Podcasts about Branko

Branko Milanović joins me to discuss Trump's global (counter)revolution, why it was not the left that made it and, what books from the past 30 years are not obsolete. Branko's selected writings will appear in "The World under Capitalism" and "The Great Global Transformation", which appears in November 2025 will discuss the national market liberalism in the post-Globalized world. Notes https://branko2f7.substack.com/ https://branko2f7.substack.com/p/to-the-finland-station https://branko2f7.substack.com/p/trump-the-state-and-the-revolution https://branko2f7.substack.com/p/do-you-want-to-be-a-synonym https://www.amazon.com/World-Under-Capitalism-Observations-Economics/dp/1509567763 https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/460611/the-great-global-transformation-by-milanovic-branko/9780241678930

A 79ª edição do Festival de Avignon foi apresentada esta quinta-feira, 3 de Abril, no Instituto do Mundo Árabe, em Paris. O director do Festival de Avignon, Tiago Rodrigues, destaca a qualidade artística de Marlene Monteiro Freitas, primeira cabo-verdiana a abrir o Festival de Avignon. Espera que o português seja futuramente a língua convidada, mas não quer impô-la. Sobre o árabe, língua homenageada, reforça a sua importância histórica e cultural, defendendo a valorização artística desta língua apesar das complexidades políticas associadas. RFI: É a primeira vez que uma artista cabo-verdiana abre este festival e pergunto: Porquê esta escolha?Tiago Rodrigues: Em primeiro lugar, não pela sua nacionalidade, mas pela tremenda qualidade artística do trabalho de Marlene Monteiro Freitas, que é já uma coreógrafa que contribuiu para mudar o rumo da dança contemporânea. Eu costumo dizer, em Portugal, onde a Marlene também trabalha muito e onde conheci o trabalho da Marlene, que em Portugal, se falarmos de teatro e de dança, de artes performativas, se alguma vez eu for, eu, o Tiago Rodrigues, recordado nalgum livro sobre as artes performativas deste tempo que estamos a viver, serei recordado como um desses artistas que trabalhava também no tempo de Marlene Monteiro Freitas. Acho-a absolutamente genial e sem exagero nenhum, acho verdadeiramente uma das grandes artistas do nosso tempo. A isso acresce o grande orgulho que temos, que está ligado, aí sim, à sua nacionalidade. O facto de ser, pela primeira vez, uma cabo-verdiana que abre a Cour d'Honneur du Palais des Papes, esse espaço mítico, lendário do festival e que abre esta 79ª edição do Festival de Avignon. Já era tempo de que uma grande diva cabo-verdiana viesse e, como já era tempo, decidimos que viessem duas. Vem a Marlene do lado da dança e vem logo a seguir a Mayra Andrade do lado da música.A língua portuguesa vai fazer parte desta edição do Festival de Avignon, uma vez mais, com nomes como já falámos: Marlene Monteiro Freitas, Mayra Andrade, Branko, Tiago Rodrigues, Jonas e Lander, e uma participação também de Moçambique no projecto "Transição Impossível". A língua portuguesa a fazer-se cada vez mais presente, a estar cada vez mais presente no festival, ou não?Se a pergunta vai no sentido de querer saber quando é que a língua portuguesa será a língua convidada, esperemos que seja em breve. A língua portuguesa tem toda a qualidade nas artes performativas, seja em qualquer dos países de expressão portuguesa, seja europeu, sul-americano ou africano, para encontrar no Festival de Avignon um lugar para que esta língua seja celebrada. E espero poder ser eu, ainda enquanto director, a ter esse gesto de celebrar a língua portuguesa. Se não o fiz por enquanto, é porque acredito que não quero impor a minha língua como uma língua a ser celebrada, mesmo que isso prejudique ligeiramente ou adie ligeiramente a celebração inteiramente merecida da língua portuguesa.Este ano, devo dizer que estamos muito contentes também por poder dizer que, pela primeira vez, duas cabo-verdianas estão na Cour d'Honneur du Palais des Papes na programação deste festival. A abrir este festival, precisamente no mês em que se celebram os 50 anos da independência de Cabo Verde e, embora seja uma coincidência artística, é uma coincidência artística que nós queremos afirmar. Porque estamos a falar de um país de enorme riqueza cultural, linguística também, que merece continuar a ser celebrado nos grandes palcos mundiais.A língua árabe é a língua convidada, a quinta língua mais falada no mundo. A escolha do árabe porque reflecte um compromisso de diversidade, mas também pelo que estamos a viver no mundo?A escolha do árabe impunha-se como natural. É a quinta língua mais falada do mundo, a segunda mais falada em França, a seguir ao francês. Mas uma língua que, através dos séculos, é uma língua de transmissão, de tradução, de diálogo, de invenção e que, por exemplo, para nós, portugueses ou lusófonos, está enraizada no código genético da nossa língua. Nós sabemos que, quando dizemos "azulejo" pensando que falamos de uma coisa portuguesa, por exemplo, estamos a dizer "azulejos", estamos a falar árabe. Quando dizemos outras palavras, como "sandália", estamos a falar árabe. Os próprios nomes da toponímia e da geografia portuguesa estão intensamente ligados à presença árabe. A cultura árabe é esta língua. E isso acontece também noutros países, muitos países europeus e em muitos países de outros continentes.Nós quisemos celebrar o património histórico, mas também a riqueza e diversidade contemporânea desta língua. E, ao fazê-lo, não somos ingénuos no sentido de pensar que, ao tomar esta decisão, não há complexidades políticas que lhe vêm associadas, mas precisamente por essas complexidades ligadas a conflitos actuais, mas também a um discurso público muito polarizado, extremado, ligados também a discursos simplistas para melhor manipular discursos demagógicos, autoritários, obscurantismos. Não quisemos recusar, não quisemos fazer uma auto-censura ou esquivar-nos à complexidade. Quisemos fazer aquilo que acreditamos que deve ser feito. A língua árabe deve ser celebrada como uma língua artística e cultural, uma língua que merece ser partilhada. E se há uma dimensão política nesta escolha, é essa de dizer que o árabe é uma língua cultural e artística.

