demon with whom I constantly evade, when I am not forcibly fighting to fit the status quo (which, I cannot.) Watching my social media right now is like the digital equivalent of “You can't sit with us.” I've grown attached to OWSLA like some sort of distant, imaginary family--only, I know this is something I've just embedded into my mind--the ultimate wishful thinking. Everything I do seems fragile, as if the grid I had discovered not only exists in the outer world, but also my inner--that everything I do, think, say, sing, speak makes a difference in what will happen moving forward. Reawakening my center has been difficult, saying the very least--I am almost paralyzed by negativity--made catatonic through senses with which I cannot control; My ‘home' life has become a hell where i'll-spirits and pitiful thoughts are cast about me--in reality, I have no home. In truth, I'm unsure that I have any purpose, either. It's all been bothering me… Now it's something that just hurts, like everything else. Add to the pain, subtract from willingness to live. Add to the trauma, subtract from the motivation to succeed. How much of my fault is this? Who did it? What is it for? Amongst the most otherworldly of theories, the possibility that extraterrestrials had actual involvement in removing Sonny from wherever he was supposed to be (Burning Man, albeit) and placing him where I was. I've wondered how else the dancing shadows cast against the canvas of the tent were so perfectly made-- ancient egyptian prophecies foretold as a light show, in the moments leading up to the one where the entirety of my being was shifted, in an instant. I dreamed of a B2B with Skrillex, and instead got a face-to-face with Sonny Moore. One, apparently, does not quite equal the other. Eight (or so) months later, and I've filtered through all the stages of grief--for all of the ways I had to lose him--as much as one could be lost, without actually dying. But, perhaps I am dead. My soul and spirit at least, are trapped, and tainted torturously from all I've come to gather. Running into the night, like a bat fresh out of hell, away from the visions I was forced to have from our exchange-- I can only imagine, had I acted any differently and stayed, rather than fled what else I may have seen. In only the few short moments we shared together...I was able to see more of his life than for anyone I've ever ‘seen' for, besides myself. To have, after only a few moments--seen both backwards into his past--and forwards into a seemingly shared future of some sort. I don't know what else to call this creepy psychic shit, other than “seeing”. To even call myself a “seer” would be a heavy title, I'd be too uncomfortable to claim. Still, vivid memories of the dude's past--and chilling premonitions of the future, have left me disgustingly sick with a concern that wholly did not exist, beforehand. But, when faced with the question: “What would it be like to actually lose him?” I fucking lost it. I've never taken well to celebrity deaths--perhaps, overly sensitive in ways that suite absolutely nobody--I just so happen to have fallen apart numerous times, upon learning of the passing of those i've long cherished. I collapsed fully at Michael Jackson's passing, scrolling through the African TV channels in disbelief, as I desperately searched for a News Channel in English to confirm that it was indeed, true. This was, of course, a couple years after I cried for hours with Back to Black on repeat in the wake of Amy Winehouses' death--going even further back, I can recall arguing with a classmate that Steve Erwin, another hero, was brave--rather than ‘stupid', and undeserving of his untimeley demise. A special place lies in my heart for the day I remember losing Robin Williams-- a weird memory which collides in the now, with my affinity for Skrillex music and the strange outer connectivity my emotions seem to have in the passing of those I wholeheartedly admire; I've shed tears for Whitney Houston, Prince--I've shed tears for all of them. But none so much as for Skrillex, who is [surprisingly] still alive… And I'm mad about it. I'm mad about it, because I was [partially] happy in my place, as a fan. I wasn't even the best fan, or the biggest fan (metaphorically speaking--physically, though--I probably hold a record of some sort.) I wasn't following his social media--I wasn't following his anything, honestly. I was just crossing my fingers that with every lineup released, I might find the name “Skrillex” plastered to the top of it, or standing out broadly against the other ‘S' names, if alphabetically presented. I'm mad about it, because I hate myself. I've been hating myself my entire life. But i've never hated that I loved Skrillex--in fact, I've always been quite proud, having watched the project skyrocket, as EDM penetrated pop-culture in the years following my college endeavors. Never really thought to think that at any point, we might be equals. We're not--outwardly, anyway. Inwardly, though? Fuck me. It's like I'm bound to it by the roots of the Tree of Life. Like something in my DNA was activated by an overabundance of Skrillex. I've undoubtedly, and by far crossed the threshold of having listened to 10,000 Hours of Skrillex, guaranteed. No calculations needed. Still, there are perhaps millions of others who share the same affinity--and at least a few thousands who are more outwardly obsessive than in. It works, when I need to know something I'd rather just ask Sonny myself, but can't--there's always a kid in the fan pool who has been quick to find whatever information I'm looking for, long, long before I've come to look for it. Poor guy. For almost an entire year, that's all I've really been able to think. ‘Poor guy.' Because, if the roles were reversed--and for whatever reason I decided to make my way into someone's tent at a music festival (I wouldn't) and I scared them into a shock, resulting in them fleeing away from me--I'd feel like shit. And, if I had been touring my entire life and watched the culture grow and morph into the nearly unmanageable able monster it has become--i'd feel like shit. If I had to watch an ambulance cart away someone in the crowd during one of my sets, I'd feel like shit. If I had to do a live set while I felt like shit, I'd feel like shit. and ...if some random fan fell head over heels in love with me, simply because I crawled into her tent, or made really good music, or made her feel some kind of way… I'd feel like shit. And that shit probably happens all the time. It's been 10 long years for me, with Skrillex-- but I can't imagine how long the last 10 years have been, as Skrillex. Now I think about all the shit DJs go through, being DJs….what's more, I've had to give in-depth thought to what it means to be a celebrity at all--what it might be like to have someone grow an obsession over you--unprovokingly. Although my ‘obsession' for this particular person can't technically be considered ‘unprovoked' (I was minding my own business, after all--and Skrillex was not on the lineup.) I can't help but feel for those in the limelight whose charisma and talent combined attract every type of creeper imaginable. I'm just the kind of creeper that wants to make music; any previous searches as an attempt to ‘get to know' Skrillex, previous to last August, originated in attempting to comprehend how to create such organic sounds--exploring and studying how intricately layered and carefully arranged each of my favorite sounds and songs were made. Piecing together how exactly an artist like such, had become as such. Now, i'm just entangled in self-doubt, as it seems the entire next generation is equipped with whatever skillset it takes to become an electronic musician. Self-doubt, as I fear that my body weight intimidated him as much as his presence intimidated me. Again: All me. All bad. I've nowhere to turn to to unleash this shit--it has to be a secret-- and even letting it slip to Annie in the isolation of the aftermath has felt like a mistake, since I allowed it to happen. Can I keep a secret? Ha. There are things that only I know, certainly. The premonition I did subtly speak of, I refused to unearth in detail, even to Annie. The other visions I was made to have, still my own secret; I've begun to wonder if, upon meeting Sonny, I would keep it to myself; I suppose that would depend on nature and context. But, I think about it every day. It is my first thought upon waking up, my final thought before coming to rest--it has permeated into the only dreams I ever have anymore--crowds my semi-waking thoughts as I toss-and-turn throughout the night; the amount of energy exchanged, the amount of concern that consumes me....lets me know that it is all apart of something far beyond my comprehension, far beyond my senses...far beyond any understanding of the universe that I may have. And, it hurts. As bad as it is for me, it's probably worse for him--IF he remembers any of it. Then, probably a seasoned drinker (lol, “probably”) There's a good chance that, well-- he does remember. Oh God no. If I could motion to be erased, I would. I've been trying to erase myself for the better part of a year, including and certainly not limited to August 4th--an attempt I can stand to think I had not fully recovered from by the time it all happened. What the fuck did happen? Though it can't be denied that each of us possesses some kind of magic--the origins of mine can be traced back, at least on one side. Powers I was ‘born with', as told by my father--something I only believed until I was old enough that it didn't make sense--and something I was forced to recognize once I was old enough that it did. I want to know what exactly it is that ties us... Where this love--which is what it is, undeniably-- originates. I've spent the better part