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A Butterfly wants to kill the World?Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.Although Love is both fire and shadow, we often forget to take comfort from the coolness of the memories when the burning flames are absentThere were precisely two things, okay, four things, keeping me alive. The fourth thing would come to her later when her 'furious was replaced by her 'curious' ~ as in how I knew her inhuman lingo ~ which would lead to my legacy with Grandpa.The top three reasons -She had poked my chest. It was a challenge, calling for one of my guardians to come out and play. The avatar knew I was the chosen heir of the Goddess Ishara and my goddess had devoted a good deal of time and effort to my survival and continued service in her cause. If Ishara made an 'appearance', it would be enough reason to not eviscerate me for my foul treatment of her august personage.Nope. It seemed Ishara was busy at the moment.Still, she most likely knew SzelAnya had shown a keen interest in me in Romania, though I'd never told Selena, or any other member of the 9 Clans, the Dragon's Daughter had killed Ajax for me. Figuring out SzelAnya, a storm deity, had helped me and Aya escape from our kidnapping in the midst of a cyclone in the Pacific Ocean wasn't much of a reach.But no bolt of lightning coalesced from my chest to singe her finger. No clap of thunder. Not even a cloud with a hint of disfavor appeared above us.Her obsidian fingernail began penetrating my shirt, touched my skin, then drew my blood, and something 'twitched'.That would be Contestant Goddess #3. She wasn't actually hanging around me. She didn't have to. She'd left me a memento of our last shindig before we parted ways. That was the nightmare-inducing episode where she, the chthonic goddess Sarrat Irkalli, had compressed one man's body into a dagger and then proceeded to suck another's soul into it to use as a power source for an Airbus 350 (a commercial airliner, if you didn't know).I still had that snaggletooth-looking thing at my back. Well who the Hell was I going to leave it with? Honestly, the only people I felt could keep it safe I loved too much to curse with it. Anyway, the second her divine claw touched my blood, the long dormant weapon whispered to me in a somewhat bored, lofty feminine voice from beyond the grave,Do you want me to discorporate this pathetic has-been for you?Quick check. Only the avatar and I, and her priestess-savant heard that. Of course, in downtown, New York City, noon Sunday, how weird would such a declaration be? The avatar's eyebrow arched. Her big bat-ears (still looking human to the normal viewing public) flicked this way and that, figuring out precisely where the threat originated from. Slowly, her once poking hand began to slide across my chest, along my ribs and around my back.She touched the dagger. Nothing.Gingerly, she drew it forth. I'd had a makeshift sheath made. As the blade made its journey around me, she took a half-step back to better observe it."Please don't kill him!" Theddy squealed. "We haven't had sex yet!"Being 'who' and 'what' she was, the avatar did what came natural. Fortunately for Theddy, I'd become accustomed to working with psychopaths.She stabbed the dagger at Theddy. I clamped my hand down on her wrist. The claws of her left hand came down on my constraining wrist. My free hand came down on that hand, trying to pry it free. It was a hopeless struggle, except.Yes, my old friend 'except'. Except the avatar was holding the dagger. As powerful as Ītzpāpālōtl was, she wasn't pushing against me. She was pushing against Sarrat Irkalli.Ītzpāpālōtl was a living, breathing terror machine who killed and received sacrifices on a regular basis.Sarrat Irkalli hadn't been actively worshipped in 3,000 years.Uneven contest? Oh yeah.See, Ītzpāpālōtl had spent the past 500 years continuously fighting against the Weave to keep her fingers on this side of reality.Meanwhile, for the most part, Sarrat Irkalli had sat upon her throne in the Sumerian Underworld with hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of souls toiling under her watchful gaze for eternity. Sure, her version of Hell wasn't getting any fresh deposits, but she knew how to milk the system well.Even the bad karma for the dagger's creation wasn't hers. She'd stolen it from the foolish Gong Tau sorcerers who had meant to enslave my soul, aka one-third of the Baraqu-Alal-Cáel deal she'd worked out millennia ago. It was the Weave giving her a 'freebie' for playing by the rules, if you considered the Weave sentient.And now Ītzpāpālōtl was touching it. Whoops. It wasn't as if Ītzpāpālōtl was stupid. It isn't like there are tons of magic weapons running around, much less soul-munchers like the one I had. Rationally, who would give a novice like me, a weapon like this? I say again, 'whoops'.Once I'd figured this out, I couldn't stop being me."Theddy, do you like girls?""What?" she squeaked. Here was this psycho trying to drive a Smilodon incisor into her bosom and I was giving her a sex quiz.Ītzpāpālōtl was really starting to struggle now."I, ah, are you okay?" she continued."Oh, I'm dandy. I'm serious. You think this chick is hot? I mean, would you do her in a three-way?" I proposed casually."Timothy?" Sovann."Bro?" Timothy to me."It's all good. Sovann, you want to know what my life is like? This lady who came to discuss business with me today is an immortal mass murderer. You give the word, I'll let go and this knife is going to cut her up like a Ginsu blade on market day because just cutting her heart out isn't going to be enough. Worse. Eventually she'll get back up.""Timothy?" Sovann repeated, this time with more concern. He thought I was nuts. I released my left hand. The blade flipped up, twisting in the avatar's grasp. That was the point her minions figured out something was wrong."El Amado?" the priestess-savant called out softly. The three goons began reaching for 'things'."Call them off, or I open my other hand," I cautioned the avatar. She spared me a swift, hostile look. My fingers tingled."Esten quietos!" she snapped. They stopped."Cáel, bad day, or not. This isn't you. Stop it. The girl's in danger," Timothy spoke up. He didn't mean Theddy. He meant the avatar."I'm being a real asshole, aren't I?" I sighed."Pretty much. You never let the bitches get to you before. Girl pops an attitude, you smile and move on. Life is too short," he reminded me. Too true."I'm going to put my hand over the blade," I told Ītzpāpālōtl. "When I do, you can let go."She didn't say anything for several seconds, even after my left hand covered the semi-serrated edge."Why should I trust you?" she sizzled."Because 'me' letting anything bad happen to you would make me a total, judgmental jerk. I don't know you. Whatever you did before you showed up today shouldn't matter to me. I acted stupidly. I should have stopped you. I didn't. I didn't even warn you and I could have. I was angry, and not even at you. Just angry and I apologize. Now, let go.""Why?""Hi. I'm Cáel Nyilas. Can I have my knife back? Please?"Blink. She released it. For a millisecond, it wanted to do something else because bitches are bitches. It didn't, so my palm wasn't sliced open. My right hand took the hilt. I carefully put the blade away."Yes," Theddy gulped."Huh?" Sovann shook his head at the sudden evaporation of the life and death tension. Welcome to my life. Theddy meant 'yes' to the 'girl-girl-guy' thing I had proposed earlier. It pays to keep things prioritized."What is this movie you were talking about?" Ītzpāpālōtl asked. Had she forgiven me for anything which had transpired? Bwahahaha, no way. She was taking the initiative and going with Option 1 from my earlier insane diatribe."Wait!" Sovann nearly shouted. "You nearly, I don't know, threatened Cáel's life and tried to stab Theddy and now you think you can go with us to a movie?""I told you," Timothy put an arm around his shoulder, "life with Cáel is rarely dull.""I thought you meant he was fun to party with, or something like that," Sovann looked up at his lover. "I thought his uncle showing up, and trying to kill him and then being blown the fuck away by those women and federal agents, and that other girl who pointed a gun at us, is this the new normal?""I love you, Sovann," Timothy grew compassionate. "Cáel is my best friend. He'd never deliberately hurt either of us and normal friends are something he has in short supply. Today being a great case in point."Ten seconds passed."The title is 'As Above, So Below'," Sovann addressed the avatar, "and what do we call you?"Since 'if you are not a worshiper and addressing me, I normally am about to kill you' would sound really cool in Olmec-ic, but I might be asked to translate,"How about we go with 'Obsidian', please?" I pleaded with her.She knew I was currying favor now ~ and behaving like a weather vane caught in the wall of a tornado ~ she gave a gracious bow of her head."Obsidian will do for now. Is the Legend of the dagger 'business'?" Translation: it had better not be."No," I smiled. "It's pillow talk." Rancor, 'how presumptuous', followed by 'but that dagger ups the count to three Goddess interested in him', and next to recalling all the trivial babble about me being a sexual dynamo (I prayed my PR was that good) having some