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V/H/S (2012) is the found-footage anthology that redefined modern horror! This cult classic launched a wave of sequels, spin-offs, and even catapulted some of today's biggest horror directors to fame. Join me, Cayley, and Crystal as we revisit this modern day classic and unpack its impact on the genre.
Since Trump unleashed Elon Musk's U.S. DOGE Service on the federal government, Post reporter Hannah Natanson has been deluged with messages from hundreds of federal workers. They fear for their jobs and are worried about the damage DOGE could do to crucial programs as it tries to make massive spending cuts across the government.Colby Itkowitz speaks with Hannah about what it has been like to be on the receiving end of these messages, what federal workers are most concerned about, and what DOGE may look like now that Elon Musk is stepping back from leading the initiative.Today's show was produced and mixed by Ted Muldoon. It was edited by Peter Bresnan. Subscribe to The Washington Post here.
After hearing a story of an IVF mix up where two couples were accidentally given this other's treatment.. Hayley & Max debate whether they would keep the child they carried in the womb, or swap for the child that has their own DNA.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Birthed it, nurtured it, and now we take a walk with it in the garden.In episode #33 we are joined once again by Dr. Mike Riccardi and also Pastor Josh Mills to discuss the distinguishing marks of Reformed Dispensationalism. Importantly, we take a deep dive into the Garden and what that means for the first and Second Adam. Connect with us online: Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nolastingcitypodcast/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/NoLastingCity_ Riverbend Bible Church: Website: https://riverbend.org.nz/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/riverbendbiblechurch Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC44ExRsNfY34G-U2vA34XuA
Many of you know that a B'nai B'rith organization gave birth to the ADL while defending its Atlanta chapter president Leo Frank. Frank raped and murdered a 13 year old girl who he was also employing along with many other teens, against child labor laws. Leo Frank ran a pencil factory sweatshop and often flirted with his illegal underage employees. The ADL was formed to defend him when he murdered and raped Mary Phagan. The details were disgusting. Her underwear was ripped and bloody and she was strangled to death with a wire. Her head had also been pummeled with a pipe. She went to get her paycheck of a meager $1.20 and never returned home. She was raped and murdered and then her body was dragged to the basement. Police found strands of her hair and blood on the floor above right across from Frank's office. Frank nervously revealed the victims name in front of police before they had given him any such details. The ADL was going to get him released based purely on the fact that He was Jewish and a high profile crime made Jews look bad. Arguably a Jewish organization trying to get a child murderer off the hook, makes Jews look worse. They would like one to believe that he was innocent with fake news history and will tell you so on Wikipedia which has Israelis paid to edit it. Leo admitted on the witness stand to the jury that he was “unconsciously” at the scene of the crime when the murder occurred. What we don't know, is if he raped her before or after killing her. The grand jury voted 21 – 0 for indicting him. Four of those jurors were Jewish. That shouldn't matter, but it does because later the ADL would try to argue that the jury wrongly convicted him because of antisemitism rather than because all the evidence showed that he did it in everyone's eyes. He was convicted. After the Judge, Leonard Roan, rejected all the appeals, he ordered Leo to be hanged on his birthday April 17, 1913. However Frank who was unanimously elected president of the B'nai Brith Chapter again even after being convicted of rape and murder had one last method to weasel out. He with Jewish pressure groups, appealed to the Governor. The lame-duck governor, John M. Slaton, in a very Clinton-esk move, commuted Leo's sentence his last week in office. He changed it from the death penalty to life in prison.Frank was knifed in prison by an inmate who took justice into their own hands. William Creen used a butcher knife and cut Leo's throat severely injuring him. On August 16th a mob broke into the prison captured Leo Frank and took him 2 miles away and hanged him. Although they took photographs no one in town would identify them. Of course the ADL twisted the story to say that these men were motivated by antisemitism and not that they hated him for raping and murdering a child. To see Southern Justice click hereThe ADL would fight to have him given a posthumous pardon which he got in 1986. Fred Grimm of the Miami Herald said in response to the pardon, “A salve for one of the South's most hateful, festering memories, was finally applied” showing his own prejudice towards the South rather than admitting a well known exploiter of child labor, who raped and killed a young girl and was unanimously convicted for the crime and sentenced to death was killed even after weaseling a pardon by an outgoing governor. Fred Grimm is constantly chasing down and doing stories about “Neo-Confederates” and “Neo-Nazis” as if either one are some huge bane and influence in modern society. Ironically it is groups like Antifa who act like ISIS tearing down American Statues and assaulting people. Despite having entire cities burned civilian homes and all by Lincoln's terrorists, not once in 150 years has a Southerner attacked a Union monument. Yelling racism at everything is fun though because it exercises safe moral indignation. That the US recently invaded Libya and have caused a country to be run by Al Qaeda terrorists who have revived the institution of slavery, selling humans for $400 in the market, doesn't seem to bother these same people so much as statues of Confederate generals. Apparently the Union military generals like Custer who rode west and committed genocide on Native Americans immediately following the Civil War, or enslaving the Chinese to build railroads, doesn't count as racism either.The ADL itself was created with Jewish mafia money. With connections to Meyer Lansky, Moe Dalitz, Bugsy Siegal, and illegal arms trafficker Hank Greenspun. The ADL gave Jewish gangster Moe Dalitz the Torch of Liberty Award. Dalitz was partnered with Galvastan's Sam Marceo and his brother Rosario of international narcotic trafficking fame. Dalitz and Sam began with a bootlegging gig. And it was the Maceo brothers who with Dalitz financed the Desert Inn Casio (where Frank Sinatra got his first Vegas gig). Interesting note, Sam's sister Olivia married Joseph Fertitta. You probably know the famous former owners of the UFC Frank III and Lorenzo Fertitta. They're all “family”. Maceo died only a year after purchasing the casino and it quickly went into the Fertitta side of the family. Dalitz not only did business with Maceo, he ran with the Mayfield Road gang in Ohio who had a branch dubbed the Collinwood Crew nicknamed the Young Turks. This is a very fitting name considering that the ADL denies the Armenian genocide. They even fired a New England Director Andrew H. Tarsy because he broke rank and called it a genocide. See killing 1,500,000 people isn't genocide because nothing is allowed to compete with the Holocaust victimhood.Moe Dalitz at Desert InnDalitz was an early business partner with Abe Berstien of the murderous Purple Gang. They used to murder motorists for sport. That didn't bother the ADL. In 1985 they gave Moe an award. Moe would become the Mob Boss of Cleveland, even tough most of his operations would move and center on Vegas. His businesses however were all over the United States. Dalitz was not only a close confidant of Meyer Lansky, the two co-owned the Frolic Club in Miami. (p.6)The Desert Inn casino also took investments from convicted illegal arms smuggler Hank Greenspun, who was not only invested but became the publicist as well. He owned the Las Vegas Sun and pulled a money laundering scheme with advertising that was similar to what Boris Berezovsky repeated in Russia. Prior to that, he had been the publicist for another Mafia Casino, the Flamingo, which was run by Lanksy's childhood friend and murderer Bugsy Siegal. Greenspun's wife was given top honors by the ADL. Her husband attempted to smuggle 42 Pratt and Whitney R2800 LOW airplane engines to Palestine when the Haganah terrorist group was creating the state of Israel through ethnic cleansing.After jury tampering, with the sole Jewish Juror meeting with the defense, Greenspun and two of his cohorts William Sosnow, and Samuel Lewis were acquitted, but his other partners Adolph