of the last year praying and meditating, and attempting to loosen the knots in my stomach enough to self-soothe enough to settle that, at worst-- Sonny was just being a pretty white boy, looking for a good time--and I just became a victim by knowing how to have one. Alternately--how fuck fuck would he even know I exist? As i've stated, I was the epitome of a silent Skrillex fan, prior to all these spectacular occurrences. I may have, at some point online--said something about Skrillex being my Spirit Animal… (still true) But can't imagine what else might have been garnered in my attainable, tangible history, which would alert him of my existence at all. Then, with all the money in the world, you truly can do anything… And that's what I hate in all this. Him--having all the money in the world, and me, having none… The very thing that separates us from settlement, myself from closure. Really, the only thing I want. Closure. ‘I got love, fuck your money.' Sonny can be anyone--he's earned that right. He can be with anyone--deservingly so. I want for him the very best--and, knowing that I am not (physically, anyway) am dismissive of any judgement cast. I wouldn't want me, either--looks matter, I know. I just want to know what he means to me--in this lifetime, in this realm, in this reality. I didn't have to be moved from where I was to be inspired by him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being attracted to him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being connected through the music--I just always was. And it all came crashing down in a tent, at the bottom of the rabbit hole--where I lost my mind--after having already lost my soul, to something beyond the senses, long ago. I committed wholly and permanently to making music when Phoneixx died, almost 2 years ago. The point was never to sound like Skrillex, but rather to be like Skrillex, as an artist--but, after much speculative examination--I guess, I always was. I lost myself in the early days of Myspace. From First To Last rang through the hallways of my middle school's corridors. Chiodos carried me through the days of wrist-cutting and air-dust huffing, through the days of binging-and-purging, wishing I was prettier--and in the height of all that is the drama of living in my very own Teenaged Wasteland… The Rocket Summer was handed to me by the hands of an angel, as I transitioned out of awkward adolescent depression and into an almost-well-adjusted life at a performing arts school, as an aspiring musician, singer, dancer and storyteller… The dream that carried me out of Utah, and into the Heart of Hollywood at the age of 16… The dream I thought died, long ago. When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? Billie Ellish's spirit collided with mine, as the first time I heard her voice, I shattered inwardly, and shivered in the resonance that is the understanding of pain, born undoubtedly in love; I shuddered to think that someone so young could feel so devoid of the willingness to live, to move onward. My response upon first experiencing her music, of course, a genuine “...Is she ok?” Three little words. I tend to really mean them, any time I ask. “Are you OK?!” I blurted, as my entire self exploded into shock, as I immediately recognized the face I've known for years--and looked through the widened eyes of one so now devastatingly human--to something inside of myself. Something about my voice shifted him; He became a mirror for all my pain, all my doubt--all the shame I have, for all that I am-- my demons came straight to the surface. Voiceless, now, and shielded in the fetal position, we faced each other silently. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm Sorry.', I thought loudly, as I lay panicking. I stared down into my chest, ashamed to be anything but invisible, thoughts racing. I dare not lift my head to look at him. My heart pounded, as I lay screaming silent apologies for my appearance--for my very presence, for my own existence. I couldn't process his presence in my reality. Choking back tears, I tried not even to so much as breathe, as I silently apologized for being born--and though I wanted nothing more than to reach out to hold him, I lay all-but-lifelessly--wondering what went so wrong that he would seek to find me. The familiar smell of liquor permeated the air, as my heart sank, throbbing as it pounded...I know an alcoholic, when I smell one. I did actually wonder if he was okay....(and I've been wondering daily, ever since.) But clearly, he wasn't okay. Clearly, I wasn't. Clearly, nobody's ok. He slipped his praying hands between my thighs, as I died inside--and all my outer senses blended to become all, and nothing at once, again. Exit Skrillex, Enter Sonny. How does a mere peasant earn a spot in the company of the Highest Priest? I've not bargained with the Devil, but begged the Heavens that my life would end before his...the First Fast emerged as a direct result of self-sacrifice; To serve as a protection against misjudgement--to realign my soul with it's true intensive purpose--in hopes that my body would shrink to form something suitable. The memory of his hands between my thighs, a haunting reminder that--I just may be too big for him… The reality is...of all that I am, and all that I have, and all that I wish to be...it just may be that--he's too big for me… metaphorically speaking. I'll have to become a damn-near Superstar, just to get to know the people--that know the people--that know the people, that know people who can connect me to Sonny, on any level. I'll have to get in line behind millions of other hopeful DJ's, producers, singers, dancers, songwriters--hundreds of thousands of entertainers who might kill-or-die to get to know Skrillex in any way-shape-or form. Romantically, I'd be competing against at least a million perfect-bodied beauty-queen fangirls who would do anything--and I mean anything--for their shot at Skrillex. The truth is, I'm not trying to get to know Skrillex; The truth is, i'd rather know Sonny. (Whatever that's supposed to mean, right?) I don't question at all our potential compatibility; there's no doubt in my mind that there's some chemistry between us--be it of ancient origin, an extra terrestrial genetic code, or otherwise...but I'd bet any money I actually had, that someone as highly regarded as Skrillex would be ridiculed, trolled, and tremendously hated by many, many fans--for associating with someone like me. I don't even know if it's like that--but, again--crawling into someone's tent is...kind of intimate. What in Heavens would one want with me, when he could have perfection-- Absolute perfection? I kind of get it. I'm used to being fetishised. I've always been the black girl who liked white guys--I've lead a life that's made it easy to learn that Jungle Fever is often taboo among the White Caucasion men who find black women attractive enough to fuck--but would never want to “date” us, or bring us home. I've learned that--at the end of the day-- most white guys, want white kids--even if they like to fuck black girls. Then, there's the added bonus of some genetic flaw which has allowed my body to at one point, have ballooned up to 380 pounds-- a body which, even after a 200+ pound weight loss, would disgust anyone with eyes, in what most would consider “cute rave attire”. And, although shrinking from a size 28 to a size 10 is somewhat of a ‘grand' achievement, I look like an asymmetrical potato sack with my clothes off. If there's anything I know about men--and especially the affluent ones--they love to have trophies to showcase. I've yet to see a body like mine on the red carpet, or as arm candy--or as the leading lady, anywhere. No, there's no such thing as a fat Cinderella. Still, he's one of the most handsome creatures i've ever seen-- undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet. I will continue to love what I know of him wholly and unconditionally. On my best days, I even hope to live long enough, and well enough to have the honor of properly meeting him. Never could I have the courage to ask him on a date--nor would I subject him to the cruelty of the outer world by alluding to the fact that he may, in fact be someone more important to me, than as just a musician--as with anyone i've ever loved, I only want for him the best. On my worst days, The Devil assures me that it was Annie he was really looking for, who he may have seen me with at the plethora of festivals we attended together last year--or perhaps, even Idania, who was supposed to have been there with me…and it would make sense. The Devil also constantly reminds me of how much prettier they both are than me--and better in every way. But, it was long ago that I came to terms with the fact that anyone who might come to love me--would also love Annie and would love her more thoroughly--her, having the more attractive body and face, being more ideally pretty. Standing next to Annie, I always lose. Even on a good day. All this, I can be sure to cast aside, however--because at the very best--he was looking for me, and everything between then-and-now builds into something of substance or significance… and at worse, my favorite figure in music absolutely hates me, and regrets my existence as much as I do. Either way, Skrillex hits hard any time of the day, any day of the week. And… Either way, Sonny hits home, all day, every day--until I can manage to learn to speak. Eight pages later, and it still hurts. Eight pages, and i'm still mad. I'm still crying. I'm still useless. I'm still stuck. Stuck on stupid. Stuck on Sonny. Stuck on Skrillex. Just… Stuck. And it hurts. 