FROM THE ARCHIVES!This episode was originally published on our old platform, and alongside many others didn't survive the migration. But with RocketLab and US military concerns again on the agenda, we've decided to republish.In a flashback episode from season 1, this is an interview with Philip and Branko spoke with Oliver Neas in 2019 about RocketLab launches and the precedents being set for NZ-US surveillance and military co-operation.This episode's co-hostsPhilip, Branko, Oliver NeasIntro/Outro by Comfort FitSupport us here: https://www.patreon.com/1of200

"U nošenju i podnošenju tereta drugih, Bog je u svome Sinu uspostavio s nama zajedništvo u patnji i trpljenju. To znači da je osigurao našu slobodu, oslobađajući nas od tereta grijeha. I to je Kristov zakon koji se ispunja na križu. Kao kršćani, pozvani smo i imamo priliku sudjelovati u tom zajedništvu, nošenja i podnošenja tereta drugih kako bi bili suputnici i supatnici, a ne optužitelji i progonitelji." Branko Murić

Razmišljali smo o postnem dogajanju v Cerkvi na Slovenskem in od kod spet privlačnost strožjih metod posta. Kaj Trumpov vzpon in njegova naslomba na krščanstvo dejansko pomeni za krščanstvo? Kaj se skriva za pojmom moralni ugled parlamenta in kako je s tem ugledom? In končno še pogled v našo soseščino. Srbski predsednik Vučić vlada s Titovo metodo. Uživa tiho podporo mednarodne skupnosti in tlači sodržavljane.

"Kršćanin ne živi samo u sebi, nego u Kristu i u bližnjemu. U Kristu po vjeri, u bližnjemu po ljubavi." Biskup Evangeličke Crkve Branko Berić.

A delegação em França da Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian faz 60 anos e o programa de aniversário apoia vários eventos com artistas lusófonos. Há parcerias com o Festival de Avignon, o Festival de Outono, o Théâtre de la Ville de Paris e a Bienal de Dança de Lyon, mas há, também, dois novos festivais: um de músicas da diáspora ("Lisboa nu bai Paris") e outro de dança, filme e artes visuais ("Les Jardins de l'Avenir"). Na prática, a agenda cultural francesa vai contar, ao longo do ano, com nomes como Marlene Monteiro Freitas, Tânia Carvalho, Vera Mantero, Joana Craveiro, Dino D'Santiago, Branko, Maro, Camané, Mário Laginha, B Fachada e muitos mais. O programa foi apresentado esta segunda-feira, no Théâtre de la Ville, em Paris, por Miguel Magalhães, director da delegação em França da Fundação Gulbenkian. Há teatro e dança, com Marlene Monteiro Freitas, Tânia Carvalho, Vera Mantero e Joana Craveiro, música com Dino D'Santiago, Branko, Maro, Camané, Mário Laginha e B Fachada. Há, ainda, cinema, conferências, residências e exposições, entre muitos eventos.Um dos momentos centrais é o apoio ao espectáculo de Marlene Monteiro Freitas que vai abrir a edição deste ano do Festival de Avignon, dirigido pelo português Tiago Rodrigues. A peça vai estar, mais tarde, no Festival de Outono, em Paris, com o qual a delegação francesa da Gulbenkian volta a colaborar. Além da programação de Marlene Monteiro Freitas nesse festival, há, ainda, um espectáculo de dança de Tânia Carvalho e Israel Galvan e outra performance encenada por Tânia Carvalho com alunos dos conservatórios de Paris e Lyon em torno do centenário de Pierre Boulez.No Théâtre de la Ville - Sarah Bernhardt, a Gulbenkian vai apoiar o festival de artes do palco Chantiers d'Europe, que nesta edição reúne artistas de sete países, incluindo de Portugal. A 9 de Junho, o Théâtre de la Ville –Sarah Bernhardt, é palco de um encontro entre música clássica e fado tradicional, com a Orquestra Filarmónica Portuguesa, Camané e Mário Laginha. O autor e compositor B Fachada sobe a palco a 5 de Junho no Théâtre de la Ville-Les Abbesses. De 10 a 15 de Junho, Joana Craveiro apresenta-se, pela segunda vez, neste festival, agora com a peça de teatro “Intimidades com a Terra”. Na dança, Tânia Carvalho e um bailarino do Ballet National de Marselha / (La) Horde sobem ao palco a 28 e 29 de Junho.Ainda no Théâtre de la Ville - Sarah Bernhardt, em Maio e Setembro, estão previstas leituras, encontros e criações em torno da obra que, em 1972, abalou e foi proibida pela ditadura - “Novas Cartas Portuguesas” - de Maria Isabel Barreno, Maria Teresa Horta e Maria Velho da Costa. A delegação em França da Gulbenkian também apoiou uma nova tradução para francês da obra, por Ilda Mendes dos Santos e Agnès Levecot, a qual chega às livrarias a 18 de Abril.A 7 e 8 de Junho, no Parque Enclos Calouste Gulbenkian, em Deauville, acontece a primeira edição de “Les Jardins d'Avenir”, um festival entre dança, filme e artes visuais. Nestes jardins, vão ser apresentadas, por exemplo, a peça “L'oracle végétal” das coreógrafas Ola Maciejewska e Vera Mantero e a performance participativa de Ana Rita Teodoro e Alina Folini. Há, ainda, uma projeção de filmes de Jorge Jácome e Ana Vaz e obras plásticas de Christodoulos Panayotou e Elsa Sahal.A encerrar o programa de aniversário, está o festival de músicas urbanas de inspiração africana “Lisboa nu bai Paris”, comissariado por Dino D'Santiago e que vai decorrer na Gaité Lyrique, em Paris, no final do ano.Nas artes visuais, a delegação promove várias residências artísticas e curatoriais em França para artistas e comissários lusófonos. Este ano, por exemplo, a artista moçambicana Lizette Chirrime vai estar três meses em Paris no âmbito do programa Gulbenkian -Thanks for Nothing.Para reforçar a divulgação da criação portuguesa em França, a delegação continua o programa “Expositions Gulbenkian”, um apoio que se destina às instituições culturais que pretendam mostrar artistas portugueses.A Biblioteca Gulbenkian de Paris vai organizar, ainda, conferências e jornadas de estudo em torno dos 500 anos do nascimento de Luís de Camões. Por outro lado, a realizadora francesa Claire Denis está a preparar um filme sobre a “Ode Marítima” de Fernando Pessoa.A agenda dos 60 anos conta, também, com o lançamento do podcast “Parcours d'artistes”, uma série sobre histórias de artistas portugueses que viveram ou vivem entre Paris e Lisboa.