Schwimmer, Leon Gardner, Renoyld Selk, and Abraham Levin, were convicted.But Greenspun would be found guilty of smuggling the machine guns that would go with the planes as well as artillery and ammo. He stole 30 and 50 cal machine guns from Hawaii and shipped them to the Haganah in Palestine through Mexico. When he was indicted Greenspun tried to bribe his way out. He offered $25,000 to Seth Solomon Pope “or anyone else designated by Pope” to “quash” a second Neutrality Act indictment against him. Solomon worked in Hawaii at the War Assets Administration, in charge of decommissioning and selling off WWII surplus. He was most likely the original contact for the smuggling. The man was investigated three time for fraudulent sales. They also stole over 500 machine gun barrels. Reportedly Hank took an addition 10% Kickback from arms sales he made. A Grand Jury in Los Angeles indicted Hank and six other of violating the Neutrality Act and Export Control Law, Title 50 United States Code section 701 and Title 22 United Stated Code, section 452. However he got only a 10k fine and no jail time. Greenspun was paid through the SSE. The SSE was a front for the AJDC's Lishka which financed communist and Bricha illegal immigration. The Jewish Agency which was the government in waiting that organized the terrorist groups that formed Israel, facilitated the cash flow to gun runners like Hank. In “Concealed in the Open: Recipients of International Clandestine Jewish Aid in Early 1950s Hungary” Zachary Paul Levine, of Yeshiva University Museum writes.“The JDC-Israeli collaboration that formed around clandestine emigration to Israel and welfare to migrants filled the vacuum with the creation of two institutions. The first was created in 1952 by the Israeli government's Liaison Bureau of the Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs, or Lishka by its Hebrew acronym, which collected information and administered individual aid. The second was created in Switzerland in 1953. Known as the Society for Mutual Aid (SSE by its French acronym), this organization directed AJDC funds to the Lishka and represented Jewish aid providers' interests to communist governments” …”However, as an American organization at the height of the McCarthy “Red Scare,” AJDC administrators could hardly justify the appearance of sending cash or material into a state with which the U.S. was technically engaged in “economic warfare.” In March 1953, the AJDC and Lishka together established the SSE, a “paper organization” that “covered” the AJDC-Israeli partnership, and provided a means for regularized AJDC funding for Lishka from the Joint's Relief-in-Transit budget that funded activities that might have contravened U.S. law (Beizer 2009: 117). The SSE's Swiss chairman, Erwin Haymann, had years of experience channeling money from the U.S. for Bricha and other clandestine activities. Funds traveled through the SSE and on to Lishka agents who received U.S. dollars or another western currency and exchanged them into Hungarian forints on the black market in Vienna. Subsequently, these forints traveled via diplomatic pouch or in the suitcase of an apparent traveler to the legation in Budapest, whose staff distributed the cash around the country.”We learned from declassified FBI documents that Erwin Haymann, the same man aiding communist on behalf of the JA is who made three transfers of 1.3 million dollars to Greenspun. Greenspun would later become the Western Director of bonds for Israel. Haymann sent the payments to Banco del Ahorro, Mexico by cable.Interesting, because 1.3 million is exactly how much Moe Dalitz sank into the Desert Inn Casino, which Greenspun was a publicist for and invested in, what a coincidence. If you are into Kennedy Research here is a cookie for you. Hungarian Jew Tibor Rosenbaum is the bridge between Meyer Lansky, Erwin Haymann, and heavy Florida-Cuba crime syndicate. …But I will leave that tangent alone. Greespun was known for having blackmail on political candidates, Howard Hunt and G. Gordon Liddy even plotted to raid on the Vegas Sun vault in order to gain access to blackmail that Hank had on Howard Hughes. Hughes by the way bought Mafia properties like the Desert Inn Casino using millions in cash. They credit him with cleaning Vegas up from the mob, it was more like the mob took him to the cleaners. Dalitz ironically started out with a cash only dry cleaning business.Kennedy whose father was involved with the Outfit and the East Coast mob and who had a love affair with his friend Frank Sinatra's ex-girlfriend Judith Exner while she was also involved with Chicago mob boss Sam Giacanna. Sinatra introduced her to JFK. Kennedy gave Greenspun a pardon his first year in office. I wonder why. LBJ likewise was sleeping with Mathilde Krim who was also part of the Swiss connection who help Irgun terrorist. Johnson did all this while she was married to his campaign advisor Athur Krim, a willing cuck. It makes you rethink Monica Lewinsky doesn't it. Well Clinton did give Jewish Billionaire Marc Rich a pardon, after Rich donated $100,000 to the ADL. Rich was yet another crook in the Swiss connection.These are the founders and reward recipients of the ADL. The ADL was given defacto powers of an intelligence agency in the United State and it gathers intel on who it pleases. It is anything but an Anti-Defamation League. They defame people themselves. The ADL under the cover of fighting Anti-Semitism, simply uses this cry as a club to chase down and censor anyone critical of Zionism or the Israeli state. If you point out that Israeli snipers are shooting children in Palestine from across the border, then the ADL can get you removed. Vimeo stole $5,000 in profits from me and erased six years worth of my work because of my criticism of Israel. When the ADL partnered with YouTube December of 2008, my channel was gone the first day, and over a thousand videos were erased. No justification was needed, simply the accusation of antisemitism. When I made a complaint in my appeal I learned that the ADL would oversee the case. Of course I never had my channel restored nor was I even given an explanation from YouTube. Another wing of the ADL is the SPLC and they too have been granted censorship powers across social media. The ADL used the SPLC as both an attack dog and a buffer to separate itself from ramifications of its constant chicken little censorship. In the rare case of actual antisemitic groups online or otherwise the ADL has been busted reacting to its own creations as the “Nazis” they screech about turn out to be their own provocateurs.Birthed to defend a murdering child rapist, financed by mass murdering terrorists and organized crime, narcotic peddling, gun running, psychopaths formed the pro Zionist organizational bully called the ADL. They have been caught spying through American police departments, spying on American citizens, and even coaching American police on what they should be on the look out for and how Hate Crime means anything Israel doesn't like. And this is their great online weapon. The Zog Media already refuses to report on what Israel is doing to Palestine, the Israeli role in orchestrating the Iraq War, and the Proxy War on Syria. People have been giving the information online. Naturally the ADL has been censoring such journalist all while screaming antisemitism. AIPAC bribes congress and the ADL censors the media. It is a one two punch to protect criminal Zionists interest. And now you know its criminal origins. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.ryandawson.org/subscribe
In this heartfelt conversation, Heather Straughter shares her profound journey through grief after the loss of her son, Jake. She discusses the pivotal moments that shaped her path, the importance of community support, and the ongoing nature of grief. Heather reflects on the complexities of acknowledging loss, the unexpected triggers that can arise, and her evolving perspective on grief hierarchies. Through her experiences, she emphasizes the significance of finding one's own way to cope and the power of humor in navigating the dark moments of grief. In this conversation, Heather Straughter shares her personal journey through grief after the loss of her son, Jake. She discusses societal expectations surrounding grief, the dual nature of grief as both painful and transformative, and the importance of community support. Heather also talks about the creation of her podcast, 'A Place of Yes,' aimed at sharing stories of families dealing with similar challenges, and her mission to help families navigate the complexities of caring for children with special needs. The conversation emphasizes the need for compassion, understanding, and proactive support for grieving families. Follow: Jake's Help From Heaven A Place Of Yes Podcast on Instagram Chapters 00:00 Introduction and Personal Connection 01:41 The Impact of Grief on Life Choices 02:50 Navigating Grief and Community Support 08:21 The Ongoing Nature of Grief 10:33 The Complexity of Grief and Acknowledgment 12:26 Triggers and Unexpected Moments of Grief 15:59 The Hierarchy of Grief 18:23 Coping Mechanisms and Humor in Grief 22:09 The Dark Side of Grief 24:22 Unspoken Aspects of Grief 26:07 Finding Your Own Path in Grief 29:20 Navigating Grief: Societal Expectations and Personal Experiences 32:43 The Dual Nature of Grief: Pain and Growth 36:47 Creating a Supportive Community: The Birth of a Podcast 42:06 Expanding the Mission: Helping Families Beyond Local Boundaries 54:16 Words of Comfort: Supporting Grieving Families