5/5 Another day. Nothing makes me hate myself more than waking up. ‘Don't look at the phone.' instructions, handed to me some time ago by the Divine--since then, I make it a point not to look at my phone, if I can help it, before I've sat up to pray, and meditate. Lately, I've been unable to relax at all enough to focus on a proper meditation, before realizing my actual self-worth (nothing), and falling into the depressive non-motion that has been me. How many evil men will it take being caught in the midst of, will it take for me to realize that I've been allowing myself to painfully absorb their essences, even without a single touch? Just living here alone has set me further back from my goals than I was--then--I'm beginning to feel that my ‘roomate' may have ties to White Supremacy; the evidence does just keep on building. It has occured to me that Jason's warning that Nick may be deep undercover for some Government agency is most likely true. Though I err on the side of not snooping through other peoples' things--I've happened to stumble across indicators which point to the likely case that he is, in fact, hired by the government or some other private entity--probably as part of some secret experiment, assigned to psycologically torture and disable mentally fragile individuals; It seems as though the experiement was designed in order to test morale, will power, self-control, and proper judgement-- tests which I've been concious of, but in the moment have not always cared about passing-or-failing. From the painful assortment of disgusting and obnoxious sounds make throughout the day, torturing me through unpleasant and peace-shattering sounds, left victimized by my synesthesia and recently pinpointed misophonia--or something similar...whatever it is that makes slamming doors, cabinets, and the items crashing to the floor after lazily being thrown across the room methods of torture. To the cavalcade of poisonous, sugary and addicted substances, which only seem to appear or are offered during crucial fasts--or, pushily and passive-aggressively left in my living space without asking whether or not i'd like any. Just left there, to be discovered upon finishing a shower, or returning from a nightly walk. And on days when I am actually hungry, or needing to eat? I am offered nothing. Only when I fast am I ever offered any sustenance. It says almost too much about my roomate as a person--to offer every time, or never at all would be acceptable, and understandable--but to only invite one to eat when one feels so ‘inclined' is beyond cruelty. It's privilege showing itself to be one of the only faces uglier than mine, that i'm aware of. While i've elected to use my headphones as a shield, life's not always easy immersed in a sound bath of isochronic tones and Theta Waves--and though it does excite me to have expanded my music library, with additions and updates I've been longing for ages-- it's almost more stressful to think about the amount of music that I don't have. Songs I would add to my “sets”, if you can call them that. If I can call myself a DJ--if I can call myself a person, anymore. Really, all I am is hurt feelings and trauma wrapped in flesh; I might be less of a person than I ever was, once. Everything costs--whether it be money, the world's currency--or time, the currency of the soul. Torturous is the life of an artist, who cannot herself make ‘art', as she sees fit. Everyone in Hollywood has a screenplay in their back pocket; Everyone in LA has a dream, two-to-three-jobs, and a side hustle--and me? I'm just learning to DJ to self-soothe, having given up hope of ever becoming anything greater than the happiest guest at the rave nearest you. It's harder than it looks….(or, maybe it isn't, and i'm just retarded.) Building a music collection worthy enough to grace the decks in any of my favorite venues, is an arduous task--maybe this is why all the popular DJs are pretty white boys--the proof is in the privilege. Money, money, money...I used to make plenty of it, and was always exhausted--now I make none, and am always exhausted. What's worth what cost? Time = Money. In LA, and in the world. But by anyone's definition--and especially mine--LA is the world. Or, at the very least, sets the tone for the world. Truly, nothing is free. DJing is more expensive than I could have ever imagined--once again, in any direction I turn, there's a ladder to climb. I've not got the time or energy left in my sadly depleting lifesource left to storm gates, crawling over heads and cutting down those in my way. While it's certain that ‘Competitive Greatness' is the key atop the Pyramid of Success, there are 14 other bricks below to lay the foundation of that which one might call success, to be garnered as imagined through the eyes of a man, anyway, who lived in the 1930's. John L. Wooden may have been right--and may still be right--if I were a standard male (we'll leave race out of it, for now…..for now.) Still, i've been using the Pyrimid of Success as a guidepost, in what it is exactly I may have to do, or be, in order to become something. Not even something great, just something. Perhaps, if I can make it to being something, eventually I might become someone. Oh, to be a person would be nice. For now, I'll just have to settle on tricking my useless sack of anatomy into being a DJ. There's nothing outside of it, anymore. Bass Canyon truly was my last rave--not that I enjoyed it, honestly. Though I've attempted to retrain my brain around the trauma which resulted from that weekend, it did serve as a turning point--a sort of going-away party, as I departed from my home as a no-holds-bar Kandi Kid. Happy Graduation, OG Raver! Little did I know that, with the multidimentionality of our universe, I would be presented, through the world of possibility--the ability to at least observe with the naked eye that there lie more beyond the decks-- a space that may have been made for me. I'll never forget the moment I knew I would be a DJ--or at least try, for the life (or the death) of me. Electric Daisy Carnival changed my life--an experience ten years in the making that catapulted me into the depths of my wildest dreams--unbeknownst to me that I hadn't yet the ability to swim, in such that is the tempest of my own subconscious mind. But--that part of this story deserves its own dedicated elaboration; For now, i'll only look back--and realize that it was there that I aligned with my highest self in the truest sense, that, at least then, I actually believed that I could become a top DJ. I've lost the flight to stay afloat in the salty sea that is the millions of other people trying to make it to the mainstages of our favorite places, and begun to sink into the reality of the entertainment industry as a whole...the reality of the world, as a whole anymore. Looking around at the world's top DJs is less encouraging and inspirational than it should be. Nearly every headliner looks like every kid who ever bullied me, every guy who ever turned me down--every kid hosting the party I wasn't invited to. As for the females of the bunch--I find it frustrating that not one yet has been of any color other than yellow--and even then--we all know the world's men love Asian women. While I can admire girls like Rezz and Allison Wonderland--I wonder what kind of career, if any, if either of them were black, or heavyset--or, my losing genetic combination: Both. Would a fat Allison Wonderland have ever made it into the industry? Would a black Rezz ever become a staple in bass music, and rave culture? If Softest. Hard had a pot belly, would she have been discovered? Then, there are up-and-comings beyond my complete comprehension--those who are visually appealing, but musically inept; I'll leave out any names, and still salute them--anyone who can wrap their brain around any standard DAW enough to make an entire song, is absolutely more talented, definitely more intelligent than I am. [I'm not.] But, I can't help but wonder: How easy was it for any of them, being so pretty, to learn to do what they do--just by being kind and asking a friend for help to learn production? In so many years of raving, I've watched beautiful girls get pulled backstage--and even pulled on stage, to connect with the artists and VIPs. I've been brought to tears as I've watched rude girls with porcelain faces caked in makeup be lifted over rails into the promised land, picked to be plucked by just her eyes and smile combined with the perfection of a flat and flawless stomach. Pretty girls always get priority. Me? Well, I get the dead eyes of the drunken DJ, staring down at me through his whiskey glass, as he beckons the stagehands to assist the perfect-bodied princess backstage...but i'm only front-and-center so I can feel the music move, and watch all the energy bounce around, matching the movement of the expert's hands on deck, to the waves of sound colliding with the rest of the world. True, my mind might wander to what wonderful experiences await the perfect princess, as she disappears behind the decks, into a world i've yet to know, but only seen: The life I know exists beyond the rails, beyond the decks...the world I can only wish to build, for myself. Big ugly black girls don't get pulled backstage. Big ugly black girls are token ancillary characters, it seems, in the plot which writes the story of the modern rave. In a sea of new-generation ravers raised by Kim Kardashian and YouTube makeup tutorials--left lost in a torturous chamber of perfection--women who can wear anything, beautifully. Women who get whatever they want, whenever they want--because they know they can; 10's, to my -3. Bottom Line: Looks matter, until all the men in the world go blind. Sad-but-true. I move not to objectify the women whose music and movement through the clearly sexist music entertainment industry. God only knows how hard each of them has worked to earn a spot so highly ranked amongst those to whom we all admire--the legends, the greats. Each