A delegação em França da Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian faz 60 anos e o programa de aniversário apoia vários eventos com artistas lusófonos. Há parcerias com o Festival de Avignon, o Festival de Outono, o Théâtre de la Ville de Paris e a Bienal de Dança de Lyon, mas há, também, dois novos festivais: um de músicas da diáspora ("Lisboa nu bai Paris") e outro de dança, filme e artes visuais ("Les Jardins de l'Avenir"). Na prática, a agenda cultural francesa vai contar, ao longo do ano, com nomes como Marlene Monteiro Freitas, Tânia Carvalho, Vera Mantero, Joana Craveiro, Dino D'Santiago, Branko, Maro, Camané, Mário Laginha, B Fachada e muitos mais. O programa foi apresentado esta segunda-feira, no Théâtre de la Ville, em Paris, por Miguel Magalhães, director da delegação em França da Fundação Gulbenkian. Há teatro e dança, com Marlene Monteiro Freitas, Tânia Carvalho, Vera Mantero e Joana Craveiro, música com Dino D'Santiago, Branko, Maro, Camané, Mário Laginha e B Fachada. Há, ainda, cinema, conferências, residências e exposições, entre muitos eventos.Um dos momentos centrais é o apoio ao espectáculo de Marlene Monteiro Freitas que vai abrir a edição deste ano do Festival de Avignon, dirigido pelo português Tiago Rodrigues. A peça vai estar, mais tarde, no Festival de Outono, em Paris, com o qual a delegação francesa da Gulbenkian volta a colaborar. Além da programação de Marlene Monteiro Freitas nesse festival, há, ainda, um espectáculo de dança de Tânia Carvalho e Israel Galvan e outra performance encenada por Tânia Carvalho com alunos dos conservatórios de Paris e Lyon em torno do centenário de Pierre Boulez.No Théâtre de la Ville - Sarah Bernhardt, a Gulbenkian vai apoiar o festival de artes do palco Chantiers d'Europe, que nesta edição reúne artistas de sete países, incluindo de Portugal. A 9 de Junho, o Théâtre de la Ville –Sarah Bernhardt, é palco de um encontro entre música clássica e fado tradicional, com a Orquestra Filarmónica Portuguesa, Camané e Mário Laginha. O autor e compositor B Fachada sobe a palco a 5 de Junho no Théâtre de la Ville-Les Abbesses. De 10 a 15 de Junho, Joana Craveiro apresenta-se, pela segunda vez, neste festival, agora com a peça de teatro “Intimidades com a Terra”. Na dança, Tânia Carvalho e um bailarino do Ballet National de Marselha / (La) Horde sobem ao palco a 28 e 29 de Junho.Ainda no Théâtre de la Ville - Sarah Bernhardt, em Maio e Setembro, estão previstas leituras, encontros e criações em torno da obra que, em 1972, abalou e foi proibida pela ditadura - “Novas Cartas Portuguesas” - de Maria Isabel Barreno, Maria Teresa Horta e Maria Velho da Costa. A delegação em França da Gulbenkian também apoiou uma nova tradução para francês da obra, por Ilda Mendes dos Santos e Agnès Levecot, a qual chega às livrarias a 18 de Abril.A 7 e 8 de Junho, no Parque Enclos Calouste Gulbenkian, em Deauville, acontece a primeira edição de “Les Jardins d'Avenir”, um festival entre dança, filme e artes visuais. Nestes jardins, vão ser apresentadas, por exemplo, a peça “L'oracle végétal” das coreógrafas Ola Maciejewska e Vera Mantero e a performance participativa de Ana Rita Teodoro e Alina Folini. Há, ainda, uma projeção de filmes de Jorge Jácome e Ana Vaz e obras plásticas de Christodoulos Panayotou e Elsa Sahal.A encerrar o programa de aniversário, está o festival de músicas urbanas de inspiração africana “Lisboa nu bai Paris”, comissariado por Dino D'Santiago e que vai decorrer na Gaité Lyrique, em Paris, no final do ano.Nas artes visuais, a delegação promove várias residências artísticas e curatoriais em França para artistas e comissários lusófonos. Este ano, por exemplo, a artista moçambicana Lizette Chirrime vai estar três meses em Paris no âmbito do programa Gulbenkian -Thanks for Nothing.Para reforçar a divulgação da criação portuguesa em França, a delegação continua o programa “Expositions Gulbenkian”, um apoio que se destina às instituições culturais que pretendam mostrar artistas portugueses.A Biblioteca Gulbenkian de Paris vai organizar, ainda, conferências e jornadas de estudo em torno dos 500 anos do nascimento de Luís de Camões. Por outro lado, a realizadora francesa Claire Denis está a preparar um filme sobre a “Ode Marítima” de Fernando Pessoa.A agenda dos 60 anos conta, também, com o lançamento do podcast “Parcours d'artistes”, uma série sobre histórias de artistas portugueses que viveram ou vivem entre Paris e Lisboa.

Branko Pjanic es un enólogo y viticultor con trayectoria internacional, especializado en bodegas de vino, producción agrícola, sostenibilidad e investigación científica. Nacido en Bosnia-Herzegovina, su experiencia en diversos países europeos le ha permitido ampliar su perspectiva y adoptar nuevas técnicas en la producción vitivinícola. Apasionado por la naturaleza y comprometido con prácticas respetuosas con el medio ambiente, busca garantizar la expresión auténtica y la calidad de los productos. Actualmente, reside en México, donde contribuye activamente al desarrollo de la industria del vino.