relevance. Her chimera emotions allowed me to get a few more crucial words out, because even women who aren't sleeping with me are jealous."Esta mujer fue la primera en ofrecer bienes funerarios tras la muerte dee mi padre," I reinserted Theddy back into my close company. For some reason, Obsidian considered me unreliable thus had to verify what I'd just said."Did you make funerary offering upon his father's passing?" she asked Theddy. Let's think about this. The wacko chick questioning Theddy had tried to stab a huge freaking blade into her not a minute ago. Fleeing in terror while screaming for the cops? Nope."Yes. I baked him some walnut and caramel chip cookies," she nodded. "It is a family recipe." Sovann looked over the three of us, then back to Timothy."I told you 'that's impressive cocking like I've never seen before'," he explained."She may remain," Obsidian 'permitted'. Theddy wrapped up my right arm with her left and gave it a squeeze. She wanted attention/explanation."Obsidian is a Master Vampire, Theddy," I leaned in and whispered. "Before she was turned, she was captured in a raid by the fey, mentally, spiritually and physically raped and made into their sex-slave. Part of her spirit never healed properly. While this imperfection allows her to walk around in daylight, her heart can never hold on to any emotion for long, so she is forced to forever seek passion, no matter how dangerous, from the world around her."Revealing secrets? Ha. I had noticed Theddy had every work done by Laurel K. Hamilton in her place, including the comic book series."You are not supposed to know, so act like I didn't tell you anything, okay?"'Okay,' she mouthed back at me. I could see it in her eyes. My chaotic life suddenly 'made sense' to her because a best-selling fiction author said so.Obsidian thought the movie was; hilarious. She couldn't stop snickering, giggling and poking at me as horrible shit happened to the various actors. She thought the plot was 'insightful' and wouldn't stop whispering to me throughout the entire thing. During the closing credits, I told her I'd get her the DVD for Christmas ~ she knew the concept behind digital technology, but didn't own any ~ she kissed me.The first kiss was fierce and joyous with the added benefit of her tongue doing things no normal tongue could do, it stretched. Not sure how I felt about that. The second kiss was more sultry, longer and came with some accompanying body action which, I'm no virgin. Not even close. She was on my left side, so when she twisted in her seat, her left leg insinuated itself between mine. Her left hand cupped my jaw and held my head in place as her lips played along mine.A dance of the scorpion perhaps? Tender at first, then suddenly stabbing, dominant and brutal. My lips and tongue battled back, using my superior Kiss-fu to nullify her natural strength and agility. She liked it. By her moaning, she liked it a lot. As the kiss progressed, more and more of her flowed from her seat into my seat, body facing me. Her body rose over mine, forcing my neck back to maintain contact."So, Dot Ishara is hovering around somewhere close, isn't she?" I murmured as our lips separated barely a centimeter apart. One chick kissing you to make another one jealous. It's happened to me plenty of times. Obsidian didn't give a damn about Theddy, or any other mortal woman in close proximity so,"Yes," she purred. "Do you mate with her?""A man does not brag of such things, but no, unless heavy petting counts?""What will she do to you when I steal your seed?"'When'? Why was I not surprised? Why was I not surprised another concussion was in my immediate future either? Was it possible I was, learning?"Chastise me for not fighting harder," I breathed across her lips, "and, in case you forgot, I'm on a date with the girl beside me.""Who I care nothing for," she sent a cruelly playful look Theddy's way. Wisely, the girl shivered."Who I am indebted to and how I honor my debts might matter to you," I hazarded. My words hurt Theddy's feelings. That was on purpose. Obsidian took pleasure in me hurting Theddy because she was basically a vicious monster."Yes?" I pressed her gently."Yes," Obsidian allowed, easing up slightly both romantically and physically."And Theddy, if you believe I'm with you solely because of some sense of obligation, you clearly haven't been listening to your recordings," I shot the human girl a wink."Oh.""Am I, or am I not, a sex-obsessed little monkey?" I teased her. Theddy giggled. I paid for my diversion with four obsidian claws to my ribs outside of Theddy's view. After all, it wasn't like Theddy could possibly compete with her for my attention. Considering Obsidian's legendary ability to rip open her opponent's ribcages and feast upon their hearts, I slipped my left hand, the one next to her between her legs and stroked her cotton-slacks covered cunt.Theddy hugged my right arm and put her head against my shoulder. Not to be outdone," Qu  un centenar dee hombres se quemaron vivos como el sonido?" Obsidian inquired with sexually sadistic hunger. Ah, memories of burning 7P Commandos.Whoops. Theddy knew Spanish."No lo s . Ten an respiradores en," I replied casually. "Si lo desea, puedo describir lo que se siente al tirar de una flecha de guerra lanzar mi propio muslo.""Eep," slipped out of Theddy's lips."Why did you do that?" Obsidian looked over us both."Well, I was showing a little girl I believed in her,""And she shot you?" Theddy gulped."No. She hit the target I was standing next to. A co-worker mistook me for a cardboard cutout of a Jehovah's Witness and let fly. Seems she had issues with organized religion as well as a reaction to the oscillation effect of florescent lighting and ceiling fans.""But why did you pull the arrow out?" Theddy asked. "Couldn't you wait until you got to the hospital?""Mosquito," Obsidian menaced, insinuating Theddy was a pest."I wasn't thinking rationally at the moment, I work in an asylum, I had a hot date in a few hours, any of those three will do," I smiled at Theddy."Copil such as Cáel don't bother with petty human conventions," Obsidian turned my gaze back her way with her hand on my jaw. 'Copil's were 'god-touched' in her lingo."More than one girl?" Theddy mused."Four.""Okay," she sighed happily."Theddy, three under-age girls and the police office he was dating acting as their chaperone," Timothy intervened. "He hurried home so he could keep a promise to the children, not for sex." Bastard. He really was my best friend. He didn't mention my post-injury, pre-festivity sex with Odette giving me a few extra, urgently needed Brownie Points to suggest I might be a decent human being."You are a wonderful guy," Theddy ran a fingernail over my free hand. Clearly I was 'wonderful' enough to risk Obsidian's anger over. The screen went blank as the last credits scrolled away and the room was plunged into darkness. Five seconds later, the lights snapped on.Pain!"Fuck," I hissed. It wasn't any extra physical trauma causing me discomfort. No, a metaphysical dam had burst within and my stream of conscious thought had been turned into a white-water rapids. The competing cyclones of thoughts in my mind had stopped cooperating and my hypothalamus was letting me know I was in danger."Cáel", "Cáel", "Bro", and "Ishara" all came in rapid succession. I needed some space both tangible and social."I need to step outside," I eased Obsidian off me and stood up. My sense of my personal danger was ratcheting up. While I had been studying Obsidian, so I could screw her, I had discovered more and more Alal-badness.The light display had ignited a series of pressing implanted memories which had been clamoring for my attention. Things like not all 'divinities' were stewards of the Weave. Some even wanted its destruction, preferring risking all on a chaotic restructuring of reality over what existed now ~ things like Obsidian. They weren't attempting to do so because they thought they had no chance.But there was. A real serious chance to unravel reality existed; and it was staring her in the face. It wasn't 'me' as in 'I was the Anti-Christ'. But with the torrent of memories pouring forth, I knew where the peril lay and I was completely responsible for it. Hell, I was a prime ally of Armageddon and hadn't even known it.'Holy Shit!'I blinked. Timothy was shaking me. We were out in the lobby."Oh my God, Timothy," I nearly wept. "What am I going to do?""I have no idea what you are talking about. Is there someone you can talk to about this?" he suggested. Normal folks were around us. Obsidian was at my side. Sovann was behind Timothy with an arm around Theddy's shoulder."Theddy," I looked at her. "Can I catch up with you later? I just realized I've screwed up something fierce." I put my best 'really don't want to go but I gotta' face on. Her worried look brightened, she slipped around Timothy and gave me a tingling French kiss."I'll hold you to that, Cáel," she murmured when we parted."Timothy, go home, I got shit to deal with," I hoped my grin didn't become as feeble as I felt it to be."I," he started to say something. "Time not to ask questions?""Yeah.""Okay.""Wait." I pulled us to the side and went on to my toes, leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Tell Pamela 'he' sent Ajax to kill the Professor, his family and the sisters. They were the targets all along. It wasn't me, or the other women. Just in case,""Okay," Timothy patted my arm. It was cryptic. It was the best I could do. See, I wanted to cry so badly.