In this episode, we dive deep with Matt Blair, COO and founding partner of REI Capital Growth. Matt shares how a single rainstorm conversation with his father in an empty Dallas apartment sparked a business that's revolutionizing how small balance investors access commercial real estate opportunities.We explore how conversations have shaped both Matt's business and personal life - from the month-long phone calls that formed the foundation of his relationship with his now-wife, to the persistent debates that helped refine their investment model through multiple SEC rejections.Links & Companies MentionedREI Capital Growth: reicapitalgrowth.comREITs (Real Estate Investment Trusts)
0:00 Intro 0:06 Birth siblings 3:40 Paternity 6:46 Spicy food 9:02 Not a twin 12:11 Money 13:36 Self proposal Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Looking 4 Healing Radio with Nichola Burnett – What was required to endure the ongoing torture and torment of this battle was blind faith in the process, getting out of her own way, and a level of surrender to the divine that brought her to her knees. Birthed out on the other end of this process was the revelation that, indeed, it is true: "All the world's a stage," and nothing is as it seems to be on a much deeper level than...
Looking 4 Healing Radio with Nichola Burnett – What was required to endure the ongoing torture and torment of this battle was blind faith in the process, getting out of her own way, and a level of surrender to the divine that brought her to her knees. Birthed out on the other end of this process was the revelation that, indeed, it is true: "All the world's a stage," and nothing is as it seems to be on a much deeper level than...
When will Alva stop talking about her hometown?? How Black Sabbath are the reason Ghost exist today and who do we think Papa V Perpetua is??
Theodore Cottingham in Eureka Springs with the School of Meonics www.Meonics.Me
When you're ready to go beyond the security blanket of a religion, beyond the training wheels of a church, beyond your images of a God, to become a student of Unconditional Love teaching you directly, I have much to share with you. Dr. Theodore Cottingham Box 34, Eureka Springs, Arkansas 72632 USA Meonics.me #theodorecottingham #theodore #eurekasprings #divinefeminine #consciousness #angels #newcovenant #bornagain #Messiah #lightworkers #Spirituality #theone #universe #source #light #lightworker #neo #christianity #salvation #telepathy #light #love #peace
If climate reports and dystopian vibes are getting you down, this conversation with Meg Berryman might just lift you (gently) from the tiles.Meg is the host of the Regenerative Life podcast, where she holds activating and catalysing conversations about social change, sustainable business, holistic wellbeing, personal development and regeneration, creating ripples of change from the inside out.She's not only a brilliant interviewer, meeting mighty minds like Tyson Yunkaporta and Claire Dunn for the kinds of intellectual-yet-accessible chats that leave listeners awestruck, but a formidable thinker herself. We're stoked to welcome Meg for a wide-ranging convo that covers nervous system care, sitting in the magic dark, tending survival energy and watering the seeds of discontent. We discuss the perils of trying to make a positive impact out there if it's having a negative impact on you and your people. And how to go about satisfying that deep primal yearning to reconnect with self, earth and other beings. Right now, in this time of grief, confusion + frustration, Meg Berryman is pure medicine. Listen in. SHOW NOTESThe inspiration behind the Regenerative Life podcastAn unlearning journey of dropping the postures and dropping into true self.Finding the balance between the unknown + the five year plan. Challenging domesticity with wildnessRegeneration is an embodied experience; but it's not as easy as we've been sold. The things we've sold as making us happy aren't all they're cracked up to be. The agitation and restlessness we're feeling as feedback is not anything wrong with us! The lie of capitalism is that it's your problem, you need to buy something to fix you.The seeds of discontent are also the seeds of regenerationHomeostatic flux: ecosystems are constantly recalibrating according to feedback.How to reconsider + reevaluate what a good life is. We have a deep primal yearning to reconnect with ourselves, the earth, other being. That urge is continually being overidden because on some level, we assume there's something wrong with us. "It's not that I'm allergic to life, I'm allergic to the ways we've organised society and systems that are so removed from those basic primal instincts of being connected and belonging."Wisdom birthed from the bathroom floor. Epic burnout led to total breakdown led to epic recalibration.Is sheer willpower the only way to get shit done?Reframing breakdown as a period of magic dark.We've had a health and wellness paradigm for 20 years that's focussed on DOING things. But that keeps us in survival mode; it's not sustainable or regenerative. We need a whole lot of people to be regulated enough, for long enough, to make life giving decisions and make a dent in these systems.Being in conversation with questions. How do we come back to ourselves, and is that enough?Getting out of hustle culture in business. Everyone is saying, "we can't slow down because x, y, z….” It's the courageous soul chooses to interrogate that. If you're making impact out there, but that work is having a negative effect on your people in here, it's a net zero. It's not regenerative.The best gift you can give other beings is the gift of a settled system. Avoiding the one-two punch of shame and guilt.LINKS YOU'LL LOVEMy Grandmother's Hands -- Resmaa MenakemSupport the showSupport the show
Send us a textWhat if the ego was just a playful aspect of divine creativity rather than a source of separation? Join us as we unravel this intriguing concept with insights from Jeshua in Lesson 16, where we explore the birth of egoic consciousness. Discover how the soul's descent into individuated awareness creates the illusion of separation from the divine, yet remains a unique expression of God's limitless potential. We journey through the notion of pure potentiality, reflecting on how even the mere thought of separation sparks a joyful exploration of existence. This profound narrative challenges us to reconsider the playful, unrestricted nature of divine consciousness and the origins of the ego.Fear often feels real, yet what if it's just an illusion born from a perceived distance from the creator? Together, we delve into this captivating idea, illustrating fear as false evidence appearing real—a playful twist in the divine's exploration of limitation. Drawing parallels between spiritual insights and scientific phenomena like the Big Bang and quantum physics, our conversation examines how perception shapes reality, much like the wave-particle duality. Ultimately, we emphasize the unity of all things as facets of the one creator, contemplating the divine nature of everything, even what we perceive as darkness. Tune in for a thought-provoking journey that challenges conventional paradigms and invites a deeper understanding of our spiritual essence. If you're ready to go from theory to mastery, this 12-month program is for you. Covering one lesson per month, you'll embody The Way of Mastery through daily practices, group calls, breathwork, and real-time support. Only 20 spots available—apply at revelationbreathwork.com/livingthewayofmastery. If you're interested in the Living The Way of Mastery Year-Long Program where we will dive deep into Lesson 1-12 (The Way of Heart) over 12 months, starting Feb. 9th, click here.Join the Facebook group https://www.facebook.com/groups/livingthewayofmasteryIf you'd like to support the podcast, you can donate here:https://www.buymeacoffee.com/thewayofmasteryIf you would like to experience Revelation Breathwork, you can get our FREE 3-part Breathwork for Beginners series here.Purchase The Way of Mastery here. (This is a link to the Shanti Christo website, not Amazon. I want to support the organization. I don't receive any commission from this.)You can purchase access to the Lesson 5 Guided Meditation Prayer that Jason recorded here for $4.44