woman behind the decks has become a reflection of everything I wish I ever was--but also a painful reminder of everything that I am not. Of every girl i've ever come behind. Perhaps, this is the result of growing up the as the only ‘black girl', in the backwards, racist po-dunk town I was transplanted into: A place where I spent years constantly being told, taught, and trained that it was more admirable to have light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes...then again, The Media has always done a particularly good job at creating and maintaining what the ideal beauty standard should be, or is--and an excellent job of perpetuating stereotypes. People never expect me to sound how I do, or to like what I like--because it's “white people stuff”; and ten years ago when I discovered raving, there wasn't another black girl (or boy!) in sight for miles, at any rave I went to. I was the oddity, the token--the “what the fuck” person, in an already entirely what-the-fuck place. Fast Forward to 2020: My Freshman Year as a DJ. And...as it appears, the world behind the decks is just as non-diverse as the dancefloor was when I first began this escapade through the world of immersive music. Do I want to be the first ethnically-bred Female DJ to reach the top? OF COURSE. Can I? It's not up to me. Now I'm confusededly caught in the web that is rumours circulating of an ongoing race-war, and wondering if I've been left to die smack-dab in the middle of it. Amongst currently living with a white supremacist (or, extremely ignorant and culturally intolerant biggoted racist at the very, very least.), it seems that White Superiority may be a driving theme amongst the Electronic Music Industry--that maybe the world I've rather grown up in, and come to love has more twists, turns, and dark alleys to look through than the obvious ‘secrets' that loom in the world of rave. All seeing is the eye that watches over all. Insomniac's crew is among one of the least racially diverse I've ever seen--if I were Pasqualle, I might think to at least try to make it look as though there were a plethora of ethnic backgrounds who work together to tie the knot holding together the world's biggest metaphorical kandi: Insomniac, the Kingdom of Mainstream rave culture. A global endeavor. I wonder how many i've come to admire--Pasqualle included-- are actually White Supremacists, masquerading in the power of positivity and their corporate capitalism, true beliefs and intentions. My curiosity about the man himself peaked during EDC weekend, after stumbling into sign after sign, symbol after symbol--of something I've aspired [in the past] to commit to, but also am wearlily aware of its adversity towards that of my kind; being firstly female, and secondly partially black. Now, I wonder--am I even allowed to enter into the world beyond the decks--or is that preserved for only women with perfect bodies, fair skin--attractive individuals? Does it belong only to those with money? Is there any possibility that there may be room for someone like me to enter the scene--or may only pretty girls with pretty bodies and pretty hair be allowed in the backstage world? Really, I just want to perform. I miss myself as a dancer, as a musician--as an actor, all together. I still wish I had continued on this path a decade ago, when--though weighing over 300 pounds--my confidence at least existed. Teaching myself to DJ has been one of the hardest things i've ever done; I don't know if I'm retarded, but I'm beginning to consider attempting to see someone for some kind of screening. If Paris Hilton can DJ, why is it so hard for me? If Sonny can dink around on a computer with a blown speaker, call himself ‘Skrillex' and make some of the world's most intricate music since that of Beethoven-- why can't I do the same? What makes the difference in all these YouTube tutorials telling me how to do it--and me actually being able to do it? What is it, that's wrong with my brain? But, it's all i've wanted for over a year--to be a DJ, at least. I've always been a musician; It's just been a stop-and-go, allowing for the rest of what has been my life to pass through between the times I could make music, and couldn't. I wish I had the positive support it takes to have encouraged me forward on the path I was already on, since I was 13--instead, I was told I was too fat (and too black) to succeed in the way I wanted to. 10 Years later and Lizzo is at the top of her game, while I beat myself up for losing at mine. Never could I have imagined a world where i'd see an album cover like hers; upon seeing it, I was not only shocked, but enraged: She was everything I was told I could not be. And the Truth Is: more than likely, someone told Lizzo the same thing I was told, and the difference is-- she didn't believe them, and kept moving forward. The difference is: She believed in herself, and loved herself enough to keep trying. The difference is, that everything I needed, I already had--I just never believed it to be so. I'm proud of her...but insanely jealous. My inner child cries “That should have been me.” Truth Hurts. There's more to it, than that; Envy lives in the cavernous pits deep within the confined Hell that is my subconscious mind--and--as the world begins to close in on itself, as consciousness continues expanding, I find myself fighting against the worst of my woes daily. Nowhere can I go without meeting a flawless, forward-figured, and facially exquisite female--rather than submit to catty jealousness, I have learned to admire and nod or bow as a gesture that I am a lesser creature. So now i'm left to wonder as I self-teach myself a trade, if my aspirations may ever be achieved, without possessing any outer beauty. All that's left in the world for me, now, is to become my own favorite DJ. (A title, of course, formerly belonging to Skrillex... ruined, by his untimely arrival as a physical person, into my actual life. More on that later...and infinitely.) I've lately begun asking myself “Is it really worth it?”...but, at the same time, I've never loved anything so much, as to fly on the wings of music--and so i've also wondered “What else will really make me happy?” Tough question. Ideally, I'm the entertainment Guru I always wished to be--not tied down to any one artform, but able to move about freely in all of them. There's no life without theatre--there's no light without entertainment. If living ideally, I could never be any-one-thing-- if living ideally, I am the embodiment of everything I love. But in a world where a snatched waist and a pretty face are a winning (and deadly) combination, I'm 0-0. Life of am ugly kid. Worse off yet, since even Hobo Johnson seems to have more confidence in his awkward and broken rhythms enough to speak his mind clearly enough for the rest of the world to resonate. Might be a good time to revisit, what it is exactly I came for. Perhaps, the answer is nothing: So far, I have nothing, make nothing, am nothing--if there is anything that I am, it's words on a piece of paper--just another ‘thing', another dreaming, wishful hopeful that I can rise above all that has been, and all that I am now...to become something more When training to match with the likes of the devil in preparation for battle against he, you must intend to figure, what the vehicle he has chosen has maintained to use as atool to help build you, as a Saint or an Angel--or one to break you, as Satan he. It has been a fruitful fas, but still i persist, though with a weary eye and curious mind, to the riddle i have yet been presente; ; Much ado about Chicken Soup. “Practice androgyny!” the two meet, immidiately fritening eachother; they transform-- One becomes dog, the other a cat--the cat begins to run. the dog pursues her. they run into a sunny meadow where a river feeds the wildlife and it is vibrant amongst the creatures; the cat climbs up a tree, and the [very friendly] dog stops at the base, looking up at her playfully, with an ask that she come down. She looks down from the tree at him, at a safe distance, and begins to relax on the I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? Dearest Sonny, I'm unsure quite how to explain myself to you--or if I can, or should explain myself at all.I guess I could start with “I'm sorry.”, but it's almost as if that doesn't quite cover it, and nothing does. Perhaps, i'll start with just “thank you”--thank you for being you--which is something that makes me more ‘myself' than anything, at best. Really though, that's probably a good place to start with the wholehearted apology I owe you; It cannot be easy being yourself, or navigating life with such prominence, importance--as I'm sure you never intended all that you are, as any gift-given may have come as a God-honest, and God-given surprise. That being said; God is only anything that I am --as is, anything that you are. The talent that you possess is insurmountably powerful...and has touched, changed, inspired millions--changing the world and the very fabric of time itself--no matter how unintentionally, in all your humility. Somewhere hidden, I too have talent. I only wish that in this lifetime, I were granted the confidence and charisma to be able to somehow express it. Music is the matter I find I am made of--without being able to express it, I only feel burdened, trapped. It is a beautiful language you speak--you, and the rest of the artists I've grown to admire. It is a language so soothing, I can only long to learn it; I'm afraid though that in this lifetime, too much time and opportunity has passed...in this modern, technologically fast-paced new world...i've been left behind. You are truly a good friend, indeed. In all the sense that it doesn't make, I honor you as someone who has inspired, motivated, comforted, and captivated consistently