{2:09 pm Sunday, September 7th ~ Last day}Where to begin:Every mythology across the globe has some creature, or creatures, which threatens Existence. Usually a God, or a Hero-God, slays the creature and everything is right with the world, except such a being, being older than Existence itself, can't really die, so they are carved up, buried ~ what have you.Illuyankamunus was one such manifestation of this underlying cancerous desire to destroy reality. He'd had a far more real child, SzelAnya, and she's never quite given up on her dad. Of far greater critical importance, she was 'part' of Illuyankamunus, somewhat in the way I was part of Alal and Baraqu. And yes, that meant all the offspring of Bolu, the guy I'd praised a few hours earlier, held the seeds of that malignant deity as well.And Alal knew it. He hadn't been killing off the descendants. He'd left that task up to a group far more capable of the task, the Egyptian Rite, who knew a fucking threat to existence when they saw it. Lest I forget, No secret society are the 'good guys'. Also lest I forget, I alone decided to go after the Arinniti sons to fulfill Vranus' quest. I had no divine mandate I was aware of nor any real world orders.Inadvertently, I had rounded up the last five mortal remains of Illuyankamunus in one place for convenient disposal in a remote Transylvanian town. The only problem was: if someone didn't get to them quickly, I was also about to whisk them into the loving (and heavy-armed) protective embrace of the Amazon Host, where the completion of centuries of culling would have suddenly become a cast-iron bitch instead of a simple disposal.Enter Ajax. Yeah, I bet the Egyptians were trying to figure out how I stopped him as well as Alal. I thought I was being clever by not telling most of the world. In fact, they most likely suspected; and the reality of SzelAnya watching over me was much more terrifying. Ishara had put a serious curse on the Amazons, yet her curse only affected her followers, the Amazons, who were fair game.SzelAnya had killed someone for me, and I hadn't been one of her followers. Thus I had committed a blasphemous act only a magician of some significant ability could have managed. I wasn't a sorcerer, but I had a cornucopia of mystic knowledge rolling around in my noggin. Trying to figure all this out was one of my major headaches.The others?I even suspected I knew who betrayed me ~ kinda. They didn't do it on purpose. At least I hope they didn't, because my odds-on favorite was my Mother by way of Captain Delilah Faircloth. Realistically, there was only one secret society who might help her against Grandpa and that was the Egyptian Rite, and they did send three people to Dad's funeral including two 'somebodies'. I'm an idiot.I'd chatted away in fluent New Kingdom Egyptian and it never occurred to me how odd it was for two of them to also be so fluent in it. Know it, sure, but as fluent as Kimberly had taught me to be? That should have been a Red Flag.The Earth & Sky had sent Iskender, who should have been the benchmark I judged the other delegations by, damn it.Three Condos? They'd killed my Dad and their guys had been flunkies.The 7 Pillars had been nobodies, which they'd proven by their inaction.Now I had to question why I had 3 actual  9-Clans  assassins at my dad's funeral too. Holy Ishara, I wasn't nearly paranoid enough.Anyway, why would the Amazons be aiding and abetting the End of All Life on Earth? Normally, they wouldn't be, but 3000 years ago, the majority of Human life did a colossal dump on the Amazons. And when they needed help, they got it in the form of SzelAnya and her dual-sex followers. I seriously doubt they told the Amazons their purpose was to resurrect SzelAnya's daddy. I imagine the Amazons didn't pry too much either.It turned out almost to be okay. During the 2nd Betrayal, the Amazons betrayed SzelAnya and almost short-circuited her plans by exterminating her lineage.Except for the Arinniti elders and Bolu. Good old 'except'.I can imagine when the Egyptians heard about the 2nd Betrayal, they figured they were 'okay'. Those wacky Amazons had inadvertently done the world a favor. Except an act of maternal love kept a slender hope of Illuyankamunus' return alive. By the time the Egyptians realized they'd been prematurely hopeful, Bolu's descendants were all over the Balkans and hunting them down had proven difficult.But, it gets worse. Much worse.When those Gods shattered Illuyankamunus, they scattered him in the relative certainty no one would ever gather the parts back together.His flesh was scattered across the land, modern day Turkey, but encompassing everything from Pakistan to Italy and Egypt to Poland. The flesh became soil, then plants, the things that eat plants, then food for humans. Get the picture.Whoops. SzelAnya had been doing just that for centuries upon centuries every time she mated with a mortal of Illuyankamunus' line and had offspring, they accumulated his energy, which made hunting down the few remaining ones easier to find, since they were 'beacons of badness', except...There were two key pieces missing which SzelAnya could never get. After all, you would think burying them on the far side of the world would matter, right?The 'breath of Illuyankamunus' ~ his cosmic fire ~ they buried in a volcano in a distant land far across the Great Sea. His spirit 'body' they imprisoned in a great river, again, across the Great Sea.But wait, it gets worse.The being standing next to me knew precisely where the 'breath of Illuyankamunus' was. Seems Mesoamerica is laced with volcanos. They'd discovered 'the breath' long ago and used it as a weapon called Xiuhcoatl. Better yet, Alal suspected she and her buddies were more than happy to reunite it with the rest if they thought the Weave itself wouldn't annihilate them for daring to do so.In their current, weakened state they were vulnerable to such a karmic backlash. In theory, a reborn Illuyankamunus would have access to power beyond the bounds of the Weave, older and more terrifying. Still, without the mortal remains to anchor the energy, giving it to the spirit would be pointless.Alal knew where the spirit body was (in general), but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was where it was,Of all the places the Arinniti sons could have fled to, they had to choose Brazil, the burial place of the restive spirit body of Illuyankamunus. Mother-fucker.And Ildiko 'Alkonyka' aka Dusk Lovasz had sworn she'd travel to Brazil to fulfill Bolu's side of the quest in the same way I was holding up Vranus' end. If I tried to stop her, SzelAnya would know something was up. Fuck.I was processing all of this when Obsidian violently yanked me out of the way. A cabby had swerved to avoid a flurry of trash and nearly run over us. It was the third near-concussive experience in the past five minutes she'd help me avoid while she had walked by my side. I'd been mumbling like a madman."That would be my Goddess wanting to talk with me," I looked her way."I know," she gave me a clever smile."She's really not going to like that," I shook my head."I know that too," she kept smiling. "Where is your mind?""Five lives away from making the world a safer place," I sighed."Safer for who?" she purred. Where were all the bimbos? Not only was it an insightful question, it cut straight to the heart of my dilemma.What decision could I make? If I elected to help my fellow Amazons, I risked screwing with the world. In truth, I was risking everything even if I did nothing. Well Dad was always clear that things didn't change by themselves. You needed to do something that would have an effect. So, 'What are you going to do?'More to the point, I wasn't Grandad. Killing the last five of the line of Illuyankamunus wasn't 'me', so it wasn't going to be something I'd worry about.SzelAnya wanted to bring back her Dad, I could understand that. I'd have to figure out a way for her to believe this world sticking around was more important. How? Well, I had a goddess-like creature right in front of me to probe for ideas."You are an immortal," Obsidian commented. She'd been weighing her opinion for some time. I could tell by the wonderment with which she gifted each word."What? No. I can die.""No. I don't think so. Your wounds. Normally the wounds I inflict flow freely for some time. Yours have already scabbed over," her eyes flickered to the various minor scars she'd imparted to me in the few hours we'd been together.Of course, her idea was insane, Oh God No! I was in Grandad's body. Well Duh! His body was supposed to be immortal."Are you sure?" I looked deep into her eyes."You are a young immortal, the youngest I've ever met, but you are an immortal," she seemed to be convincing herself as much as me.Stupid Assumption (on my part)! I wasn't in Alal's body. I was in Cáel's. Because the Cáel soul shard was young, Alal hadn't been able to find it because it had moved through Time, to me, sonofabitch! 