Having one baby is hard. Imagine four! This is the incredible story of Taylah Tudehope-Glachan’s pregnancy and birth with her quadruplets.In Part 1 of Taylah’s tale, she details a roller-coaster fertility struggle; think PCOS, endometriosis and IVF.Plus what it was like discovering her successful transfer had resulted in four babies.You’ll hear about high-risk pregnancy, exactly HOW she fell pregnant with quads, and how she handled her hospitalisation at 24 weeksCan’t wait for part two? You don’t need to! Listen to part two of Taylah’s story here.If you’re a soon-to-be mum of multiples, the Australian Multiple Birth Association is a wonderful resource.Diary Of A Birth features mums telling their miraculous stories of bringing life into the world, and we have all medical questions and concerns cleared up by one of Australia’s favourite paediatricians, Dr Golly.If you’d like to share your birth story, we’d love to hear from you at podcast@mamamia.com.au or send us a voice note here.THE END BITS:Support independent women's mediaFollow Diary Of A Birth on InstagramIf you’re looking for something else to listen to, check out our hilarious and seriously unhelpful podcast The Baby Bubble hosted by Clare and Jessie Stephens.Mamamia has a podcast for every stage of parenthood.Our parenting podcast is This Glorious Mess.If you’re pregnant, listen to The Delivery Room and Hello Bump.And if you’re trying or preg-curious, Get Me Pregnant and Before The Bump are for you.CREDITS:Host: Ksenija LukichExpert: Dr GollyExecutive Producer: Georgie PageAudio Producer: Scott Stronach Mamamia acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the Land we have recorded this podcast on, the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. We pay our respects to their Elders past and present, and extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures.Become a Mamamia subscriber: https://www.mamamia.com.au/subscribeSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
[Part 1 of 2] Having one baby is hard. Imagine four! This is the incredible story of Taylah Tudehope-Glachan's pregnancy and birth with her quadruplets.In Part 1 of Taylah's tale, she details a roller-coaster fertility struggle; think PCOS, endometriosis and IVF.Plus what it was like discovering her successful transfer had resulted in four babies.You'll hear about high-risk pregnancy, exactly HOW she fell pregnant with quads, and how she handled her hospitalisation at 24 weeksCan't wait for part two? You don't need to! Listen to part two of Taylah's story here.If you're a soon-to-be mum of multiples, the Australian Multiple Birth Association is a wonderful resource.Diary Of A Birth features mums telling their miraculous stories of bringing life into the world, and we have all medical questions and concerns cleared up by one of Australia's favourite paediatricians, Dr Golly.If you'd like to share your birth story, we'd love to hear from you at podcast@mamamia.com.au or send us a voice note here.THE END BITS:Support independent women's mediaFollow Diary Of A Birth on InstagramIf you're looking for something else to listen to, check out our hilarious and seriously unhelpful podcast The Baby Bubble hosted by Clare and Jessie Stephens.Mamamia has a podcast for every stage of parenthood.Our parenting podcast is This Glorious Mess.If you're pregnant, listen to The Delivery Room and Hello Bump.And if you're trying or preg-curious, Get Me Pregnant and Before The Bump are for you.CREDITS:Host: Ksenija LukichExpert: Dr GollyExecutive Producer: Georgie PageAudio Producer: Scott Stronach Mamamia acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the Land we have recorded this podcast on, the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. We pay our respects to their Elders past and present, and extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures.Become a Mamamia subscriber: https://www.mamamia.com.au/subscribeSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
A vision birthed into our hearts from the Lord is much more that a good idea or a noble endeavor. When God instills into us our pupose, then it begins to take on a life of it's own. The mandate upon us becomes pressurized and glorious at the same time. To hear more join me on "Maintain the Flame" This week as I share some key insights on Part 2 of "Embracing & Stewarding a God-Birthed Vision."
Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl is a game that could easily leave its mark on the industry but due to the large amount of bugs that plague the game it seems like that won't be the case. Now considering during the end of this game development cycle the developers were dealing with a real-life war we couldn't help but cut them some slack. Stalker 2 also doesn't pull any punches even on its easiest difficulty setting the game can be very difficult. So for those who like a challenge and exploration, this game might be worth a try even though I'd recommend waiting for them to fix it up. Official Twitter: https://twitter.com/SuperWeaponPod/ https://twitter.com/_1ldc_/ https://instagram.com/_1ldc_/ https://twitter.com/DariusTh3Artist/ https://instagram.com/dariusth3artist/ https://tiktok.com/@superweaponmedia/ https://www.twitch.tv/dariustheartist (Live Podcast Sat 11am EST) COME JOIN US Check out the community discord: https://discord.gg/knJDbT6 Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/superweaponpod/support --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/superweaponpod/support
Having one baby is hard. Imagine four! This is the incredible story of Taylah Tudehope-Glachan's pregnancy and birth with her quadruplets from Mamamia's new podcast Diary Of A Birth.In this first part of Taylah's tale, she details a roller-coaster fertility struggle; think PCOS, endometriosis and IVF. Plus what it was like discovering her successful transfer had resulted in four babies.You'll hear about high-risk pregnancy, exactly HOW she fell pregnant with quads, and how she handled her hospitalisation at 24 weeks.Can't wait for part two? You don't need to! Listen to part two of Taylah's story here.If you're a soon-to-be mum of multiples, the Australian Multiple Birth Association is a wonderful resource.Diary Of A Birth features mums telling their miraculous stories of bringing life into the world, and we have all medical questions and concerns cleared up by one of Australia's favourite paediatricians, Dr Golly. If you'd like to share your birth story, we'd love to hear from you at podcast@mamamia.com.au or send us a voice note here.THE END BITS:Support independent women's mediaFollow Diary Of A Birth on InstagramIf you're looking for something else to listen to, check out our hilarious and seriously unhelpful podcast The Baby Bubble hosted by Clare and Jessie Stephens.Mamamia has a podcast for every stage of parenthood.Our parenting podcast is This Glorious Mess.If you're pregnant, listen to The Delivery Room and Hello Bump.And if you're trying or preg-curious, Get Me Pregnant and Before The Bump are for you.CREDITS:Host: Ksenija LukichExpert: Dr GollyExecutive Producer: Georgie PageAudio Producer: Scott Stronach Mamamia acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the Land we have recorded this podcast on, the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. We pay our respects to their Elders past and present, and extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures. Subscribe to Mamamia: https://www.mamamia.com.au/subscribeSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum and Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth and Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth and Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth and Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j
Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum and Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth and Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth and Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth and Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j
In this episode, we trace the unexpected origins of video games—in the notorious Japanese crime syndicate, the Yakuza. Tune in to find out how a lost Portuguese ship that stumbled on Japanese shores actually sowed the seeds, which when combined with domestic isolationist policies and the enterprising spirit of Japanese entrepreneurs, led to this innovation. If you liked this episode, do consider rating the show on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. You can reach out to me on Instagram: @postcards.pfn I now have a YouTube show! Check out To Your Heart's Content where my co-host Deepak Gopalakrishnan and I interview a broad range of people who are in the business of Content—from musicians to marketers and artists: https://www.youtube.com/@TYHC-6PC
Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..