throughout my existence in this time, in this life; Though i've been in recent times, able to remember your essence in lifetimes past, it is in this lifetime that I find the most befuddling, how your music itself has seemed to find and follow me.Unexplainable, would be the word that I can most easily use to describe anything having to do with it--love, would be the other word. “I love you”, is, I guess, what I was trying to say by tapping you gently three times, before running away. Really though, there aren't many things I could have said, or done--i'd never really been “starstruck” before; but it would be quite a stretch to say that it was the first time I'd been left awestruck in your presence. Countless performances, club shows; Raves are my favorite, favorite thing--second to the feel, and sound of bass. “Synesthesia”, would be the vocabulary word that explained a lifelong fascination with laser lights and deep bass; in ten years of hugging subwoofers and losing myself in the drop wondering my early adulthood mantra “Why am I like this?” almost constantly, it never mattered more to me than it has now. I recall a time where I referred to Skrillex as my spirit animal--still true, I suppose, although considering the fact I've consciously separated the Skrillex of things from the Sonny Moore of it all. One in the same, or, two separate parts of a whole--I can undeniably say all my unconventional, unconditional “I love you, I love you, I love you's”, in the everything that you are. ‘In love', would be an understatement--though which statement to actually make, i'm unsure of. I'm unsure of a lot of things, really; I've made many honest (and dishonest mistakes) in this lifetime--walking away from you, one of them. But, I can't change that, anything about who I am--or anything about the world the way it is, for I am only one--and too small, too weak, and too tired. My soul wishes for the freedom that death will bring--and so, I must let it...as its simply much too hard to live moving forward with such a badly broken spirit. I want you to understand that it is not your fault; It's nothing to do with you, or anything that you've done--the way that I love is uncontainable, once the match has been lit. I apologize again that you've become a victim in the energy field that becomes somewhat of a vortex, once activated. I didn't mean to fall in love with you--I don't know really how it happened, it just did. Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe you do. It doesn't really matter now, I just want you to know that me leaving this life is no fault of yours. I love you wholeheartedly--wholeheartedly, too, I love myself--though, seemingly only from the inside-out; there's nothing I can do about the outer shell I've been trapped in all these years. This is my body; something I would neither burden nor embarrass you with. Apologies, and all my love to you. There's nothing I want for you more than to live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life--I hope that you and those surrounding you are always, always living in peace, with joy and love--without worry, or burden, or stress; in honesty, these arre my wishes for anyone on this planet..as my love for humanity itself has only seemed to quantify, as I near the end of my life. I love, love; sometimes, I believe that I *am* love, as are any of us--but as I draw nearer to the light, it becomes harder and harder for me to believe that anything else matters, or has ever mattered, more than love. I love you. It just may be that i'm the world's biggest Skrillex fan--but to look beyond the cloak of stardom has left me longing for the embodiment of a memorable, familiar soul: The you. The person, and being that actually is; which is to say--as I would for any of my closest friends--I'd go to hell-and-back for you, give my last for you, do anything to protect you--*you*, the person; wanting and needing, expecting nothing in the world--because I cannot see a world without you in it. I'm sorry again, for any negativity. I meant to leave you behind at least, something beautiful, in exchange for all the years and moment's i've experienced through your art--but as I've mentioned before, I am trapped within myself. Symphonies unsung, melodies unwritten--because I've not what it takes to make it. I won't depart without admitting I tried, Music is my all, my everything, my guiding light--so at least in going home, I know there will always, always be the World of Sound--perhaps Heaven in the place where I can live there. I don't know what else to say. You're one of the most beautiful people i've ever seen, from the inside out--before I saw you, I heard you; before I could hear you, you were felt. I will always love you...nothing much else can matter, except that you know that. I'll never be able to erase it from my mind, never be able to forget, or look past it. I may even never understand why. Ancient Egyptian knowledge, or whatever—is the thing it seems they were trying to convey. By they, I only mean—whoever it is that wanted to hurt me. From the men shouting “kill yourself” outside my window— To the flocks of gorgeous, perfect women with perfect waists, perfect fashion, perfect faces—flaunting and floating before me, taunting me, pointing and laughing—rolling eyes, and flipping hair— and giving looks that say “I know you wish you looked as good as me.” I do. I do wish that. I wish more than anything to be beautiful. But...I keep eating. My body is hideous. I hate everything about it. I could try harder, but even that hurts. Everything hurts. Especially my heart. Why was I not more panicked, that after such a phenomenon such as that, cast by shadows against my tent—that the zipper of the door began to move slowly, from one side to another. Perhaps, I wanted the company. Maybe I needed it. What I didn't need, was more excruciating pain. No one's fault, I guess—someone wants me dead. At this point, I think me, the most. I'll never forget that face. The shocker. “Why is Skrillex in my tent?” The looming question. A question I hadn't even the time to ask, before blurting out “Are you okay?!” He froze, I froze. I guess that's where my Skrillex and my Sonny collided, as my soul began the process of separating the music I adored, and the person who made it. I will never forget his eyes. Fear. I scared him. He scared me. He scarred me. Maybe it wasn't him. I know that it *was* in fact Sonny himself (the face is unmistakable, those eyes)—but perhaps he was put up to it. Paid, for the task. Maybe my deer-in-the-headlights makes it so that he is the hunter—? How could he have missed his shot? How could I have missed mine. I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? What medicine cures suicide? None I've taken, really—maybe Acid. Now, I can't seem to separate myself from Skrillex—or from Sonny—or from figuring out the two, or one in the same— or from figuring out myself, in that we are one in the same. I love him. Like a stupid teenager loves her favorite idol. Yeah, it's exactly like that, except worse—I'm a grown woman, a failure—whose aspirations and admirations are grandiose, and dillusional. Now I'm even more delusional. I thought, for a moment that Sonny might be in love with me. In honesty? Sometimes I still think that. I actually still believe that. So why this approach? I'm partially convinced he was paid to ‘finish the job', so to speak. I was already suicidal, and, fresh out of the hospital on the attempt to end my life that failed, again. So this would do it—make me hope and believe I could be something, someone, anyone—that I could be anything—even a superstar DJ-turned-future President. I'm a fucking joke. Someone, who could have anyone—in love with me? Maybe this is why people sneak into tents at music festivals: They don't love you— They just want to fuck. DAY 1: MAY 1ST, 2020; If I am offered dinner, will eat--but if not, will continue forward. Will set an alarm for 3:30 AM once roommate has gone to bed to check for his keys. Everyone gets their own suicide letter. Mom Dad Bearr Annie Yesenia Sonny (just leave it to Annie w/ his rock && burn book) Let everybody know it's not their fault. Reasons: 1. Fat 2. Ugly 3. Black 4. Poor 5. Unsuccessful 6. Friendless 7. No Charisma 8. Single I don't know why I numbered them. Do you really need more than one reason to kill yourself? (no.) I believe i”ve started the fast that I was asked. Be it that I have, the date is May 1st, 2020--however, I've been wondering if my roommate leaves the keys to his car in an accessible place; I'm kind of hoping so. I'm already craving to eat, and the first 24 hours have yet to pass. Again, i'm always given the open to keep this date and continue forward, so long that I eat before midnight--however, nothing seems like the right answer; The matter of fasting has become a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't matter...it seems that everything I do is ‘wrong', though right-and-wrong are subjective, and multidimensionally, objective, even. I probably might have been dead by now, if my car battery hadn't died...it seems like the easiest and least painful way; something easy and quiet. I've thought about sharpening a knife, just to cut and let [myself] bleed out at the wrist--but then, I fear that I may panic and that my mind would fight to survive. I've thought about hanging from one of my favorite trees-- but haven't the money left to buy any rope--which, perhaps, I could steal--but to steal enough rope to hang myself with on foot? A tricky task, to say the least. So, really, some of me is hoping my roommate leaves his keys out. At first, the thought of committing my suicide here was unsettling. My roommate, Satan's personal favorite vehicle and overall negative void of a ‘person' (or vampire, honestly), is a drama Queen--he needs