'I' hadn't been around for him to find. No! I was making yet another damn assumption.What did I know? When Pamela found Baraqu, it had been in an object, not a person, though she had been short on details. When the Alal-shard went to the Land of the Endless Black Sands to bring Saku back, the Cáel-shard had been in reality, so it had been allowed to create a body, 'me'. Still, the curse Sarrat Irkalli placed on Baraqu was on Alal and myself as well, which meant I might just be immortal.My Alal-mind agreed with Obsidian's assessment. In his first years, his healing had been slow, still taking days for what took mortal people weeks. I'd stupidly attributed my swift recovery to Amazon medicines, ugh. Because I got wounded more than most Security Detail trainees while concurrently entertaining two and three sex partners."Can you talk with Dot Ishara?" I asked her."Yes, but why would I?""Sex?""We are going to have sex anyway," she smiled. I'd tricked her. Set her up with the right so I could now drop her with the left."I can bring the mbo  tat  back to life," I pledged. That was not what she was expecting at all. "If you bring the Xiuhcoatl, I can bring the flesh and we can unite the three." Mbo  tat  was the Tupi name for the legendary 'fiery serpent' of the Amazon Basin. In Portuguese, it had become Boi-tat , a will-o-wisp with a confused, Christianized mythology ~ a serpent dwelling in darkness, devouring the eyes of corpses, glowing in the forests at night."Where is the flesh?" she whispered."In his mortal children," I replied."Who?""You are a monster, Ītzpāpālōtl. I'm not going to tell you and you don't have the time to drag the information out of my mind before my allies drop on you like a nuclear detonation," I drew my body tightly to her."Why would the Amazons do this?""They are not. This is a deal between you and me," I kissed her lips. I pulled back. A few seconds later she kissed me back."Why?""My grandfather had my father murdered and I would avenge him. In the end, despite my father's Amazon heritage, my 'Sisters' will let his death go unavenged for the greater good of the Host. He was a man and they will never look beyond that ~ they will never value his life as they would that of a woman.""Your mother's father?""Yes. Cáel O'Shea of the Illuminati.""We are not at war with the Illuminati," she murmured. It was a casual observation, not a protest."You are at war with Cáel O'Shea.""He was slain.""He didn't stay dead.""You know much more than you are saying," she was finally catching on."Absolutely.""I need much more than a few names to convince my kin to help," she purred, a cocktail of sexual immersion and flesh-flaying pain."I don't work for you. You are agreeing to work for me," I was hard as iron in more than one way. Why? Boundaries. She lived in a world where only the fundamentals of reality constrained her. Having a human, no matter how polished my pedigree, or how much I might appear to be 'special', tell her 'you are not the boss' in a reasonable fashion was new and very unwelcome."What would make you think that?""My mentor taught me knowledge is a curse. It is our inability to forget, and I can see into your soul, Ītzpāpālōtl. You care not one wit for the life of an assassin. But the thought of the other 'Factors' of the 9 Clans treating you as an equal galls you almost as much as the crushing reality that you need them."You have lived 500 years in chains and I'm offering you a desperate grab at freedom," I added."Your brief glimpse of immortality gives you no insight into my existence," she bristled."Oh, how many have given up? How many have decided the fight was no longer worth it and faded from the Sunlight to make their final trip into the Underworld, never to return? Do you even visit them?" I spoke with a voice tinged with compassion and loss. I pulled upon the pitiless, blank memories of a childless Alal all those centuries and imprinted on them my own fears of fatherhood and failure."How do you know so much?" she let her fa ade crack, then blow away, in the hollowness of her own sorrow. How could I pity such a monster? I could because I was me and I wouldn't surrender that to the barbaric past and most likely horrific future. I pulled her close, resting my chin on the top of her head."You are not the first, wonderful, very bright woman who has stepped into my life, Obsidian," I whispered. "You are not even the first divinity. For all the millions of differences enforced by power and time, I think love, hate and the conflict between the two wear upon us all. If anything, you face an endless parade of hope and misery. Even if you chose to ignore it, you have seen it and perhaps it leaves its marks ~ water scarring the rocks of a riverbed."We paused. I was able to peripherally scan about and realize we'd made it to Central Park ~ the Ramble and off the beaten path."Your Goddess is a fool for not keeping you closer," she murmured."She does keep me close. You have been actively keeping me from her," I reminded my guest. "She also plays by the rules, so is of limited help in my plans for vengeance."Translation: I could enlist Ītzpāpālōtl's aid while still remaining loyal to my matron Goddess. Ishara could not provide what I needed and my Amazons wouldn't agree with my scheme, so I needed her. Three hours ago, she wouldn't have considered me a worthy supplicant, much less an allied equal, yet here she was conspiring with me to shake the foundations of Creation.Personally, I was thanking Mamitu, Destiny. Had I not been having my worst Sunday ever when we first crossed paths and then acted like a total cockhead, pissed her off and led her to holding Sarrat Irkalli's dagger, thus putting her life in my hands, and not had Timothy as a best friend, I wouldn't have taken her to the movie, and my mind wouldn't have wandered down those dark corridors of Alal's memories to piece things together.Whatever itinerary Obsidian had approached me with, my abrasive behavior had forced her to it cast aside. Dagger, movie, revelations, I was now so much more in her eyes than she had envisioned."Share my need and share with me an ounce of your sorrow," I murmured to her as I gently curled my fingers in her hair and directed her head up until she faced me."The dagger," she rumbled. While she was stroking my hard-on, I knew she was using it as a double meaning."I was pinned to an onyx sacrificial table," I began my tale. We worked off pants to mid-thigh then 'got busy'. Penetration was only going to be possible by turning her around. Ground-breaking was her ready acceptance of my instruction. I leaned against a tree, then pulled her onto my lap. She guided my phallus home.One locomotion and I sunk in deep. It was warm molasses until I hit and pressed against her cervix. For a second Obsidian trembled, then her muscles clamped down tightly, gripping my manhood firmly in a vise, keeping me still."Ah," I groaned. Obsidian had her neck twisted, so we were kissing with eye contact as I described my adventures with the Gong tau sorcerers. She shot me a quick twinkle of delight, a connection. She'd relayed physical pleasure in the way I was giving her cerebral gratification, aka hope.I rolled up her shirt, and gave both nipples a brutal tweak in response. She gasped. I was applying a little 'rough' with my tender intercourse. She rolled her tush against my groin, an invitation to double-down on my nipple-play. I kept my left hand working over each tit while working my fingernails down her abdomen. As I described the terror in old Tsu's face as he shouted out 'M iyǒu! (Mandarin for 'No!') as he recognized too late the curse he was invoking. She relished the visual of the Han necromancer's terror.'Me' smacking two fingers down on her clit earned me a squeal and a small gush of fluids on my nut-sack. Her look of astonishment was something I'd always cherish. Before me, sex was something she demanded from her followers/victims and definitely orchestrated. Her partners being fearful/worshipful must have limited their initiative."A-a-a-ah, we are being observed," she groaned, her lips less than an inch from mine. It took me a second."Which direction?" I kept pumping her, strumming her clit and treating her tit like taffy on a hot Coney Island summer afternoon. Her hooded eyes flickered to our right. I gave it ten seconds. I had to get Obsidian refocused on what I was going to do to her next, in case this was innocent voyeurism. Nope. It was Chaz.Why Chaz? See, I'm an idiot. My cryptic warning to Timothy for Pamela had been good for all of one minute. He'd called her and she'd gathered what she could and come looking for me.Why was she concerned? I was babbling to Timothy then wandering off with a 'beyond-freaky' chick I had just met named 'Obsidian' who came my way courtesy of another chick with the name of Estere.Let me see, Estere was Hashashin and for Timothy to describe someone in my life as 'beyond freaky' was bad news. Timothy was seriously worried about me and Timothy was an emotional rock ~ he didn't panic. Lest we forget, I was in a federal taskforce. A quick peek into New York traffic cameras revealed me and Obsidian wandering into Central Park from the south, so in the rescue party went, splitting up and Chaz 'lucked-out'.I still had two, no, three problems. I was really enjoying my sexual excursion with Obsidian and she was seeming to truly enjoy her experience with me. Oh, and Central Park is big, Pamela had been pressed for people, so she had pressed some unlikely participants into my rescue party."He's," smooch, "my brother, by adoption," I headed off