This woman birthed this guy's condom and he had barely anything to say. Are we surprised??? LINKS Buy Abbie's new Kink Kit with Normal https://bit.ly/3ZZL8HH Full out the survey for a chance to win $100 https://form.typeform.com/to/OPxDwjyF Buy tickets to Abbie's national Trauma Dump tour https://bit.ly/3ytG2Id Review the podcast on Apple Podcasts https://bit.ly/ial-review Follow LiSTNR Entertainment on IG @listnrentertainment Follow LiSTNR Entertainment on TikTok @listnrentertainment Get instructions on how to access transcripts on Apple podcasts https://bit.ly/3VQbKXY CREDITS Host: Abbie Chatfield @abbiechatfield Executive Producer: Lem Zakharia @lemzakhariaDigital Producer: Oscar Gordon @oscargordon Social and Video Producer: Amy Code @amycode It's A Lot Social Media Manager: Julia ToomeyManaging Producer: Sam Cavanagh Find more great podcasts like this at www.listnr.com/See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
BIRTHED into A FAMILY 10/27/24 susan allen Fall Family Day Heb 10:23-NIV Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. 24 And let us consider (discover, observe) how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. 25 Let us not give up meeting together, […]
A vision from the Lord instilled into the heart of an individual is more than a noble idea or endeavor. When the Lord instills His mandate into our hearts, we are never the same again. As we study the lives of those who impacted their generation with the Gospel, we behold those who faithfully fulfilled their holy calling. Join me on "Maintain the Flame" this week as I share on the subject of "Embracing & Stewarding a God-Birthed Vision."
***NOT A PRO-SETH EPISODE*** [disclaimer below] About this episode: Dive into the wild, chaotic whirlpool of New Age spirituality, ancient god theories, and some seriously puzzling readings! On Episode 114 of the Black Cat Report, we unravel the mysteries and absurdities surrounding Jane Roberts' "Seth Speaks" and its profound (read: verbose and repetitive) impact on the New Age movement. Gil and Joey, joined by Kristen from the Paranorm Girl Podcast, take you on a hilarious, skeptic-fueled journey through bizarre theories and tantalizing tangents. Ever wondered if ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics had punctuation marks or if communicating with the dead could become your nightly routine? We cover that—and more—while dissecting Seth's ramblings and tackling the enigmatic essence of the soul. Context takes a back seat as we discuss quirky life philosophies and marvel at how a book that sold millions managed to leave us more confused than enlightened. Enjoy a comedic exploration of maniacal New Age beliefs, with Joey contemplating tattoos and Gil fantasizing about being a trickster god. Hear Kristen share why she's drawn to manifesting while still keeping a skeptical edge. So, whether you're in it for the laughs or the philosophical deep dives, Episode 114 is one roller-coaster you won't want to miss. Trust us, when we say we've got stuff in the works, it'll be worth the ride! And don't forget to send in those Western North Carolina or Eastern Tennessee hurricane conspiracy theories—we're all ears! GUEST HOST INFO: Kristen from Paranorm Girl Podcast
Garrett, Elsa and Taj are here to talk about the premiere of Survivor 47 and the premiere of the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City season 5. Elsa is proven right with one of her preseason Survivor predictions, Taj has been completely Big Brother pilled, and Garrett obsesses over his favorite Greek robot muppet, Angie K. It was a great premiere week with lots to talk about! Make sure you follow us on Twitter @GetRealPodcast
Latter Rain 333
Lillian Easterly-Smith's journey is one of unexpected impact. Birthed from her own recovery from alcohol use and multiple addictions, her passion for helping others find true healing has become her life's purpose. Lillian's journey found her at the helm of two major non-profit organizations. She has authored multiple recovery curriculums and co-authored several other books along with a fairly recent book with her husband and ministry partner, Mike Smith. She has achieved international acclaim in the world of pastoral care and counseling; and remains an in-demand keynote speaker. 3 Top Tips Making Peace with the Past Healing from Trauma Mind Renewal to Create Change Social Media @arukahranch - Instagram https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100090900273383 https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61550273405028 Mental, Emotional, and Spiritual Healing Forgiveness Healing Addiction Recovery Trauma Relapse
In life we all experience things that may wound or bring us pain, but how do we persevere? In this teaching, you will learn when your perception of God is based on the character of who He truly is, this can help accelerate you from a place of pain to a place of praise. Praise is an outward expression of your expectation that God will bring you through.