A day in the life of rural Hungary.By FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.'Here be Dragons' wasn't always a tourist gimmick."I didn't say you could have a drink," the Vizsla commented."Oh, my apologies," I shrugged. I put the stein on a nearby table and waited."Have a seat," she directed. I came up to her table and examined the three empty chairs. I held back until she pointed to the chair opposite her. I sat down, but didn't make eye contact. Instead, I examined the various paintings and photographs on the walls. It was an old place."You killed Matthias, even though you knew he worked for me," she uttered."I can confirm that information to be correct," I looked her way. That, wasn't what she expected."Why?""Why what?" I countered. There was a method to my madness; this was going to be a lesson in competence, and what happens when you don't respect it."Why did you kill Matthias?""I needed a reason?" I tried to look pensive. "Maybe I didn't like the cut of his facial hair?""Do you think this is a joke?" she replied dryly. "The Black Hand always avenge our own.""Damn," I looked perplexed. "No one told me that when I arrived. Can we call Matthias's extermination a 50/50 bad call, both ways?""Matthias was my cousin," the Vizsla continued."My condolences," I sighed. "The next Black Hand douche-bag the Amazons waste, I'll have them ask if he's related to you first. How's that?""You are so not likely to have that opportunity," she pointed out."Oh," I laughed, "you are so wrong about that.""You are far stupider than I had been informed," the Vizsla's eyes narrowed."Nope. You and your cast of 'Dumb and Dumber' have been treating us like idiots since we touched down at Ferenc Liszt International, so I'm pretending to be that simpleton sock-puppet just for you, Vizsla. You've added to that by heaping disrespect and derision on my people," I grinned."You tried to have me and my entourage murdered and Matthias paid the price for that. Everyone knows I'm here. And after your bungled attempt to have me killed, no one is going to believe you did anything but murder me, if I don't show up eventually. Now do you prefer the stupid me, or the brighter than normal me?""If you think acting like a smart-ass is somehow endearing, you are mistaken," she let me know."Whatever," I shrugged. "You called this meeting. What do you want?""Beyond killing one of my lieutenants, I wanted to know what you are doing here?" she studied me."I would like to leave now. I'm wasting my time here," I responded."I want answers," she pressed."You have been given the answers to both your talking points, Matthias died because of your orders and I am here looking for three lost Amazon bloodlines," I replied."That seems bizarre," the Vizsla expressed her doubts."Bizarre? You are talking to the sole male Amazon House Head in three thousand years," I reminded her. "Besides, you only just now finished telling me how the Black Hand look after their own. The Amazons are the same way; we have lost kin who need to be made aware of their background.""What do we do about Matthias?" the Vizsla asked."In all honesty, had he not personally threatened to stab a member of my team, I would have settled for kicking the crap out of him. He put a knife to Ms. Martin's throat. That assured his death sentence. I think the Host will be willing to accept my hypothesis that Matthias was acting on his own initiative, which should settle the matter."And just like that, the expediency of the Black Hand shown forth. The truth of the matter was that he had acted on the Vizsla's orders. Unfortunately, that would have meant my side would have come after the Vizsla and she would have had to avenge his death, lots of needless bloodshed. So Matthias posthumously became a rabid dog gone rogue and one who ended up crossing the wrong people. No vengeance required by anyone. We could get back to business."That is settled. So, what do you want from your new allies?" the Vizsla inquired. A certain level of cold-blooded ruthlessness had been required to achieve her spot in the Black Hand. Likewise, honesty was the best policy when dealing with casually lethal people. They didn't like self-important asses wasting their time."I need to find an individual named 'Branko'. He has kidnapped a young lady who is one of our lost Amazons. We don't require any aid, but if you could leave Selena with us, it would be appreciated," I requested."What are you going to do when you catch up with this 'Branko'?" she questioned."I'd like to say I am going to buy her back, but I think we both know that is a pipe-dream. He's not going to like me interfering in his business, so I'm going to kill him, and any other bastards who are in close proximity," I confessed. She studied me for over a minute."Do you wish a piece of advice?" the Vizsla said."Of course," I nodded. It cost me nothing to acknowledge her vastly superior experience."Take a step back," she advised. Seeing that I didn't understand, "If you recall every single death by your hand, you will go mad. You don't possess the detachment of a true killer, Cáel. Not every member of the Black Hand is an assassin.Your driver, Josef, is from a long line of Black Hand members. He doesn't have what it takes to get close and personal in order to kill a human being, so he drives and provides security. He still matters and serves a necessary function." That was almost nice of her. The advice was based on her decision to keep me around as a useful tool. Going nuts would derail that."There is the life we wish to lead, and the life we must lead, Vizsla," I recalled. There was so much there, whirling around in my skull, it took me all this time to find the link I was looking for. Recall every single death by my hand, "On January 26th, 1847, the Black Hand Chapter House of the Wolf in Verona was wiped out, there were no survivors.""If you say so," she regarded me oddly."Yeah, look into it. Then come back to me when you have the right questions," I stood up. "And 'Branko'?""I will relay information on this individual to Selena. We should have something by the time you get back to Buda," she got out before one of the bodyguards came running our way.He had his H and K MP5 out and was in deep conversation with his ear piece."Our two spotters failed to respond correctly," he told the Vizsla in Hungarian. She gave me another quick once over."My people?" I rose slowly.The Vizsla gave the man a subtle hand gesture. Seconds later, pushing Alkonyka ahead of them, Pamela, Selena and Josef came running through the door. Pamela and Selena had our duffels. Two more Black Hand materialized from a back room.The Black Hand was actually a small outfit. Each Chapter had two or three houses, each with four or five true assassins and maybe six times that in support personnel/recruits in each location. That meant the entire Black Hand organization numbered less than 1000. They had several thousand peripheral contacts across their sphere of Europe and they could purchase some sort of private security given time. But their best protection was their hidden nature and small size. That also meant what we had was what we had. There was no Black Hand SWAT team on the way.Working with hand gestures alone, the Vizsla was directing us to a trap door behind the bar. Josef's phone rang. He hesitantly answered."It is for you," he offered it to our host. She took it. Halfway through the caller's diatribe, she shot me a suspicious look."Why don't you ask him?" she stated, then handed me the phone."Hello Nyilas. Do you know who this