the whole idea she'd been briefed on me already."Visual, Peacekeeper Six, OS2, L-11," Chaz muttered into his headset before taking up a casual stance on the path overlooking our trysting spot. Sex with an audience didn't bother her, so, we worked out as much action from twist, turns and two inches of in-and-out motions (she liked to keep our bodies tight) as we could. Obsidian was humming along in no time. Her vaginal walls were undulating, wearing away at my self-control.Panting, not from us,"Is he o, are they, who is she?" huffed and puffed a trio of voices from Chaz's locale. Oh. Pamela had recruited my 'Hounds'.I accidently (from a timing perspective) took that moment to grind my nails into her left nipple, pinched her clit and hammered her as hard as I could. Obsidian howled. Her vocalization exited the human realm in a cataclysmic manner.The noise scared avians a mile away into terrorized flight. Cats hissed, then raced for cover. Dogs tucked tail and ran. Streetlights a hundred yards away shattered in sprays of glass. Better yet, for the entertainment of my viewing public, she lashed out with her right hand at the closest Black Cherry sapling, exploding it into a mist of sap and pulverizing the bark and wood fiber into pulp.On the downside, her cervix gave my balls an ultimatum ~ release my seed at once, or she was going to twist off my head. My cock and balls have a long history of making decisions without me. I began lavishing her. Before I finally got the feeling I was out of the danger zone. She was back to rubbing against me and purring in blissful satisfaction."Onun g zleri," whispered Belgin, one of the Turks. 'Her eyes'?"Cáel, are you aware of the alternative nature of your liaison?" Chaz coolly cautioned me. Translation: 'mate, do you know you have your cock in a demon?'"Yeah," I coughed. I had a face full of her hair. I was working on some post-coital nuzzling along with slowly helping her get her pants back up."Ininzqueoccehpa," she hummed to me, ignoring our gathering. That was 'let's do this again'."Tehuatlcochitlehua," I replied with some fondness. She studied me for a second before deciding my term was one of endearment, thus 'you are what dreams are made of', not 'nightmares'.Obsidian had another issue to deal with. Timothy would call it a righteous cocking. Whatever it was, her hold on her human mein had slipped and her inhumanity was slipping through, mainly in her glass-like, black, multi-facetted eyes and her fingers which now ended in molten obsidian talons. On the subconscious level, her predatory nature was setting everyone close-by on edge. I could also make out the high pitched, ultrasonic pipping of her chiropteran cries ~ purpose unknown.Obsidian made her way off farther into the underbrush leaving me a few precious seconds to appreciate her retreating posterior while holstering my equipment. More people were arriving. I had one more thing to take care of before, oh look, Nikita had brought her Mom along, the NYPD Sergeant."Chaz, I need to have a quick chat with Dot before I can explain things. She's been waiting and that's unwise," I looked to the Brit. He nodded."Cáel? Mr. Nyilas? Prince?" all came my way. I relaxed as best I could. Chaz went to a body blow to stagger me, then an epic upper cut to send me to Lullaby Land.Dot & the DragonessDot and SzelAnya, in dragon form, were waiting as I tumbled forward. By the state of my haziness, I knew my unconsciousness wouldn't last long."You gave her your seed," came the accusation."Yes," I staggered, "and now you should be able to track her," I pointed out the bonus part of the arrangement. No comment."I've got to make this quick, SzelAnya, I've found your father, geographically speaking," I dropped the bomb."Don't," Dot Ishara commanded. After all, she and her divine cohorts had done the killing and corpse-dividing eons ago. Undoubtedly, they'd executed their own oaths to one another to 'never reveal what they had done' as well."Too late," I shook my head. SzelAnya's attention was magnetized. "I owe you and I'm paying my debts. I'm not blind to the dangers, believe me.""You have no idea what power you are invoking," Dot's undercurrent of displeasure was the worst I'd experienced."Wrong. I've got thousands of years of Alal boiling around in my head, Plus the rest of you betrayed her 2600 years ago. It doesn't mean I have to. And now, given the chance, I'm not. Even if you kill me, she's got enough toBack in the Ramble"Really expect me to believe," Nikita's mom was growling."Man down," I waved a weak arm skyward."Mr. Nyilas, what is going on here?" the Sergeant addressed me. I was reclining in a circle of my 'Hounds'; most were kneeling. Chaz was in a tiny bit of trouble for having clocked me."Umm, thanks for coming out and looking for me. I assure you, Mr. Tomorrow did what he did as a matter of his professional duties ~ intelligence gathering." As I struggled to stand, my ladies helped me. I saw Pamela with three Hounds coming up fast from one direction and Virginia with three more coming from the other. The gang was all here.The mutterings in non-English tongues suggested a bit of explaining was already going on."You've been bleeding," Nikita pointed out with an unspoken 'again'."This?" I pulled my shirt out and looked at the first bloodstain of my encounter. "This is the just the start of the bad news." I shed my windbreaker and then t-shirt.The professionals shouldered aside the others to take a closer look."All of these are from noon and less than an hour ago," I identified the damage. Sarge was skeptical. Chaz, Nikita and Virginia less so."They look older," the senior lawman noted."I've been curious about that," Chaz frowned."I've inherited my Grandfather's curse. My soul fragment was in the 'Here and Now' twenty-three years ago while his was, 'over there', so I was allowed to come into creation. According to my recently departed guest,""You are immortal," Virginia mumbled to finish the thought. Had the speaker not been a member of the FBI, who knows how the thought would have been received."From the memories I've been gifted with," I tapped the tiny divot on my forehead, "his healing abilities started out rather slowly too. I certainly don't want to test this theory, so no worries there," I scanned the group."How do you explain seeing your Grandfather in Hungary and again in Rome?" Virginia wondered."Again, that woman who just left," I got out."Was no woman," Nuray, another one of my Turkish Hounds interrupted. "Her eyes..." she tried to explain, "and look what she did to that tree," she pointed to the greatest piece of evidence of supernatural wrongdoing. The other two witnesses nodded."We all saw the same thing. Her eyes were, bottomless, definitely not human," Belgin affirmed. The veteran players looked to Chaz."She had a collapsed nose-bridge, lacked a blink response, her dental work was carnivorous and her tongue was extremely clipped and showed prehensile qualities," he reported calmly. Pause. Chaz was a freaking intelligence operative, after all."If her hands were a type of glove weaponry, I've never seen it s like before. While I know it is possible for a human to exert the force-pounds necessary to snap a two inch diameter tree trunk in one blow, it is a rare skill and requires intense discipline. This appeared to be done spontaneously, without preparation of any kind and as a reaction to other stimuli," he added."It was also your assessment he needed to be knocked unconscious?" Nikita's mom countered."Mr. Nyilas' psychological constructs are something the whole team has to work around. At times, he seeks 'insight' from his mind in a deliberately unconscious/non-sleep state," he replied."He claims to be talking with spirit powers. I know when he returns to consciousness, he delivers useful intelligence. I'm not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or psychic. I don't know why his mind functions that way. I do know results. And I know I work with people who would achieve those results by other means if it were at all possible. Since we haven't found another method, we accept that from tim