Hey Bae! Welcome to The Christian Bae Podcast where Christ and Culture connects. Grab your journals ❤️ Vote TCB for Sephora Squad: https://go.sephorasquad.com/testimonial/submit/9bcb1d9a-473a-4355-912e-cf45146e811c Prayer Call Week 3 (8/30-9/1):https://www.paypal.com/ncp/payment/EGAASGJ2NE9SL If you feel led to sow into this word Cash App: $thechristianbae Paypal: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/TheChristianBae Zelle/Venmo/Apple Pay: TheChristianBae@gmail.com Let's stay connected Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC0j-Bk97lLHz04EE7VPxGcQ IG: https://instagram.com/thechristianbae_?igshid=18erhyzf20fvr Thank you for always supporting The Christian Bae ❤️ --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/thechristianbae/support
Preached by Paul Stinnett on 6/23/24
Watch out Erie County Fair, she is coming for you! Support the show and follow us here Twitter, Insta, Apple, Amazon, Spotify and the Edge! See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
TofuMeowMeow on the Rooftop Sessions presented by The DJ Sessions 7/20/24 About TofuMeowMeow - The streets know her as Tia Hoang, the scratches on turntables know her as Dj TofuMeowMeow. Birthed in the refugee camps of Galang Island Indonesia with umbilical cord extended to her motherland of Hue, Vietnam, she journeyed West making Seattle home and now to your living room and festival speakers. Like a tumbleweed vacuum she collected enough life experiences that would need another lifetime to fully retell. Her eclectic lifestyle extends to the music she plays, brewing cups of melodic matcha from Electro, House, Techno, Trance, Dubstep, Trap and Hip Hop. At 16 her heart imploded from experiencing the love within the dance community; her feet callused from being a menace to these dance floors since. With close to two decades of being in the dance scene, her whole being has been primed to pursue her soul's mission of uniting people through music, food and art. She now pounces on stage as DJ TofuMeowMeow serving humans with succulent beats and healing frequencies from her crystal sound bowl that makes the body move and purr like a Maine Coon on catnip and peaceful like an insomniac that found restful sleep by being awake in a disco dreamland. About The DJ Sessions - “The DJ Sessions” is a Twitch/Mixcloud "Featured Partner” live streaming/podcast series featuring electronic music DJ's/Producers via live mixes/interviews and streamed/distributed to a global audience. TheDJSessions.com The series constantly places in the “Top Ten” on Twitch Music and the “Top Five” in the “Electronic Music", “DJ", "Dance Music" categories. TDJS is rated in the Top 0.11% of live streaming shows on Twitch out of millions of live streamers. It has also been recognized by Apple twice as a "New and Noteworthy” podcast and featured three times in the Apple Music Store video podcast section. UStream and Livestream have also listed the series as a "Featured" stream on their platforms since its inception. The series is also streamed live to multiple other platforms and hosted on several podcast sites. It has a combined live streaming/podcast audience is over 125,000 viewers per week. With over 2,400 episodes produced over the last 14 years "The DJ Sessions" has featured international artists such as: BT, Youngr, Dr. Fresch, Ferry Corsten, Sevenn, Drove, Martin Trevy, Jacob Henry, Nathassia aka Goddess is a DJ, Wuki, DiscoKitty, Moon Beats, Barnacle Boi, Spag Heddy, Scott Slyter, Simply City, Rob Gee, Micke, Jerry Davila, SpeakerHoney, Sickotoy, Teenage Mutants, Wooli, Somna, Gamuel Sori, Curbi, Alex Whalen, Vintage & Morelli, Netsky, Rich DietZ, Stylust, Bexxie, Chuwe, Proff, Muzz, Raphaelle, Boris, MJ Cole, Flipside, Ross Harper, DJ S.K.T., Skeeter, Bissen, 2SOON, Kayzo, Sabat, Katie Chonacas, DJ Fabio, Homemade, Hollaphonic, Lady Waks, Dr. Ushuu, Arty/Alpha 9, Miri Ben-Ari, DJ Ruby, DJ Colette, Nima Gorji, Kaspar Tasane, Andy Caldwell, Party Shirt, Plastik Funk, ENDO, John Tejada, Hoss, Alejandro, DJ Sash U, Arkley, Bee Bee, Cozmic Cat, Superstar DJ Keoki, Crystal Waters, Swedish Egil, Martin Eyerer, Dezarate, Maddy O'Neal, Sonic Union, Lea Luna, Belle Humble, Marc Marzenit, Ricky Disco, AthenaLuv, Maximillian, Saeed Younan, Inkfish, Kidd Mike, Michael Anthony, They Kiss, Downupright, Harry “the Bigdog” Jamison, DJ Tiger, DJ Aleksandra, 22Bullets, Carlo Astuti, Mr Jammer, Kevin Krissen, Amir Sharara, Coke Beats, Danny Darko, DJ Platurn, Tyler Stone, Chris Coco, Purple Fly, Dan Marciano, Johan Blende, Amber Long, Robot Koch, Robert Babicz, KHAG3, Elohim, Hausman, Jaxx & Vega, Yves V, Ayokay, Leandro Da Silva, The Space Brothers, Jarod Glawe, Jens Lissat, Lotus, Beard-o-Bees, Luke the Knife, Alex Bau, Arroyo Low, Camo & Crooked, ANG, Amon Tobin, Voicians, Florian Kruse, Dave Summit, Bingo Players, Coke Beats, MiMOSA, Drasen, Yves LaRock, Ray Okpara, Lindsey Stirling, Mako, Distinct, Still Life, Saint Kidyaki, Brothers, Heiko Laux, Retroid, Piem, Tocadisco, Nakadia, Protoculture, Sebastian Bronk, Toronto is Broken, Teddy Cream, Mizeyesis, Simon Patterson, Morgan Page, Jes, Cut Chemist, The Him, Judge Jules, DubFX, Thievery Corporation, SNBRN, Bjorn Akesson, Alchimyst, Sander Van Dorn, Rudosa, Hollaphonic, DJs From Mars, GAWP, David Morales, Roxanne, JB & Scooba, Spektral, Kissy Sell Out, Massimo Vivona, Moullinex, Futuristic Polar Bears, ManyFew, Joe Stone, Reboot, Truncate, Scotty Boy, Doctor Nieman, Jody Wisternoff, Thousand Fingers, Benny Bennasi, Dance Loud, Christopher Lawrence, Oliver Twizt, Ricardo Torres, Patricia Baloge, Alex Harrington, 4 Strings, Sunshine Jones, Elite Force, Revolvr, Kenneth Thomas, Paul Oakenfold, George Acosta, Reid Speed, TyDi, Donald Glaude, Jimbo, Ricardo Torres, Hotel Garuda, Bryn Liedl, Rodg, Kems, Mr. Sam, Steve Aoki, Funtcase, Dirtyloud, Marco Bailey, Dirtmonkey, The Crystal Method, Beltek, Darin Epsilon, Kyau & Albert, Kutski, Vaski, Moguai, Blackliquid, Sunny Lax, Matt Darey, and many more. In addition to featuring international artists TDJS focuses on local talent based on the US West Coast. Hundreds of local DJ's have been featured on the show along with top industry professionals. We have recently launched v3.1 our website that now features our current live streams/past episodes in a much more user-friendly mobile/social environment. In addition to the new site, there is a mobile app (Apple/Android) and VR Nightclubs (VR Chat). About The DJ Sessions Event Services - TDJSES is a 501c3 Non-profit charitable organization that's main purpose is to provide music, art, fashion, dance, and entertainment to local and regional communities via events and video production programming distributed via live and archival viewing. For all press inquiries regarding “The DJ Sessions”, or to schedule an interview with Darran Bruce, please contact us at info@thedjsessions.com.
Preached by Jaren Singh on 6/16/24
It is July 13, 1984. Birthed this day into cinemas all over the country are two family-friendly titles that have held-up through the years as nostalgic touchstones; the STAR WARS-meets-TRON FX-heavy adventure THE LAST STARFIGHTER, and the third theatrical Muppets feature, THE MUPPETS TAKE MANHATTAN. Join Ron and Peter in celebrating - as always - their BIG 4-0's! There is mic volume issue at the beginning, but we work it out after about two minutes, so thanks for bearing with that. Please remember to Rate, Like, and Subscribe, and we'll be back next week to see how THE NEVERENDING STORY and REVENGE OF THE NERDS have aged (*kisses teeth*).
Preached by Jaren Singh on 6/9/24
Smack my ass and shave my balls - it's episode 18 from Chippewa Falls! Be sure to like, subscribe, and whatever else you can do to be notified of newest our episodes. We look forward to each week - and you should too!