is?" the man on the other end stated, in Mycenean Greek."Yes, I do. What do you want? I'm kind of busy here?" I grinned. It was laughing at death all over again."I can relieve you of your pressing schedule. You and the other Amazon step outside and I'll make it quick.""No can-do Studly," I smirked. "If I go out there, it is going to take a while.""I sincerely doubt that.""Don't sell yourself short," I jibed. "I figure clipping off those bull-sized testicles of yours is going to take some work. But I do promise that after I make you a eunuch, I'll use a condom when I bend you over and make you my bitch too. Was there anything else you wanted to know?""No. I think we have a mutual understanding," he laughed. "I'll be seeing you soon." He hung up."Who was that?" Vizsla inquired. She wasn't alone in her curiosity."Ajax," I beamed confidence. I was confident my tenure on this Earth was ending real soon."I think we should be leaving," Vizsla suggested."Selena, help Alkonyka get her sister back," I requested. "I'll catch up when I can. Pamela, you do what you feel you need to do. Vizsla, they are after me, so I'm going to keep them busy while you get away," I explained.No useless 'you don't have to do this' nonsense. She knew the score, I wasn't a member of her outfit and she wanted to live. She did do me one favor. She gave another hand movement. Selena slit Josef's throat in a surprise motion.He didn't die right away. Selena's slash made bleeding out inevitable, but he'd be a while in dying. Odds were, that only Vizsla and Josef knew in advance where we were meeting. Whatever payoff the Condottieri had put in his bank account wasn't going to do him any good. Selena bent over his still-thrashing body and removed his pistol."I will bring you Angyalka Lovasz," Selena pledged. Pamela and I were gearing up. Ajax and his buddies were going to be coming for me any second now. Alkonyka gave me one more worried look before she vanished into the secret basement. "Don't be late," was the last thing Selena said before going down into the darkness. Pamela made sure the trap door was covered up.Lust and Bullets"We've used Butch and Sundance," Pamela checked her L42 Enfield Sniper Rifle. It was the weapon Pamela had trained with and used for longer than I'd been alive, old yet very effective even today."Heat?" I offered up. "You can be De Niro and I can be Kilmer.""Nice. Michael Mann really had a way of killing people," Pamela grinned, then pumped her eyebrows. "Too bad I end up dead in this one.""We'll avoid airports, you should be safe," I joked. Three explosions rocked the building, shooting glass throughout the place. Fortunately, Pamela and I were hiding behind the bar."Let's go," she whispered over the din. Charging out the front door seemed pretty suicidal to me, but Pamela's copious battle lore was something I had the utmost faith in. I respected her judgment and followed along. There was a method to her madness. Two 40 mm grenades had taken out the two cars parked in front. A third launched grenade had blown open the door.The petrol in the cars equated to flaming wreckage and a huge smoke screen. It was broad daylight, no night vision goggles. The flames made IR useless and the smoke temporarily obscured regular vision. The machineguns going off around us scared the crap out of me. It was my old buddy, suppression fire: they weren't shooting directly at us.Metaphysically, Ishara was dueling with Ares. There was a low stone wall, a little over a meter high, that separated an adjacent field from the inn's gravel parking lot. Right as we got to our side of it, three of Ajax's boys came up on the other. Pamela and I remained perfectly still, crouching tightly against our shelter.Two knelt and fired several bursts from their H and K HK416 (Wow! Germany's newest killing machine, they looked slick) into the closest open windows while the third one fired a grenade in. Again, we remained perfectly still. We were about two meters from those three. The drab color of our hastily donned dusters, the congested air and our stillness combined to save us from their notice.The second after that grenade went off, the three vaulted the wall and rushed the building. From the cacophony of the battle, they were storming the building from several directions at once."Quick, go find that guy with the machinegun," Pamela whispered over a feral grin. How was I going to do that?The old fashioned way, I leapt over the wall and ran away from all the flames, explosions and the continuous widespread fusillade of assault weapons fire. I was partially bent over as I ran. I'm still a big guy though. The machine gunner was in a shallow dip in the meadow 30 meters away, on the edge of the woods.He saw me, shifted his MG4 (fuck Ajax and his crew for having the best Bang-Bangs) minutely and unleashed hell my way. In hindsight, the 1st round flattened against my duster as it impacted my upper left thigh. Round #2 hit the duster again, coming below my vest, but hitting my belt (every bit of leather helps).The #3 556 mm slug hit my vest due south of my belly button (Fuck!), # 4 landed a few centimeters up and to the right, taking in both the duster and my ballistic vest. The #5 round clipped my lower side of my right ribcage. The resulting force sent me spinning back and to my right.Honestly, as I landed hard on my back (no rolling with the blow this time), I thought a midget mule team had kicked me in the guts. Apparently, I made a convincing mortally wounded human being. He stopped shooting and Pamela got pissed.I learned a few things at that moment: you do not get used to being shot; you can never appreciate the value of good body amour enough; you can never understand the true value of a sniper until your life is totally in their hands; and damn, Pamela was exceptional. Pamela put a bullet through his nasal cavity in that split second between him exposing himself with his muzzle flashes and deciding to put a few more bullets into my prone form.Pain dictated that I lie where I was. Survival instincts overrode that. I went to my side, pushed up and resumed my crouched stance. Then I was running once more until I could throw myself beside his corpse. I was stunningly calm. Machineguns, snipers, I had to cover Pamela's run across the meadow. I didn't stay by the dead gunner.I grabbed his weapon, some spare ammo and quick-stepped it to the wood line. I rapidly assessed the best spot that could provide cover from each flank. That was where I went down, cradled the device and started shooting at any muzzle flash I could see. The moment I opened fire, Pamela began her own sprint.Unlike my mad dash, Pamela took evasive maneuvers, serpentine, which worked out well when one sniper figured out she wasn't one of them. He/she had two shots at her before she dove past me. Her mien was one of intense, emptiness? She gave me a quick pat-down to make sure I wasn't gushing blood, took a deep breath and then smirked."Come on, Dummy!" she laughed. "We still have a shot at a sequel.""Shot, sequel, you are a laugh riot," I wheezed as I stood, abandoned the MG4 and joined her as we both ran deeper into the woods. A few shots zinged past us before Ajax's crew realized we were in full-on flight mode. They weren't going to waste the bullets.This was the point where archaic and modern warfare diverged. In the olden (pre-Pamela, ow! How did she know what I was thinking?) days, when your enemy broke and ran, it was relatively easy to run them down and slaughter them in their panic. If a few men tried to stem the tide, they