Found amidst the twisted metal and ash of a family's home in the Pacific Palisades is a pottery shard with a single word inscribed upon it: love.It's a clay piece no wider than the palm of your hand, a remnant from a serving dish that a daughter made for her mother, who displayed it in the bungalow where she lived for forty-seven years until one recent day when a black-plumed terror tore through the neighborhood, and it burned to the ground.For Diana, the one who first taught me how to love. Thank you, Mama. Happy Mother's Day, 2011. Your loving daughter, Lisa.Little remains after a fire. Not the for nor the who nor even the you. In the yard, a wind sculpture spirals upward in the stunned calm of a new day. Stone chimneys stand, only they are no longer chimneys but landmarks by which neighbors orient themselves amidst the rubble and scars of their former lives. A clay murti still sits demurely on the mantle. It is a metaphor, if not a miracle — how the heat melted away its glaze and revealed the form beneath.And love, in all its blessed unlikeliness. Having passed through the inferno of its creation, having withstood as the house wailed and collapsed around it, this small and necessary gift is discovered atop a charred pyre as though placed there, liberated, message intact.City skies are painted on linear scraps and framed by buildings. The desert sky is like this: giant, unmitigated, persistent. To live well in the desert, you must look to the opening above the narrow frame of your life. You must consider how light moves across the sky, how gods shift their bodies over the landscape, then bow and tuck themselves behind the night until the sun rises again the next day.Azure is beautiful but can also be unyielding. The earth firms and softens according to the seasons. Slow water eases; gentle water eases. Fast water flashes off the hard earth and floods the arroyos. And if the water does not come — if the days are brittle and the future unknowable — we are thirsty for it.When the ground dries, we feel it in our joints. The sky lifts — quiet, strange. We ask for water. Lord, quell our bodies and minds. Lord, irrigate our hearts. Lord, make us watertight.Then, the birds come looking for water. We give them water.Mary Oliver writes:I tell you thisto break your heart,by which I mean onlythat it break open and never close againto the rest of the world.A poet finds a way to say what must be said when it must be said. A poet is made of poppies and daffodils, yes, but also of unflinching metal. Forged in fire, quenched in water, a poet is like a sword meant to wield, cut through, and rise again.Metal cannot help but conduct warmth. Metal cannot help but have luster, for it reflects the sun's light. Metal has solidity, a high melting point, and sharpness. It houses its own shadow, like most earthly things. So, when metal writes about lead, it knows a thing about it. And when metal says —Here is a story to break your heart.Are you willing?You are willing.Steadfast comes from the Old English stedefæst, meaning "firmly fixed, constant; secure; enclosed, watertight; strong, fortified." It first referred to English warriors in the 10th century who stood their ground, weapons readied, unyielding to Viking invaders.And here is one more reminder of the determination of love. In Portuguese, the word resistencia is a false cognate. You'd think it means resistance, but no — resistencia is closer to endurance, to the practice of withstanding. Resistencia refers to that which is unbreakable.To endure is to show up in the ways that most reflect who we are and what we love, to continually orient ourselves, even amidst circumstances we would not choose. When the instinct is to burn, to endure is to carry water instead.Become a paid subscriber for $6/month to access monthly yoga + meditation practices exclusively for The Guest House community. Practices live or via recording at your convenience. Next gathering soon to be announced! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit shawnparell.substack.com/subscribe

The Daily Quiz - Entertainment, Society and Culture Today's Questions: Question 1: Which film won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1984? Question 2: In Portuguese, what is the meaning of the word 'nove'? Question 3: Which actor has played roles in films including Milk and Mystic River? Question 4: What is the plot of the movie Inside Out? Question 5: In Greek mythology, who was Medea's husband? Question 6: Which of these quotes is from the film 'The Godfather Part II'? Question 7: Name the movie that matches the following plot summary: 'A man becomes concerned for his Jewish workforce after witnessing their persecution by the Nazis.' Question 8: What are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet? This podcast is produced by Klassic Studios Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. I smelled like an old, wet bandaid. My heart wasn't in it anymore—looking in the mirror for progress after nearly a month of extreme training and dieting, i could feel the difference, but not see it. Perhaps it was the result of sleeping under the white devil, or just the lack of good coffee since departing from Mexico—still, something was off about my energy, in the way that I was moving about my day to day—or, I should note, the way that I was barely moving—I seemed to be under a spell of mediocrity and apathetic listlessness, emotions and passions welling up in an uncontrollable, irritating and chaotic fury; i was lost from love. I hugged a tree in the entryway to the parking lot if the gym; it almost seemed to hug me back—and, in the broad daylight, I fought the will to lay my head down in relief, as if she had offered me a shoulder to cry all the tears that I needed; behold, however, the tears would come indeed, as I barely tried at the pectoral machine or whatever it was. After selecting Daft Punk's Discovery Album as the track for my first circuit, One Last Time bellowing into my sweaty earbuds as tears streamed down by face—without having to address it in too long, I realized I missed my son; not that it mattered. My ex husband was the evil everything that had ruined me—or rather, I was the evil thing that ruined myself by loving him. At least I was no longer nearly 400 pounds—not that it mattered. The leftovers made it impossible for me to go about my life acting as if nothing had happened; I couldn't wear almost anything without bulging and unsightly rolls. Being dark skinned might not have been so bad, as long as I could be perfect—maybe that's why every rapper bragged about fixing up girls in exchange for sex; it was too bad I wasn't attracted to black men enough to let that happened. Maybe I was supposed to have taken the bait of my brother and law while living in his home in Las Vegas—I could have had the all access pass to driving one of his three Mercedes, and maybe even lucky enough to have had my skin reduction surgery sponsored by the drug money he boastfully prided himself on, being a “business owner”. But no, I had let my own pride neglect his underhanded proposition; He couldn't fuck be, but even almost a year later, at least had the benefit of making me feel stupid for not taking advantage, obsessing over my body to a point that anyone would clearly consider unhealthy. I occasionally would look up at the screens in front of whatever machine I was working at, wondering “What the fuck am I watching?” As always, I knew if it was FX, it was assuredly something captivating—I didn't need more than its logo to be reminded of my once-obsession with Kurt Sutter's writing, demolishing Sons of Anarchy episode by episode once weekly for years, and repeatedly bing watching The Sheild until I could recite each episode word for word, and understand the happenings of any given season In Portuguese. Fuck this. For some reason, it was Rihanna's hit Only girl In the world blasting over the loud speakers after the conclusion of the Daft Punk album—that made me quit and call it a day; I had only been on the floor an hour and a half, which anyone would call a good workout, but to me it felt like giving up—like I was weak; but something about Rihanna's voice had allowed the picture of her perfect, skinny silhouette from the cover of one of her albums, or maybe a single (I didn't know, as I had never really considered myself a fan of hers, even though I could admire her vocals, and did recall with vivid conclusion cycling at least two of her hits on repeat in my high school days) but either way, I had probably always harnessed a deep disgruntlement and bitterness towards her, not simply for being about the complexion my mother constantly told me she wished I could have been, or “should” have been, but also for being so wonderously skinny—another thing my mother wished I should and could have been and always hated me for not being—though, it was true that the last time we had spoken, she commented on how perfect my figure was becoming, to which I replied cockily “I know.” But I hated everything about y figure now, and hadn't even the clothes I needed to help accentuate it; I possessed only a low-impact sports bra, which would have been a cute tube top on anyone with a body worth looking at—and a Victoria's Secret zip-up sports bra, which was falling apart and after being washed and worn to bits, was now not only too big, but also lacked almost any support at all. I felt fit, and probably was, under all the wretched skin and sagging I was sure came first handed my from Satan himself, as I was sure God was punishing me by assigning me to such an unforgivably unlovable vessel—not to say I wasn't fuckable, as I always knew I could l grab a decent enough dick and take it for a spin—but I had never seen the dopey-eyed, puppy like gaze of a man in love with a beautiful woman on me, ever, besides once—on the heavy (read: obese) light-skinned black man who I befriended at my first EDC, who clung to me for dear life and treated me like I was the light of the worlds for the duration of our friendship—-SUPACREE's first fan, a true hype man, and valuable asset during my free from Alaska; however, I never did feel the same thing for him as he did for me and was thoroughly dismissive, eventually growing apart entirely—however, if a decent looking Caucasian man had ever looked at me or treated me the same, i would know I had somehow reached my goal. I just wasn't attracted to black men—something I had been made, of course by black men, to feel ashamed of—certainly in the same way that most Caucasian men weren't really “into black girls”; probably