Today on The Natural Birth Podcast we have Jan. Jan is a 43 yr old nurse and mama of four beautiful souls. She has dedicated her life to nurturing the health and well-being of others. Alongside taking care of her patients and homeschooling her children, she has embarked on a deeply personal journey of rediscovering the power and magic of holistic health and was given the chance to use that knowledge during her most recent pregnancy and birth. In today's episode we will be diving into medicalized birth in the beginning as Jan had 3 C/S before her home birth. And then about her total change and awakening to holistic health. Her fourth pregnancy, that resulted in a home birth was not expected. And once the news settled in she embarked on a path of exploration and empowerment, choosing not to have a fourth C/S but ultimately experiencing the profound transformation of her first home birth. This pivotal moment ignited a passion within her to share the spiritual dimensions of birthing at home, transcending the boundaries of conventional medicine to embrace the holistic beauty of the birthing process. Curious about Jan? Find her on Instagram as @mindfulrn911 Find All of Anna's Links & Resources here: SACRED BIRTH INTERNATIONAL
Happy Monday! Sam and Emma speak with John Ganz, writer of the Unpopular Front newsletter on SubStack, to discuss his recent book When the Clock Broke: Con Men, Conspiracists, and How America Cracked Up in the Early 1990s. First, Sam and Emma run through updates on Netanyahu's rejection of (supposedly) his own peace plan, Israel's pivot to Lebanon, another State Department resignation over Biden's Gaza policy, this week's primaries, Biden's polling numbers, the Supreme Court's agenda, flight attendant labor action, and DeSantis' vetoing of all state arts grants, before parsing through some stories that help explain who George Latimer, primary opponent to Jamaal Bowman, really is. John Ganz then joins, diving right into his metaphor of the broken clock, inspired by the right-wing's 1990s movement to “break the clock” of social democracy and Francis Fukuyama's concept of the Neoliberal consensus as the “end of history,” and how it provides a lens into the evolution of the far-right GOP we see today. Ganz then walks through some of the major players in the end of conservatism as we knew it, including the GOP establishment's rejection (and the voters' embrace) of KKK Grand Wizard David Duke, the shortcomings of George H. W. Bush's establishment centrism, and the fore-knowledge of libertarian Pat Buchanan, who would go on to serve as a central rhetorical influence for the presidential campaign of one Donald Trump. Expanding on this, John, Sam, and Emma explore how this era saw the conservative establishment begin to embrace the talk-show culture-war populism of Rush Limbaugh, which, alongside Bill Clinton's elitism and assimilation to Reagan economics, allowed for the GOP to somehow frame its anti-democratic and anti-working class policies as an anti-elitist anti-establishment agenda. After diving a little deeper into the right wing's ability (internationally) to frame itself as the ideology for-the-people over the first two decades of the 21st Century, Ganz touches on Biden's presidency as a continuation of the left wing's inability to progress its (supposedly progressive) politics, wrapping up the interview with a brief assessment of the future of the US' two political parties post-Trump and Biden. And in the Fun Half: Sam and Emma watch Will Cain try to comprehend Patrick Bet-David's genius value-taintment, executive pill-mill Dr. Ronny Jackson suddenly has a problem with drugged-up presidents, and Donald Trump has something to say about boats and sharks… we just can't figure out what it is. Corey from South Carolina discusses a GOP fundraising attempt at a Juneteenth celebration, Matt from San Diego explores money in politics, and Louisiana's Governor attempts to defend LA's new 10-Commandments commandment for what is perhaps the worst school system in the US, plus, your calls and IMs! Check out John's book here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374605445 Check out the Unpopular Front newsletter here: https://www.unpopularfront.news/ Become a member at JoinTheMajorityReport.com: https://fans.fm/majority/join Check out all volunteering opportunities ahead of Rep. Jamaal Bowman's primary on Tuesday 6/25!: https://www.mobilize.us/jamaalbowman/ Check out this canvassing event for Rep. Jamaal Bowman and volunteer if you can!: https://actionnetwork.org/forms/new-york-canvassing-event?source=tmr Phone bank for Rep. Jamaal Bowman through the Working Families Party here!: https://www.mobilize.us/workingfamiliespartycoordinated/event/624109/ Phone bank for Rep. Jamaal Bowman through "Jews For Jamaal" here!: https://www.mobilize.us/nea/event/618446/ Find our Rumble stream here!: https://rumble.com/user/majorityreport Join Sam on the Nation Magazine Cruise! 7 days in December 2024!!: https://nationcruise.com/mr/ Check out the "Repair Gaza" campaign courtesy of the Glia Project here: https://www.launchgood.com/campaign/rebuild_gaza_help_repair_and_rebuild_the_lives_and_work_of_our_glia_team#!/ Check out StrikeAid here!; https://strikeaid.com/ Gift a Majority Report subscription here: https://fans.fm/majority/gift Subscribe to the ESVN YouTube channel here: https://www.youtube.com/esvnshow Subscribe to the AMQuickie newsletter here: https://am-quickie.ghost.io/ Join the Majority Report Discord! http://majoritydiscord.com/ Get all your MR merch at our store: https://shop.majorityreportradio.com/ Get the free Majority Report App!: http://majority.fm/app Check out today's sponsors: Cozy Earth: Remember to go to https://CozyEarth.com/MAJORITYREPORT to enjoy 30% off using the code MAJORITYREPORT. And after placing your order, select “podcast” in the survey and then select “Majority Report with Sam Seder'' in the dropdown menu that follows. Follow the Majority Report crew on Twitter: @SamSeder @EmmaVigeland @MattLech @BradKAlsop Check out Matt's show, Left Reckoning, on Youtube, and subscribe on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/leftreckoning Check out Matt Binder's YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/mattbinder Subscribe to Brandon's show The Discourse on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/ExpandTheDiscourse Check out Ava Raiza's music here! https://avaraiza.bandcamp.com/ The Majority Report with Sam Seder - https://majorityreportradio.com/
Send us a Text Message.Are you catching wind of the nutrition revolution that is rumbling at our feet?In this episode of "Blasphemous Nutrition," Aimee delves into the evolving conversation around nutrition, highlighting key players such as Sarah Ballantyne, Marty Kendall, Stacy Sims and Andreas Eenfeldt in the evolution of nutrition from restriction to an inclusionary focus on nutrient density and protein intake for blood sugar regulation, weight loss, and overall health and vitality. Listen to this episode to discover the far-reaching impact this will have not just on enhancing satiety and boosting energy, but changing the world we live in on a personal and collective level. Key Takeaways:The shift in nutrition conversations towards nutrient density and satiety signals a move towards a more positive and sustainable approach to health.Conversations happening on social media as well as in professional settings indicate a powerful shift is underway.Addressing nutrient deficiencies can have a profound impact on mental health, energy levels, and longevity while reducing chronic disease risk.By nourishing the body with key nutrients, individuals may discover that improved health leads to radical changes in how they live their life. When done on a collective level, the potential for transformation is profound. Resources:Blasphemous Nutrition on SubstackWork with AimeePhotography by: Dai Ross PhotographyPodcast Cover Art: Lilly Kate CreativeHOW TO RATE AND REVIEW BLASPHEMOUS NUTRITIONLeaving a Review on Apple Podcasts Via iOS Device1. Open Apple Podcast App (purple app icon that says Podcasts).2. Go to the icons at the bottom of the screen and choose “search”3. Search for “Blasphemous Nutrition”4. Click on the SHOW, not the episode.5. Scroll all the way down to “Ratings and Reviews” section6. Click on “Write a Review” (if you don't see that option, click on “See All” first)7. Rate the show on a five-star scale (5 is highest rating) and write a review!8. Bask in the glow of doing a good deed that makes a difference!