would be quickly overwhelmed.After the invention of rapid-fire rifles, that changed. Suddenly, headlong pursuit could be incredibly costly. All it took was a small, resolute band to find some sort of hard cover and they could buy minutes, or even hours, for their retreating brethren. Sure, if you were willing to pay the butcher's bill, you could storm their position.But you had to understand, each defender could fire and work the bolt action in under three seconds. You reloaded your magazine with a prepared clip ~ maybe five more seconds. Ten men could put 150 bullets down range per minute as long as their ammo held out. Sending men into that kind of firepower was murder; very few troops could sustain their attack under those conditions.Ajax's resurrected Mycenaean's were tough enough to do it. Ajax's problem was their finite number. Despite catching Ajax off-guard with Pamela's mad plan, her ungodly skills and a great deal of my pain, we had only managed to kill one so far. The great unknowns were terrain (we didn't know where we were,) and my luck.As Pamela and I ran through the forest at a good clip, we began to make out a specific background noise. It was a river. Not a creek, stream, waterfall, or dam, a river."Did you pack your jet ski?" Pamela snorted."I left it in the car. You said it was so '1990's'," I panted back. A few more footsteps and,

Not the welcome we expectedWhen your tour guide is an assassin, what can go wrong?By FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.You can do wrong while trying to do right.FlashbackAlal's 'milk of human kindness' had finally run dry as the Visigoths sacked his Roman villa. While looters ran off with his latest trappings of wealth, and deserted by his servants and his slaves, Grandpa decided that he was tired of fucking around with the Human Race. He felt they were simply too stupid, venal and weak to make any positive, lasting changes in the world.Alal decided that he was going to make the key choices for them. Fuck free will. Fuck letting the vermin that floated to the top of the cesspool destroy everything good in the world, as he had witnessed them doing time and time again. He had lost count of the monuments destroyed, histories of peoples forgotten and benefits to mankind burned away by barbarism and ignorance.By the fading light of August the 26th, 410 CE, Alal found himself sitting back in the pergola (a sort of mini-gazebo) in his rear gardens, drinking through several amphora of wine all the while having a deep philosophical debate with the several dozen very dead Goths decorating his environs.As three or four looters would enter the garden, he would kill them. And then three or four more would show up looking for the earlier group,, on and on. This reinforced Alal's belief that something drastic had to be done. He seriously considered going to the coast, getting a ship and five solid stone anchors. He'd sail out two days, maybe three, wrap himself in the anchors and jump overboard.The problem, as he saw it, was that given a few decades, the ropes would rot and he'd bob to the surface to see again that none of the fundamentals had changed. Further complicating his current thinking was that every time he came close to throwing in the cosmic towel, some more GOD DAMN GOTHS would come around, calling for their buddies, the dead ones. Somewhere around noon on August the 27th, Alal vowed that he was tired of this shit.Right on cue, around twenty Goths came strolling through the rear of his villa and soaked up the carnage out back. Fifty-two of their brethren were in various states of dismemberment and defilement (Alal had been, as usual, angry). They saw this dark-skinned Roman and rightly asked 'where's the army that killed these fellows?' He walked up to them in his wine-splashed toga."Are you the one in charge?" he asked the meanest looking Visigoth in passible Goth."I am," the leader responded. With lightning speed, he killed the man with his own sword. The Germans weren't sure what to make of that, it had happened so fast."You can join me," Alal indicated himself, "or you can join him," he indicated the corpse of their former leader. He had his new band of followers and the rest was Illuminati history.End FlashbackFor me, this meant more to me than living with the memories of a very bitter, driven and pitiless man. Alal was essentially the anti-me. It gave me chills to realize that all of Alal's gifts were bestowed on me with a purpose. I knew it was part of his greater plan. Normally, to end-run an evil genius, you just find him and kill him. Not only would Alal not stay dead, I now knew how well he could fight.I knew only four people who might be in his league, and I wasn't one of them. Of the four, Sakuniyas wasn't likely to help Pamela, Saint Marie and Elsa get the job done. That meant I had to rev up the deception engine to comfort my Aunts with hope, while dispelling the knowledge of how little they mattered to their sire. Almost as bad, I had to ignore what horribly people they were while extending that portion of my soul.It was with some relief that I hugged, kissed, and forcefully separated myself from the Aunts in Dublin. We were going on to Budapest's Ferenc Liszt International Airport. My next action was to make my request to Selena for a contract with the Ghost Tigers to defend Hana when she arrived in Russia. (Of the three 9 Clan Assassin-Babes, Selena was the least impressed with me.) She informed me that the Ghost Tigers didn't do bodyguard work. I still wanted her to relay my request, so she relented. After that, I passed out.We left Dublin around 9:30 am Friday morning and landed in Budapest at 1:45 pm., still Friday. As Rachel rousted me so I could grab a quick shower before touchdown, I was gifted with the misconceptions of my fellow travelers:To put it nicely, Riki thought I was somewhat revolting, Virginia was disturbed and Chaz had lowered his opinion of my moral character. It was the incest thing. Vincent being polite was a pleasant surprise, Delilah's camaraderie less so and Odette was peaches with my most recent sexcapades. She was far too good to me. The Amazons uniformly didn't give a crap."So, is there going to be any other bizarre behavior we should be prepared for?" Riki sat down next to me as I was drying my hair. I was back to my 'jeans, t-shirt and wind-breaker' style."Fine, " I said loudly. "It is really none of your business what I did with and to my mother's clones. Yes, they are all clones of my mother, who died when I was seven." A lie."They are also the genetic creations of my grandfather, also known by many as Cáel O'Shea. They are sterile, they are wickedly evil, and two weeks ago I didn't know they existed. I do have a real aunt in Maryland. She's my Father's sister and is not part of the menagerie. Oh yeah, my grandpa is currently a disembodied spirit, back from the Netherworld and looking for a body to take over, if he hasn't found one already," I added."He was born roughly five thousand years ago, was cursed by an ancient Sumerian Goddess such that he can never just die and stay dead. I have his memories running around my head, which, along with denying me a good night's sleep, allows me to speak an assortment of languages, use virtually every weapon built before 1970 and know that he is a vicious criminal mastermind the likes of which you've never imagined outside of fiction.How does that sound, Riki? Shall I get more bizarre? Trust me, I can," I regarded her evenly. She was speechless, but not out of awe. No, she was certain that I was