not only conflict and drama to survive, but fiends for it; something in me had somehow become too proud to give him something to girlishly blabber about with his narcissistic, simple friends--I can already hear the repetitive exclamations of “horror” that would more-than-likely delight him as he recounts the story of finding my body, over-and-over...at first it rather haunted me, and now i've come to peace with--bargaining that having him find my body would be something of a statement, which wordlessly reads “sticks and stones may break my bones but words got up and killed me.” Words. Little words. Big Words. Actions. Gestures. If it's negative, I can feel it in my body, before it even happens; If it's positive, it can leave me radiating for days on end, and without a care. My “living situation” has been nothing more than a prolonging of my already disastrously failed and predominately miserable life. A mentally-ill and often psychotic mother, followed by a too- young marriage to a dynamically similar person, has left me up Shit's creek with no boat; I'm pushing 30 with no significant other, and no significance at all. There are generations of perfect people, fresh out of high school--who can and will do everything I ever thought possible or imaginable, better than me. And it's my fault. NO ENTRY ON DAY 2. Gave Myself A “Skrillex” haircut. Wow. Fuck my life. DAY 3: The fast will end today, more than likely. I am overwhelmed with grief, at loss for motivation, and struggling to believe there is any positive outcome to anything I do. I'm already getting headaches, and acute hunger pains--usually these things don't happen until well after the third day. I suppose my body is telli

Last time we spoke the Heavenly King established his new capital Tianjing, the heavenly kingdom. Dramatic reforms were made, soldiers were recruited and armies were made to perform grand campaigns. The Taiping performed the Northern expedition, but instead of throwing the kitchen sink and potentially taking the dragon throne, it failed. The western expedition proved more fruitful and soon large swathes of territory fell to the Taiping enlarging their new empire. Yet not all was well in the heavenly kingdom, Yang Xiuqing, the mouth of the heavenly father began to abuse the heavenly king and draw the god worshipers under his thumb. Alongside this Zeng Guofan was created a brand new type of army that could challenge the Taiping and quell China of their rebellion once and for all.   #27 This episode is The Taiping Rebellion part 4: Murder amongst the Taiping Kings   Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.   While the Taiping at Nanjing were beginning to lose their political and military initiative to the Qing and Yung-ying forces, they were also losing something vitally important outside of China, western support. Western forces definitely would play a crucial role in the Taiping Qing war and western attitudes would shift dramatically from pro Taiping to anti Taiping. The first major rumblings about the Taiping came to westerners when they captured Nanjing. Overall the impression of the Taiping was quite favorable, reports indicated they were a well disciplined group of Christian character. There were many westerners who thought the Taiping might be a better alternative than the Manchu whose attitudes towards western missionaries and economic activities were aggravating. Western dissatisfaction with the Qing government really came down to their unwillingness to abide by the treaty of Nanjing in full. Thus as you can imagine quite a few missions were sent by Westerners to the new Taiping capital in Nanjing to evaluate the situation.   The first official mission that went to Nanjing was sent by the British. Sir George Bonham accompanied by Captain Fishbourne and T.T Meadows sailed to Nanjing aboard the Hermes. Bonham was egged into the mission by influential British merchants in Shanghai who were worried by the disruption in commerce. Most of the information on the Taiping that came to westerners was during the Yongan occupation and the information was quite vague and contradictory. Issachar Roberts who knew Hong Xiuquan wrote to local newspapers describing the man “ “He is a man of ordinary appearance, about five feet four or five inches high; well built, round faced, regular featured, rather handsome, about middle age, and gentlemanly in his manners.  he is trying to be something in the capacity of a prophet and appears to be struggling for religious liberty.” What the British really wanted to know, was about the trading interests and investments in SHanghai which amounted to around 25 million pounds sterling at the time. The foreigners in Shanghai wanted to know if the Taiping would offer greater chances for stability and trade expansion than their QIng counterpart. While enroute they ran into the Taiping leader named Lo Ta-kang in Chen-chiang in april of 1853. The man told him the Taiping were friendly to foreigners and would not interfere with any commercial relations. Yet when Bonham reached Nanjing he quickly found that the Taiping government like the Qing, regarded foreign governments as subordinates to their rule. While the Qing believed their mandate was that of heaven, likewise the Taiping assumed their heavenly king held an equal position within the globe. Yang Xiuqing sent a formal letter to the British and here is some of what it said and I am strongly paraphrases as its a very long letter. “Now that you distant English “have not deemed myriads of miles too far to come” and acknowledge our sovereignty; not only are the soldiers and officers of our Celestial dynasty delighted and gratified thereby, but even in high heaven itself Our Celestial Father and Elder Brother will also admire this manifestation of your fidelity and truth. We therefore issue this special decree, permitting you, the English Chief, to lead your brethren out or in, backwards or forwards, in full accordance with your own will or wish, whether to aid us in exterminating our impish foes, or to carry on your commercial operations as usual; and it is our earnest hope that you will, with us, earn the merit of diligently serving our royal master, and, with us, recompense the goodness of the Father of Spirits. Wherefore we promulgate this new decree of (our Sovereign) Taiping for the information of you English, so that all the human race may learn to worship Our Heavenly Father and Celestial Elder Brother, and that all may know that, wherever our royal master is, there men unite in congratulating him on having obtained the decree to rule”   The implication was that the British were subordinates to the Taiping. Bonham rejected the document stating it was incredibly difficult to understand and that if the Taiping “presume to injure, in any manner, the persons or property of British subjects, immediate steps will be taken to resent the injury in the same manner as similar injuries were resented ten years ago, resulting in the capture of Chinkiang, Nanking, and the neighbouring cities.” So needless to say Bonham's mind was made up.    The French likewise would send a mission to Nanjing, concerned by news of maltreatment and killings of Catholic chinese by the Taiping. In December of 1853 the French minister Anton de Bourboulon made an official visit to Nanjing aboard the steamship Cassini. The Cassini found itself boarded by many Taiping emissaries, dressed in red and yellow robes with their long hair flowing freely. The French are eventually brought ashore and they find somethings that impress them, such as the severed heads of opium smokers; printing presses hard at work and examinations taking place based on religious texts. When the French are brought to an audience hall to meet with Taiping officials they are startled by the contrast between the rundown streets and palace. They see the officials wearing rich robes with fanciful gold. They call the frenchmen friends and brothers. Qin Rigang, a close confidant to Hong Xiuquan meets them, but he is placed on a single seat higher above the ones given to the french, something they note as a slight. Bourboulon enquires if the Taiping will guarantee the well being of Chinese catholics, reminding the man of Frances neutrality towards the civil war. In the end the French talked about the treaties they have with Emperor Xianfeng, and upon hearing the emperors name spoken the Taiping become livid. The Taiping say this to them “if the French revere the Qing ruler Xianfeng so much, they must be his friends; if they are Xianfeng's friends, they must see the Taiping as rebels; if they see the Taiping as rebels, then they are the Taiping's enemies; and so, in conclusion, “the better to help your friend you have come to spy on us, and to acquaint yourselves with the strengths and weaknesses of our position.” The Taiping follow this up with days of silence as the French sat aboard Cassini until a new message was brought on december 13th. The message “ordered” the French to visit the palace of the North King so they could receive his verbal instructions. De Bourboulon rejected this and simply left accepting the mission as a failure. De Bourboulon comes back with this to say about the Taiping “What stands out most for me from all that I have seen is the strength of this revolutionary movement, which promises nothing less than to accomplish a complete transformation, at once religious, social and political in this immense Empire, by tradition a land of custom and immobility. Whatever doubts may exist about its ultimate success, whatever obstacles the indifference of the masses and the resources of the Tartar dynasty may yet oppose to the rebellion's triumph, it is clear to me that this revolt is one of formidable character and proportions; that it is led by men who, be they fanatical or ambitious, have faith in the success of their venture, and who, besides their audacity, have in their favour ideas, a strength of organisation, tactics, in short a moral force which gives them great superiority over their adversaries. . .” In May of 1854 the US sent commissioner Robert McLand, Captain Buchanan and E.C Bridgman to Nanjing aboard the Susquehanna and later in June the British sent representative Sir John Bowring to Nanjing. The American attempts at speaking with the Taiping does not go well, for one thing the Taiping dont recognize the US flag and fire upon their ships at first, pretty much ruining potential talks. Then the Taiping follow it up by sending similar letters they had sent the British and French indicating their stance on foreigners.  