the same thing that made all little white girls appear as demonic vampires, aside from the actual privelege and soul-sucking unawareness of any of the world's actual problems. It was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day at Equinox that I was again the Guinea pig central to some kind of secret social experiment, or worse, psychological—which meant of course I had become allures into a trap and had always been the perfect prey—still a dumb, fat, lazy and now hood-bound nigger with a taste for luxury and the wellness that had been stripped from the lower realms at all—desperate for the life I had designed for myself on my own but still trapped in some kind of hex or curse—some strange and bodiless demon always find its way next to, around or near me—anyone I liked, loved, or became close to had vanished, and I was left alone to suffer in the loveless and dark underworld without any solid way to escape. I had been fed with garbage for weeks —almost no fruits and vegetables at all, and had been without water for quite some time, my clothes were embarrassingly worn and dirty, wreaking of mildew—and now it was even worse—demons were always quick to overcome the body of any female I wished I could be— my entire life has been an nightmare, the glimpses and flashes of regression flashing through my mind— my abusive mother, my abusive husband— I was an altogether shit person, doomed to again succumb to slavery; meanwhile, the pretty and perfect bodies around me seemed not to worry, work, or care at all—I was taunted with everything I wanted and everything I loved—and it had taken me all the time I had lived to realized that I had never been loved at all. I guess I'm not ‘pure of heart' Stroke of genius, perhaps— Stroke or dark Let me stroke your cock underwater; Of course, said the God To the Goddess— m I've just aboutbhad it, Or lost it Wreaking all havoc on my mind, Or most of it I turn the whole goddamn world on a dollar And then I move on, There are so many others I hold my guitar like a body, It's a small one Like a daughter Or just someone to love me If that's what you're after, I'm honestly sorry I'm not pure of heart And nobody loves me It's been a week back at Equinox I've barely touched my decks But men fall in love with bodies, Not talent And I need somebody to love me For balance Cause I've been so out of it, I've been in ballet But this is New York, And that was Alaska. Callie whatever's music fucking sucks and she gets to open. For deadmau5. Okay, white supremacy. I get it. I quit. I don't know why I even try. It's okay. She's a little white girl. She's gonna look 40 in 5 years. Yeah, and I'm gonna have permanent lines in my head from getting fucked over by the world continually for being a fat black woman. But you still won't look 40. But I WILL be 40. But you won't LOOK it. I'm so broken and lonely I just want someone to hold me and love me But that just won't happen Love isn't for me I was just born in the wrong fucking body (No free days) I had named my new skateboard Ryder, and though it had been acquired quite by accident, it had been an instant manifestation that was somewhat unexpected, although I had explicitedly listed a new skateboard amongst the other items I had wished for in the series of spells that had would up the whole world into a strange and yet somehow better place, though of course not without its own shortcomings, and of course ultimately my own shortcomings— the spells had been working in the ways that they always did—explicitly accurate, and manifesting quickly with an unexpected twist, which would come with some sort of strange sting that didn't last long—but the lesson itself did, which was the thing that was important. I was in and out of love—of course, not all the way out of it entirely, but still bruised and burned from all that I had learned about the men I had fallen for, the the industry I had been at the very least introduced to, but still not entirely enough so that I was paid well, of course, pouting in every single sense that I would have to take a regular job at some point to smooth and jazzy, City-style modern and chic the synethetic experience / the sound of synesthesia - hard, weird, 90's sounding techno, glitch I hated Hudson Yards more than any other Equinox I had ever been to in my life—and I considered the fact that I had been to so many an achievement—I'd have never been able to afford it if I hadn't gotten on the mailing lists, awaiting the perfect time to join, eliminating the pricey initiation fee— then, something like $250, now having doubled, and all the more with an exclusive top-tier which has first excluded me from entering the Hudson Yards location at all, the actuality which had led to my eventual delay in arriving to JFK after all, though it had first been the Spirit Airlines flight delay out of LA and into Vegas to retrieve my drum machine, which now sat in yet another pawn shop in New York, and though I had at least until October to pick it up, I wasn't at all happy with any of the progress—or lack there of that I was making in music; the specifics of the curse began to unravel— and since I had once been married to a sufferably failed musician, it was more than likely his abborent energy the block which had been dellaying my eventual success—and there was an eventual success, knowing that all curses and hexes are ultimately returned to the sender at a devastatingly amplified . Though I seemed myself marked I realized it had been somrone or something all along that had allowed be back into Equinox in the first place, which was the only thing in the world I had wanted, besides food, water, and music— almost e entirely leaving love out of it, because in a sense there was this ever-present inner knowing that I could never be loved: my own child had during our last conversation regurgitated the sadness and destruction of the negative energy my ex had indudated him with—stories of dead babies and unsupervised near-death experiences where my ex husband, always reluctant to wake up, had slept through some tragedy in which my then-toddler had gotten himself into—he had slept through out eldest son's death, and of course, his over sleeping had lead to the numerous jobs he had lost over the course of our relationship, probably doomed to fail from the start but myself never having been aware of how blind becoming morbidly obsese and so drug-dependent could cause one to experience a walking death in itself—the loss of two children, the faithless, loveless My plan for the day has been to get into the sports club early with my laptop in hand, but of course, the quest for proper and balanced nutrition continued, as I had finally of course squired the protein I had been so desperately lacking, but still with the deficits of the actual energy I needed— I waxwork. Nice I awoke just before noon, only to drift back into a dream for 40 minutes or so, awaking again at 30 past the hour in a a rush and frenzy to skate to the food bank, which I had been m dreading, especially because it was my third week in a row and I knew for a fact. That threes were indeed a charm of some sort— a heavy esoteric rule that I had followed quite faithfully—so faithfully, in fact, that I always knew that true third time doing, saying, or seeing anything was a certain sign of rapid change, in one way or another, and proceeded in all with heavy caution. This also meant that it had been threee weekend since the last episode in my podcast series, and though I had thought to perhaps pawn my audio interface as well as my almost defunct MPC studi, as I was more preoccupied with improving my body so that I might find someone decent to offset the awful and horrible sexual monster that had been welling up from inside me — the reason I hated Hudson Yards the most1- mirrors and reminders, reflections of how I would never be good enough, in a sea of picture perfect Barbie dolls of all shapes and sizes— and I had nearly lost my mind and soul just by way of googling the upcoming support for the deadmau5 vs. test pilot show, very fittingly at the Brooklyn mirage and on the date which marked the anniversary of my own suicide, august 4th; and as the date grew near, I wanted more and more to try again1-to escape the horrible and awful cruel world of inequality—I hated the blackness of it all— the black slaves of Jamaica queens m a heavy contrast to the thoughtless Barbie dolls that didn't have tow work or think for anything—they were created just to have fun, lounge, party, and fuck—all of which I wanted to do but never had the chance. My entire life I had been too dark and too ugly to be pretty or adorable—and of course, my mother's scattered actions and bipolar personality, perhaps even schizophrenic tendencies which had been beaten into her by her father, rather than genetically inherited—had kept me from being good at anything. Sports, music, or anything which might have allowed me to be successful were often abandoned—my mother's temper tantrums always acting up on days which I was due to rehearsal or practice— eventually quitting because it no longer excited me, her mood swings controlling my entire destiny, and causing the uproar of anxiety and unconscious addiction that culminated in my doomed, abusive narrorator (Don't leave me like this) (From am to pm). Love,'money, party Alive fidkros The