completely unhinged."Everyone who believes Cáel, raise their hand," Odette demanded. Her hand went up. Odette and the Amazons agreeing was expected by the outsiders. Delilah and Virginia joining in was not."Captain Fairchild?" Colour Sgt. Chaz Tomorrow requested clarification."You've all seen those five O'Shea's that left the plane in Ireland. Barring some cosmetic changes, they were the exact same woman. You can either go with Sean Connery's Tak-ne creating a female clone army, or you can believe there is an otherworldly plastic surgeon altering a cadre of super-rich bitches to all look alike," Delilah, who was a captain of something, put out there."Who in the Hell is Tak-ne?" Riki mumbled."Duh," I poked the State Department lassie. "Connor MacLeod's Egyptian mentor in Highlander, the original movie and in the less than stellar sequel, Highlander: The Quickening"."You are mistaken. Connery was that Spanish guy," Riki poked me back."Actually, the relevant quote is: 'I am Juan Sánchez Villalobos Ramírez, Chief metallurgist to King Charles V of Spain. And I'm at your service'," Vincent regaled us with his movie trivia. "He later reveals that he was born Tak-ne in Egypt in the 9th century BCE. Also, his Spanish name makes no sense, he has one too many surnames.""Agent Loire, I am beginning to find intelligent men to be attractive," Charlotte said."Umm, thank you," Vincent responded warily."This might be a good point to get something clear," Chaz inquired. "Mr. Nyilas, whose side are you on? It appears to be rather complicated.""Okay, Chaz, call me Cáel. Calling me Mr. Nyilas makes me miss my dad. I can also be addressed as Cáel 'Wakko' Ishara, Head of House Ishara of the First Twenty Houses of the Amazon Host. Or, you can call me what the Great Khan does, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege. Finally, those who love me, or find me amusing, may call me Fehér mén."Selena's snort indicated she'd failed to hide her amusement at my presumptiveness, both titular and physically."Do you want to explain what's so amusing?" Riki looked over to the Black Hand assassin."Your job should be exceptionally easy now," Selena mocked me, "Prince of Hungry and Transylvania, or do you prefer 'White Stud'?""Laugh while you can, Monkey-Girl," I sneered. "The guy currently making a run at erasing seven hundred years of Asian history gave me that title. As for Fehér mén, that means 'White Stallion' and is symbolic of my ties to House Epona, not a phallic reference." Riki's look had gone from disgust, to anger (because she thought she was being played) and lastly, to shock."No," I interpreted her fear. "I am not here as some vanguard to unite the Magyar people to their cultural kinfolk in Central Asia. If you know your Central European history, you might recall that the Mongols devastated my homeland. For the next 450 years, the Turks were unwelcome visitors, conquerors and overlords. My princely status is a pat on the head for a job well done and nothing more.""What job did you do?" Riki prodded."I saved a man's life," I looked pained to admit. She didn't get it."It must have been a major VIPs life," Chaz suggested."You can say that," Pamela nodded. "End of discussion time too."At Ferenc Liszt International, we were diverted to a private hangar once more, courtesy of the Republic of Ireland's diplomatic umbrella. Three grey Ford Focuses and a white panel truck advertising a furniture repair store awaited us. Security issues were immediately obvious. They wanted to separate us (in the Fords) from most of our luggage (in the truck).The five guy welcoming party hid under the cloak of 'don't speak any language you claim to speak' and Selena was of zip help. So, I spoke to them in Hungarian. They glanced my way, but didn't respond. Serbian? Nope. Romanian? Nope."Bows and doves," I commanded.That translated rather logically as 'guns/bows' and 'phones/doves'. Out came our pistols. The only Black Hand to react fast enough was Selena and Pamela had her covered. The Amazons were aiming at the locals while Delilah and Chaz had their weapons out and scanning. Vincent and Virginia hadn't been fast enough, this time. They also didn't have guns pointed at them.The lead BH flunky began talking calmly in German, heavily Slavic accented German."What do you think you are doing?" he inquired of me, in German."Disarming you, ya Moron," I grumbled. Then added in Hittite; "Go", and in my Amazons went to very roughly search, disarm and de-phone our not so friendly friends."Alright, gather up your luggage," I called out to my group. "We are walking to town." That wasn't truly accurate. There was a metro associated with the airport, a kilometer away max. Our guides didn't speak English so they were rather surprised when the bags came out of the truck and were distributed to their owners. Riki Martin and Odette were in some trouble.Girls and 'only packing the necessities', Well, we had some diplomatic lumber to toss at the security services, Vincent had web-searched our location and the route we needed to take to the metro, and Delilah had purchased week-long public transport passes for the group. Only when we started marching out of the hangar did the BH comprehend the totality of their error.The five guys in the hangar were chattering away, in Hungarian, and Selena was peeved."You are upsetting my superiors by blatantly disrespecting their courtesy," she reminded me. "They have guaranteed your safety.""Less than a day has passed since the shootout in London, Selena," I countered."This is the Black Hand's backyard," Selena persisted, "not London.""So, you are only going to help us if we do stupid shit we wouldn't do, even on our own home ground, is that it?" I chuckled. "Sweet," then, to my people, "I guess we are on our own."The airport security guards didn't know what to make of our group of over-worked Sherpa, but the US State department and the RoI (Republic of Ireland) vouched for us, so they let us pass.We hadn't taken the cars and the truck because that would have been theft. The confiscated guns and phones had been disassembled and tossed into a large iron drum of used aviation lubricant. Odette began shopping around for hotel reservations (I was carrying most of her gear). She was the logical choice because she sounded the most human of the bunch.Selena called her people back, explained the fuck up and engaged in a mutual ass-chewing that spilled over a half-dozen languages and ended up with Dick-head, the local BH chieftain providing us with quarters that would turn a blind eye to our arsenal. With that address in mind, we made for the bowels of modern Budapest.Dutifully, Riki contacted the US Embassy to Hungary's CIA mission head and Chargé D' Affaires, a.i., updating them on our arrival and movements. At the last moment, I had Riki relay the wrong address, on a paranoid hunch. I was right to be paranoid except I was looking in the wrong direction.We had just disembarked at the Kőbánya-Kispest M3 station when we walked into the rolling ambush. A 'rolling ambush' is like a meeting engagement, the difference being that one side (ours) is on the move, not knowing it is being hunted while the other side (our attackers) was rushing to catch up with us, not knowing where along the path they would find us.As we preparing to transition from the station to the attached terminal, looking for the bus line that would connect us to the BH safe house in the Kőbánya (X) District, our attackers were dismounting their vehicles from across the street as well as to our left and right. They