An american missionary, Dr. Charles Taylor also went to Chen-chiang in June of 1853 and spoke to Lo Ta-Kang whom told him the Taiping would favor commercial relations with the foreigners once they toppled the Manchu.   After these visits the British paper, North China Herald wrote about the Taiping attitudes towards foreigners and their treaties and it sort of summarizes the feelings of western nations towards them. “That whatever mingling of Christianity there might be among the leaders of the great insurrectionary movement and their followers they would be found veritably Chinese in their relations with foreigners; and that whenever the time came for seriously engaging in negotiations, we should encounter precisely the same difficulties we have always before experienced with the government and officials of the Tartar dynasty. In regard to the Taiping respecting existing treaties, most assuredly they will not, except on compulsion, or unless they willingly descend from their high position. Their ‘second son' of the most high God, and his royal associates, they and they alone are to be the dispensers of all authority and all instruction”.    Thus the years between 1854-1856 marked a decisive turning point for the fate of the Taiping on multiple fronts. The northern expedition against Beijing was a failure; the western expedition only met nominal success, but was turned back putting them on a defensive footing. Now those like Zeng Guofan were creating private armies that were proving effective against them and were turning Chinese society against the Taiping based on traditional order. The chance at receiving support from the west was largely being missed. The Taipings main political and military leader Yang Xiuqing had been a brilliant organizer and strategist. He attempted to assume the role of ideological leader as well, but the way in which he did so was not very effective. Humiliating the Heavenly King and degrading his fellow kings and princes aroused a fear and hostility that would eventually cause a violent power struggle.   The Taiping capital was slowly being surrounded by two Yung-Ying army encampments that had been established by Qing government forces near Nanjing. These were a northern and southern encampment; with one at Chiang-nan and the other in Chiang-pei. The Taiping supply began to be threatened, leading a large number of non-combatants in september of 1854 to leave Nanjing searching for food. Then in march of 1855 to deal with the growing desertions, Yang Xiuqing reversed the policy of separating men and women, permitting marriages among the Taiping. The pressure of the Nanjing blockade by the northern and southern encampments forced Yang Xiuqing to withdraw many of his forces from the battle against Zeng Guofans forces to break the blockade. Thus the Taiping commander Qin Rigang was ordered to turn back from his battles against the Xiang army and to hit the northern encampment at Chiang-nan. Qin Rigang ended up defeating their forces while Shi Dakai who had also been recalled from his offensives in Jiangxi to attack the southern encampment at Chiang-pei in June of 1856. The battles were an overwhelming Taiping victory, the southern camp routed with its commander, the Taipings infamous rival Xiang Rong becoming wounded and he would die of the wounds several days later. Honestly this guy Xiang Rong from basically day one, chased the Taiping all the way to Nanjing and never stopped fighting. The poor guy just kept getting smashed.    Now back within Nanjing, the leadership system of the Taiping had been over complex and quite ambiguous from the start. The loose structure, sort of a quasi collective leadership left the door open to power struggle. There were two main principals to the leadership system: 1) the leadership was sanctioned by a divine mandate. Hong Xiuquan had received the Taiping mission as he claimed, from heaven under orders from God the father to fight the demons to establish the heavenly kingdom on earth. Yang Xiuqing claimed to derive his own authority from the fact that he had suffered for mankind and that God the father spoke through him in the form of the holy ghost. Before his death Xiao Chaogui claimed to represent the voice of Jesus Christ, thus now there were only 2 claimants to hold divine authority. There was no clear defined relationship between the 2 claimants, the Heavenly King was himself the son of God, a younger brother to Jesus Christ while Yang Xiuqing was nothing of that kind, he was just the instrument for gods voice. Yang Xiuqing could only maintain this role however under his trances when he needed to exceed the authority of Hong Xiuquan. 2) was the system of brotherhood amongst the Taiping. The Taiping held a concept that all of them were brothers and sisters, but they made a distinction amongst those followers who had been around at the very beginning versus newcomers. Put simply, those who shared the dangers of the rebellion reaped the rewards.    At first Hong Xiuquan held a special and exalted position, but it seems pressure from Yang Xiuqing and a few others eventually forced him to give up that concentrated holiness, and now the Taiping drew a distinction between God the father and Jesus christ who alone were holy, and Hong was just a sovereign head of the movement of brothers. Every leadership brother had associated staff. And Even though Hong Xiuquan and his staff were the sovereign and in theory handled all things at the highest level, in practice it was actually Yang Xiuqing and his staff that became the real central bureaucracy who were making the decisions and channeling them through Hong Xiuquan and his staff. The administrative structure abided by the brotherhood system and its equality amongst the top leaders. Yang Xiuqing just kept using his trance voice ability to undermine and interfere with the personal life of Hong Xiuquan. Once Xiang Rong and his blockade forces were defeated, it seems Yang Xiuqing saw the opportunity to finally seize control of Tianjing.   Yang Xiuqing went into one of his classic stances and summoned Hong Xiuquan to his palace. Yang said to Hong "You and the East King are both my sons. The East King has made significant contributions, so why is he still being hailed as *'Long Live for Nine Thousand Years' instead of 'Long Live for Ten Thousand Years'?" Hong Xiuquan replied, "The East King has indeed made significant contributions by conquering an empire, so he should be hailed as 'Long Live for Ten Thousand Years'." Yang Xiuqing then went into another trance and said "Should the East King's son be hailed as 'Long Live for Ten Thousand Years'?" Hong Xiuquan replied, "Since the East King is hailed as 'Long Live for Ten Thousand Years', his son and his descendants should also be hailed as 'Long Live for Ten Thousand Years' as well." To all of this Yang went into another stance and proclaimed "I'm returning to heaven."   Obviously Hong Xiuquan opposed the challenged to his role, but there was also opposition from the two remaining kings, the North king Wei Changhui and the flank king Shi Dakai. They had gradually been forced to submit to the directions of Yang and no longer played any real part in policy making. There were a ton of personal attacks as well. Once Yang had Wei flogged after one of his subordinates offended him. Another time a relative of Wei had a property dispute with one of Yang's relatives pissing off Yang and he called upon Wei to decide the punishment for Wei's relative together. Wei's reply apparently was that his own relative should be torn into five parts, wow. Another time Shi Dakai's father in law, Huang Yukun offended Yang and received 300 flogs, had his title removed and was demoted. The major issue for these 2 was unlike Yang they never claimed any divine inspiration, they had no trances or voices to fall upon. All they could really do to challenge Yang was straight up old violence, ie: assasination. Thus a conspiracy against Yang was brewing. It also seems by 1856, Yang Xiuqing was becoming unpopular with the Taiping forces. He was ruthless and mistreated officers of the other kings or anyone who did not kowtow to him. There was an air of fear and disrespect. His harem was allegedly the largest of any of the Taiping leaders and in the words of one Taiping government informant “people laugh behind his back”.   Now before Yang Xiuqing pulled his maneuver to receive the Ten Thousand Years title, he dispatched Wei Changhui, Shi Dakai and Qin Rigang to 3 separate provinces. Hong rightfully saw Yang's requests as blatant treasons and he sent word alerting the 3 generals to return at once. Qin Rigang was the first to arrive followed by Wei Changhui by September 1st of 1856 alongside 3000 troops. The 2 men met with Hong Xiuquan and they decided to act before Shi Dakai arrived and before Yang Xiuqing can rally more than 6000 troops in the city who were believed to be loyal to him. On september 2nd, Wei and Qin led the troops to storm Yangs residence where they slaughtered every member of his family and followers, male and female, and of any rank or age. Yang was cut down trying to flee and his severed head was hung on a pole in the street. It is unknown whether Hong Xiuquan gave the order to kill Yang or Wei Changhui just went ahead with it. There is one version of the tale that indicates Hong Xiuquan ordered Wei only to kill Yang and to leave the others unmolested. Regardless of the versions, Wei Changhui was pinned for being the decision maker.    