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In our last episode of the Come Home series on the MARKED Podcast, Rachel Setliffe joins us from Scotland to share her heard behind her ministry, Restored Home. Birthed out of Rachel's own story, Restored Home seeks to come alongside the church and equip and lead women shattered by betrayal, abandonment, and unwanted divorce toward the God who restores. LINKSTake this fun survey about the MARKED Podcast to enter for a chance to win a Lifeway Women backpack filled with Bible studies and other great resources! You'll enter to receive a copy of the Revelation Bible study, the Ephesians Bible study, the Alive Bible study, the Come Home Bible study, a prayer journal, and more.Come Home Bible Study by Caroline SaundersListen to the first episode, the second episode, the third episode, and the fourth episode of the "Come Home" series.Restored Home MinistryMARKED is a podcast from Lifeway Women: https://women.lifeway.com/blog/podcasts/.Hosted by Elizabeth Hyndman and Caroline Saunders.RECOMMENDED:Lifeway Women is studying Come Home as our online Bible study starting June 13, 2024! You'll be able to watch the weekly teaching videos for free through August 8, 2024. All you'll need is a copy of the Bible study book to follow along with the discussion. So join us!CONNECT WITH US!Follow Lifeway Women on Instagram.Follow Restored Home on Instagram.Take our survey to enter for a chance to win a Lifeway Women backpack filled with great resources for diving into God's Word. To learn more about Feast with Kristi McLelland, visit lifeway.com/feast. Visit lifeway.com/comehome to pre-buy the Come Home teen girls' Bible study.
We know that the roots of NASCAR can be traced back to the American South in states like North Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, and Tennessee. But what you might not realize is that particular motorsport was conceived through the hills of those very same states by bootleggers running moonshine while racing for bragging rights. So when a sinkhole was recently discovered under the famous North Wilkesboro Speedway in North Carolina, there was no surprise to find more than just mud and dirt down there. Ryan McGee joins us to explain how one of the sport's oldest tracks might just have been the site of one of America's oldest vices. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Today on The Natural Birth Podcast we have Rachel. Rachel is a mama of two from the US. Her passion for birth and babies started when she went to nursing school and wanted to work on a maternity floor. When she finally landed a job as a mother & baby nurse, she quickly was not impressed by how birthing mamas and newborns were cared for. She stayed working in the system for four years, but was constantly unlearning what she saw, and trusting birth in a whole other way through podcasts and Instagram. It really goes to show the power of storytelling, women to women. So thank you for listening to these stories and spreading them far and wide. I can't tell you how amazing it is to get your messages and emails, especially from birth workers who share this poddy with their clients or tell me how it's changing their practice and trust in women, babies and birth. Gives me goosebumps. Truly. Anyways, back to Rachel. When Rachel became pregnant with her first, she planned her dream home birth with a slightly wild pregnancy and left the maternity system at the very beginning of her first pregnancy. She's now worked as a pediatric home care nurse and home birth assistant with a traditional midwife in the past few years, but mostly has been home raising her two babies. She just started her journey on encapsulating placentas. And today we will hear about her home births. Curious about Rachel? Find her on Instagram as @_love_dahlia Did you know you can now watch all the podcast episodes on our YouTube channel? Every Sunday the new video version of this podcast is aired on The Spiritual Midwitch YouTube channel. Please pop on over all tell us what you think? Do you prefer to listen to watch ? Or maybe both? I'd love to know. Send me a dm on our Instagram @thenaturalbirthpodcast or comment on one of your favorite YouTube episodes! Curious about Needed? Find out more at thisisneeded.com Use the code THENATURALBIRTHPODCAST for 20% off your first month. Find All of Anna's Links & Resources here: SACRED BIRTH INTERNATIONAL --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/thenaturalbirthpodcast/message
Shereen is a Keynote Speaker and Executive Coach with over seventeen years of experience. As a former comedian, her style uniquely inspires employees, managers, and leaders to source solutions from within and develop executive presence.
Birthed from ancient trauma as a defense mechanism of the human mind to distance one from the harsh reality of nature. Metaphor is a function which tries to configure/re-configure the real. “The real” being synonymous with man's experience with nature, the body, and the life and death cycle. It serves a very important function in the human mind as a means of mapping the environment while protecting the mind from the numerous phobias and fears the human mind experiences. Think of the formation of language, then poetry, the composition of music, scripture, ritual, prayer, chanting etc. Ancient man noticed the beauty and mystery of nature and also the raw power, violence, chaos, unpredictability and the seemingly unsympathetic side of it. “The gods must be appeased by worship and sacrifice.” The meticulous study and measurement of natural objects eventually led ancient man to map out the stars and planets and to ascribe identifiable characteristics to them. Metaphor was applied in order to bring heaven to earth and help create a sense of meaning and comfort. Pre-Vedic religion was all originally based in nature worship. This type of religion was very pragmatic to ancient man. In order to survive the elements we had to observe nature and its laws and it was in the process of observing nature that man noticed the mystery. It is this mystery of “how is nature plugged in? What makes it all work? What is the source of it all, of me?” which helps to explain not only all of the countless religions and cults from ancient times to present, but WHY we humans created them in the first place. Perhaps we don't really like mystery due to a fear of it, and we instead prefer to explain away the mystery by creating a myriad of comforting certainties. It is from this intense fascination and observation of nature that humanity's character was born. We now think mostly in metaphor and rarely if ever speak in real terms. This is why actual truth is such a rarity, and comforting fantasies all the rage. It is also why religion and cults are so consistently popular during times of great distress and turmoil and less popular when times are good. What's interesting to me is that despite this tendency towards evasion and masking of reality, we still possess the capacity to overcome our fears and phobias and to see and know the truth. The process and value of metaphor can be understood and its veil can be lifted. When courage is absent, truth is considered an enemy. When courage is present, it is the anchoring force that grants you your freedom. Stay curious. My site: https://www.dwtruthwarrior.com Donations: https://www.cultofthemedics.com/donate.html
College football fans have welcomed Emmy Award-winning ESPN sideline reporter Lauren Sisler into their homes weekly since 2016. But the popular journalist known for asking insightful questions and for the viral videos of her dancing her signature “Sideline Shimmy” shielded a tragic secret behind her smile for nearly two decades: Her mother and father died within hours of each other, victims of their hidden battle with prescription-drug addiction. She discusses with Dr. Jeff how the truths she's learned from that harrowing experience have allowed her to use her pain to help others overcome theirs. Those are the insights she also shares in her upcoming book, Shatterproof: How I Overcame the Shame of Losing My Parents to Opioid Addiction (and Found My Sideline Shimmy). Listen to every episode of the Dr. Jeff Show wherever you listen to podcasts. For more from Dr. Jeff on YouTube visit http://bit.ly/3flbj2j For more resources from Summit Ministries visit their Resource Library at www.summit.org/resources/
TRADITIONS BIRTHED IN TRAUMA - Monday Motivation | Wallstreet Trapper (Trappin Tuesday's)FAST, SIMPLE & EASY STEPS TO BECOMING A STOCK INVESTOR: https://www.jumpinofftheporch.com/
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