were dressed like cops. Had they been armed like cops,"Oh look," I snickered to Pamela, "I see a whole bunch of heavily armed people coming our way.""Good for you," Pamela muttered. "Your eyes are still working.""Do you think they are here to raise me up on their shields and proclaim me 'Prince'?" I joked."I think they are here to kill us," Pamela grinned."I prefer to think positively," I grinned back."I am positive they are here to kill us," Pamela laughed. It had to be our relaxed demeanor that confused them.Had we been the droids they were looking for, we wouldn't have been chatting in the open with our bags in our hands. That would have made us crazy, and they would have been right. We were crazy alright and there was a method to our madness. It was mid-afternoon, yet there were plenty of average Hungarians wandering about.Sure, they saw the 'special cops' closing in. They didn't see the upcoming shoot-out because that was plain nuts. A gun battle in a modern metropolis in broad daylight? London yesterday was an aberration, not the new normal. Our impromptu plan was to let the killers get as close as possible to limit the collateral damage.This wasn't classic Amazon training. It was a concession to allies who did care about civilians killed in the cross-fire. The oncoming hit squad was finally putting faces to targets when Odette broke the calm before the storm. All she did was squeak when Vincent pushed her behind a kiosk. Riki took Virginia shifting her to cover in silence.Delilah took off at a dead-run to the south-east. They were raising their shotguns and assault rifles. We were drawing our pistols. Normally this would have been an unequal match, except that in the time period where, in their eyes, we had gone from bystanders to targets, they'd also covered a good deal of ground, to the point that they were out in the open while my fighting band was in close proximity to all kinds of cover.It started out as eighteen to twelve. Pamela, Chaz and Selena quickly cut down those odd by five. Me? I didn't try to shoot and run at the same time, so I made it to cover and was stuck there by our opponents use of fully-automatic fire.My lack of martial prowess could be forgiven by the reality I was the one they were trying to off. My greatest contribution to this skirmish was tossing my SPAS-12 to Chaz so he could use something more than his standard military issue Glock-17. I had barely gotten Chaz's appreciative nod when two grenades went off in close proximity to me.At first, I heard and felt nothing. My eyes were having trouble focusing. When my limbs began to orient themselves, I had to fight down the instinct to move. I was lying down, which was far safer than staggering around in the middle of this hail of lead. The twin grenades turned out to be their second and very fatal mistake on this mission.The first had been their delay in identifying my group. The second, using the stun grenades, did put me, Pamela and Selena out of commission temporarily. But their mistake was having misplaced my six Amazons in this mess they had created. They did have thirteen shooters versus Chaz, Virginia and Vincent. They rushed our position using the classic advance while firing rote.Two meters from me, the six Amazons revealed themselves with five P-90's and one big-ass bow. Four escaped the kill zone only to find themselves flanked by Delilah. Her .480, combined with their confusion, finished off the survivors. That wasn't the end of it. We still had to effect our get-away.I was still getting my head on straight as the ladies decided to hotwire some of the deceased men's rides and get us the heck out of Dodge. Recovery brought with it the knowledge that Virginia and Chaz had been shot. Pamela, Selena and me, we had some scrapes and bruises. Everyone else checked out. Mona let us know that she could handle the wounded. They wouldn't be doing jumping jacks for a week or two, but a hospital was not required. On the downside, no one believed that eighteen killers dressed as cops randomly rolled up on our transit point by accident. The only people who knew about our change in travel plans had been the Black Hand. We'd lied to the US.We broke into an abandoned factory to stash the vehicles and make our next plan. Selena was coldly furious. Not only did she come to the same conclusion we had, the Black Hand had set us up to be murdered, we weren't letting her call in. Wiesława and Charlotte kept their guns pointed at her, so low was our level of trust.Chaz was pretty much of the opinion that Selena should be coerced to provide us with the names and locations of the Black Hand involved so that we could do our own 'fact finding tour'. Oddly, none of the Americans asked to be pulled out. Vincent and Riki wanted to let the US Embassy know what had happened, yet were willing to wait until we were secure somewhere first.Rachel was on board with Chaz's idea, with the addendum that they kill every Black Hand they could get their hands on before fleeing the city. They had tried to kill ME after all. I was touched. It was Pamela who put things in perspective.1) The attackers were not Black Hand, they were mercenaries and that pointed a bloody finger at the Condottieri.2) Selena wasn't a fanatic and her life had been in as much danger as anyone else's. She wasn't part of our ambush. Her buddies had tossed her under the bus.3) It would have been far easier to catch us in that convoy they'd tried to stick us with. Caught in pre-planned crossfires and without our heavier weapons, we would have all died.4) Having failed to deliver us to the pre-planned ambush site, the Condottieri had to rush to our metro stop because, the safe house they had prepared for us wouldn't have worked. We had the numbers to allow us take total charge of our security once we were in place. No, gauging our numbers, this traitor had sent the mercs into a straight-up fight they'd just lost.

With Trump's inauguration so close what did the Biden presidency offer the world and what impacts might we see under a president roundly labelled as an outright fascist? Why are all the political parties in “western democracies” so avidly breaking institutional norms for reactionary reasons?This episode's co-hostsBranko, KyleTimestamps0:00 Introductions1:03 Branko on Biden7:09 Trump Side Effect18:34 Lack of Media Pressure25:20 “Man Removed For Asking Questions”29:23 Why NZ Should Care About US Politics31:45 What is Freedom of Press36:24 A Legacy for Stage Setting Trump44:08 Overturning Political Norms50:58 ClosingsIntro/Outro by The Prophet MotiveSupport us here: https://www.patreon.com/1of200

Ker je prvi del pripadel vladi, je seveda prav, da drugi del nove sezone oddaje Radio Ga Ga – Nova generacija pripada opoziciji. Branko bo zbiral podpise za Elona Muska in se z njim pogovarjal po telefonu, Aleš Hojs bo nepreklicno odstopil od ministrskega položaja, ne da bi ga kdo sploh predlagal, Kangler bo zgrožen nad aktualnimi razmerami na slovenskih cestah, Janša pa bo kot po navadi poskrbel, da bo vse teklo tako, kot si želi. Bo osel Rožmarin res novi minister za notranje zadeve, kakšen je njegov program in ali mu bo stolček izmaknil raper Zlatko. Vse to bo zanimalo Uroša Slaka, kaj pa zanima Milana Kučana, si poglejte v novem zabavnem kvizu z naslovom Sad te ima, sad te nema, ki bo v zadrego spravil marsikaterega novinarja. Kdo vozi podrta drevesa z Ljubljanskega gradu, je Borut Pahor končno našel službo, kaj dela Slovenija v vesolju in kako se greti na fovšijo, vse to in morda nič od tega izveste v petek dopoldan na Prvem.