Hong Xiuquan in an angry edict denounces the slaying of Yangs family and followers and the bloodbath and looting that occurred. He has Wei and Qin arrested and forces them to kneel with chains around their necks in front of his palace gate. Hong's female servants then issue a huge proclamation written in vermillion ink on a large piece of yellow silk 7-8 feet long. The edict sentence the 2 men to a savage punishment of 500 blows, the same punishment dealt to traitors during the Thistle mountain days. All of Yang's surviving followers are invited to witness the beatings, which are administered inside the walls of Hong's enormous palace. It is said Yang's surviving followers make their way through the crowd, get to the gate where they leave their arms and enter the palace ground to get a closer look. Once all of them enter, the doors and gates are shut, the beatings stop and Yangs followers are all trapped. Amongst those who witnessed this event were some western mercenaries believe it or not, one Irishman had this to tell    Next morning at daylight the doors and windows of these prisons were opened, and several powder bags thrown in on the prisoners, while the entrance was strongly guarded. In one house the soldiers entered with little resistance and massacred the whole, but in the other the prisoners fought with the bricks from the walls and partitions, most desperately for upwards of six hours before they were got under. In addition to musketry, a two pounder discharged grape at them.—These poor devils then stripped themselves, and many were seen to fall from sheer exhaustion. At last [Wei and Qin] called upon their men to draw their right arms from their sleeves, so as to distinguish them from No. 2's men; they then rushed in and massacred the remainder— We shortly after entered, and, good heavens! such a scene, the dead bodies were in some places five and six deep; some had hung themselves and others were severely scorched from the explosions of the powder bags thrown in.—These bodies were removed from this to a field and remained uncovered.—After this every master of a house in the city had to give an account of how many men, women and children were residing under his roof, to every one of whom was given a small chop [seal imprint] which they wore on their breast, and if they found any of No. 2's men they were to secure them—For several weeks these people were brought to the execution ground in parcels of fives, tens, hundreds, and thousands, who were all beheaded. All the women and children also, any one who had eaten of No. 2's rice suffered.   Wei and Qin are apparently unsatisfied and continue killing people for over 3 months, with estimates being in the thousands, including 500 of Yang's former palace women and female retainers. Now at the time of the assasination, Shi Dakai was fighting a campaign in Hubei and had far more to travel than Wei or Qin to reach Nanjing. He was far up the Yangtze river, near Wuchang and despite leaving immediately upon hearing the news only managed to get to Nanjing by early October. He was informing on the way of the slaughter and was revolted and furious. Shi met with Wei whom he blamed for the killing and warned him that such actions could only lead to a Qing victory over their cause. Wei was furious in turn and suggested that perhaps Shi was in league with Yang Xiuqing, or perhaps a traitor to the Qing. Sources vary, but some claim Wei sought to make a sweep of it all before Shi even made it to Nanjing, electing to assassinate him. Afterall Shi Dakai's army was still in the field. Regardless, Shi Dakai was warned by mutual friends that he too might be assassinated and upon finding gates closed against him, Shi secretly broke out of the city the same day he had returned to it.  Late within that night both Wei and Qin surrounded Shi's palace, the same way they had done to Yang's, they forced their way past some of his guards but Shi has already given them the slip. One source claims Shi cleverly escaped by being lowered over the city wall in a basket. Wei and Qin thus turned their attention on his poor wife and children whom they murdered.   Shi Dakai moved upriver west of Nanjing, rallying troops loyal to him alongside all those who were dissatisfied with the current Taiping leadership clique. It should be noted many of these dissatisfied forces were in fact Triad organizations. Shi Dakai proved to be the most popular of the Taiping commanders and consolidated close to 100,000 men. With such a huge force he returned by river back to Nanjing sending word to Hong Xiuquan that only the heads of Wei and Qin could satisfy his revenge. Alerted to the danger, Wei dispatched General Qin to block Shi's march and ends up blowing up the hallowed porcelain tower to deny Shi's artillery a commanding height to fire shells into the city. Some sources claim Wei simultaneously had plans to imprison Hong Xiuquan, but before this could unfold Hong Xiuquan assembled his loyal and elite bodyguard killing Wei Changhui and sends his head to Shi. Likewise Hong Xiuquan uses a clever ploy to lure General Qin back into the city and has him killed. Thus Shi Dakai and his army march into Nanjing, not as slaughterers, but as heroes, welcomed by Hong Xiuquan with open arms.   All of this became known as the Tianjing incident, and perhaps surprisingly, the deceased Yang Xiuqing is given amnesty and acquitted of his crimes against the Taiping throne. Yangs death is literally marked as “the east king ascends to heaven”, Hong never fails to publicly revere him. In proclamations for the remaining years of the Taiping rebellion, Yang's role as the voice of god is remembered, and one of Yang's brothers who miraculously survived the slaughter is honored as a noble. All of Yang's sons die, but Hong gives his second son, Tianyou to the east king posthumously as an adopted son, keeping Yang's family line alive. This means that Jesus too can have his line maintained on earth as well as in heaven. Hong likewise names his eldest son, Tiangui, the Taiping heir apparent to be Jesus's adopted son.    Now the slaughter in the Nanjing removed 3 Taiping leaders and a large number of their followers. Only Hong Xiuquan, his family and Shi Dakai remain of the original Taiping leaders. Hong Xiuquan turns to his two eldest brothers, Hong Renfa and Hong Renda to fill some of the power vacuum. With Shi Dakai being the only survivor of the 5 kings, he begins promoting these brothers to make up for the lack of kings. Renfa becomes the Peace King and Renda becomes the blessings king, also known as the An Prince and Fu Prince. As for Shi Dakai, to make sure this did not look like some sort of slight against him, Hong raises his title from flank king to righteous king. Shi Dakai refuses the honor putting Hong in a surprising quandary. Thus Hong offers to add to his flank king title instead making it “lightning of the holy spirit” which matched the once held title of Yang. This compromise seems to have done nothing, Shi Dakai resents the power given to Hong's family members, whom he believes are morons. Likewise the Hong brothers resent Shi Dakai's status and do everything they can to undercut his power. Thus for nearly half a year in 1857, Shi Dakai rules most of the Nanjing region, and it is a sad and lonely existence. His family is dead, it is reported he lives in complete seclusion, not receiving oral messages, but only those in writing. He answers written messages during the night and has his staff bring them out in the morning. When he came back to the capital rumors spread in Nanjing that the people actually wanted Shi Dakai to rule the government, but it was Hong Xiuquan unpleased with him who employed his brothers to thwart this. The people at the Taiping court were displeased with Hong Xiuquan for this because the 2 brothers were neither talented, not well versed in heavenly doctrines. According to one General Li Xiucheng all of these variables, but most in particular the 2 brothers “suspicions and obstructions forced Shi Dakai to leave Nanjing, a defection that left no one in charge at court”.   And so Shi Dakai left Nanjing in the summer of 1857, peacefully with his most loyal troops by his side. Whatever his animosity towards the two Hong brothers may have been, he did not put it in clear words, and he seems to have remained loyal to Hong Xiuquan. He posted a manifesto throughout the cities he passes giving his reason for leaving as his desire to continue with the western expedition. This is part of the manifesto “Last year, amidst the disaster and turbulence, I hurried in anguish back to the Capital. Confident that my unwavering loyalty Would be clearly understood by my Holy Ruler. However, things were not quite so, And imperial edicts were issued one after another. Dark suspicions abounded on all sides, How can my own brush record them all? Because of this, I am determined to exert my utmost, To lead a military campaign and reemphasize my sincerity. I shall endeavor to reward those who walk with God, In order to repay the Sovereign's grace and goodness”.   I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.  Yang Xiuqing and Wei Changhui were killed, Shi Dakai left Nanjing in exile taking a large army of Taiping with him. Nanjing has lost its kings, Hong Xiuquan falls into a depression and isolates himself, who will really lead the movement now?