fight to keep blacks and browns in the darker and lower realms while elevating the whites and hybrid elites into ascension continues to deter the human race from true and forward evolution. "Post raciality and the silent technologically driven race war in America" -CC Stone Pollen on my lips, I love to kiss you; Missing the elliptical at Equinox A full eclipse And I've never known anything to smell to sweet as this, Just naturally I'd loved to be loved But I'm just getting famous I guess that's the trade, then A sacrifice, as if I'd not already lost my life, —Or slit my wrists Intermittent 5th dimension Tim, or what they used to call him… But he can't remember. This is major Tom, Another psalm Or poem, From Ms. Gypsy Spinning into mixes, Drifting into spiderwebs as a reminder She would write for The Times, Like the power, or a webinar She borrowed the guitar. Which then, became a gift So she dismissed him—the minister. Or who administers the medicine Of the administration Menustration , under stress of course Or as she keeps on fasting For Last Earth Seeing things? Certainly! I've been fasting, and under the influence of Dillon Francis God Dammit Hanzel Did you have to Hold her hand And have the other one Covered in Kandi On that album cover?! I can't stand it Whatever the master plan is Give me the schematics, quick So I can land a man to match with That holds a candle To that piñata Maybe I should shapeshift into Taylor Swift So I can get some dick in The right complexion… Is that too explicit? Or maybe I should just stick to Skrillex The first on my wishlist— Until Kayla Lauren (Or the other ones— And there's a lot of em; The rabbit's always on the run) Hey Allison Or Alex— Yeah, that's it I'm still an insomniac Just trying to forget that I'm black And only mildly attractive With a New New York accent And sudden onset passive aggression From the stress and pressure of synethesia And mastering my tracks Without another expensive subscription And another one Here comes another one The sun just spins in circles and whistles This is the worst I've ever written with indifference ‘Fear nothing' On, the fire burns And nothing more she ever feared It only gets better from here It only get better from here It only gets better from here Still, my love burns Like a smouldering flame Here, a star was born from the ashes, Destined for fame ‘Avarita,' She called, from the caverns of lust— The curse has been broken Come dawn, from the dusk So much for purpose— Gone was the suffering; Sending smoke signals to dieties Laying beneath all the names, The labels so sacred Such secrets and fables, The table of L E G E N D S All worlds collide in collisions of conciousness, space, and time as we travel the ever-infinite multidimensions of existence as we know it… (Or—Don't.) Rules of Time Travel: Don't. First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. [VOID.]

First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. I smelled like an old, wet bandaid. My heart wasn't in it anymore—looking in the mirror for progress after nearly a month of extreme training and dieting, i could feel the difference, but not see it. Perhaps it was the result of sleeping under the white devil, or just the lack of good coffee since departing from Mexico—still, something was off about my energy, in the way that I was moving about my day to day—or, I should note, the way that I was barely moving—I seemed to be under a spell of mediocrity and apathetic listlessness, emotions and passions welling up in an uncontrollable, irritating and chaotic fury; i was lost from love. I hugged a tree in the entryway to the parking lot if the gym; it almost seemed to hug me back—and, in the broad daylight, I fought the will to lay my head down in relief, as if she had offered me a shoulder to cry all the tears that I needed; behold, however, the tears would come indeed, as I barely tried at the pectoral machine or whatever it was. After selecting Daft Punk's Discovery Album as the track for my first circuit, One Last Time bellowing into my sweaty earbuds as tears streamed down by face—without having to address it in too long, I realized I missed my son; not that it mattered. My ex husband was the evil everything that had ruined me—or rather, I was the evil thing that ruined myself by loving him. At least I was no longer nearly 400 pounds—not that it mattered. The leftovers made it impossible for me to go about my life acting as if nothing had happened; I couldn't wear almost anything without bulging and unsightly rolls. Being dark skinned might not have been so bad, as long as I could be perfect—maybe that's why every rapper bragged about fixing up girls in exchange for sex; it was too bad I wasn't attracted to black men enough to let that happened. Maybe I was supposed to have taken the bait of my brother and law while living in his home in Las Vegas—I could have had the all access pass to driving one of his three Mercedes, and maybe even lucky enough to have had my skin reduction surgery sponsored by the drug money he boastfully prided himself on, being a “business owner”. But no, I had let my own pride neglect his underhanded proposition; He couldn't fuck be, but even almost a year later, at least had the benefit of making me feel stupid for not taking advantage, obsessing over my body to a point that anyone would clearly consider unhealthy. I occasionally would look up at the screens in front of whatever machine I was working at, wondering “What the fuck am I watching?” As always, I knew if it was FX, it was assuredly something captivating—I didn't need more than its logo to be reminded of my once-obsession with Kurt Sutter's writing, demolishing Sons of Anarchy episode by episode once weekly for years, and repeatedly bing watching The Sheild until I could recite each episode word for word, and understand the happenings of any given season In Portuguese. Fuck this. For some reason, it was Rihanna's hit Only girl In the world blasting over the loud speakers after the conclusion of the Daft Punk album—that made me quit and call it a day; I had only been on the floor an hour and a half, which anyone would call a good workout, but to me it felt like giving up—like I was weak; but something about Rihanna's voice had allowed the picture of her perfect, skinny silhouette from the cover of one of her albums, or maybe a single (I didn't know, as I had never really considered myself a fan of hers, even though I could admire her vocals, and did recall with vivid conclusion cycling at least two of her hits on repeat in my high school days) but either way, I had probably always harnessed a deep disgruntlement and bitterness towards her, not simply for being about the complexion my mother constantly told me she wished I could have been, or “should” have been, but also for being so wonderously skinny—another thing my mother wished I should and could have been and always hated me for not being—though, it was true that the last time we had spoken, she commented on how perfect my figure was becoming, to which I replied cockily “I know.” But I hated everything about y figure now, and hadn't even the clothes I needed to help accentuate it; I possessed only a low-impact sports bra, which would have been a cute tube top on anyone with a body worth looking at—and a Victoria's Secret zip-up sports bra, which was falling apart and after being washed and worn to bits, was now not only too big, but also lacked almost any support at all. I felt fit, and probably was, under all the wretched skin and sagging I was sure came first handed my from Satan himself, as I was sure God was punishing me by assigning me to such an unforgivably unlovable vessel—not to say I wasn't fuckable, as I always knew I could l grab a decent enough dick and take it for a spin—but I had never seen the dopey-eyed, puppy like gaze of a man in love with a beautiful woman on me, ever, besides once—on the heavy (read: obese) light-skinned black man who I befriended at my first EDC, who clung to me for dear life and treated me like I was the light of the worlds for the duration of our friendship—-SUPACREE's first fan, a true hype man, and valuable asset during my free from Alaska; however, I never did feel the same thing for him as he did for me and was thoroughly dismissive, eventually growing apart entirely—however, if a decent looking Caucasian man had ever looked at me or treated me the same, i would know I had somehow reached my goal. I just wasn't attracted to black men—something I had been made, of course by black men, to feel ashamed of—certainly in the same way that most Caucasian men weren't really “into black girls”; probably the same thing that made all little white girls appear as demonic vampires, aside from the actual privelege and soul-sucking unawareness of any of the world's actual problems. It was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day at Equinox that I was again the Guinea pig central to some kind of secret social experiment, or worse, psychological—which meant of course I had become allures into a trap and had always been the perfect prey—still a dumb, fat, lazy and now hood-bound nigger with a taste for luxury and the wellness that had been stripped from the lower realms at all—desperate for the life I had designed for myself on my own but still trapped in some kind of hex or curse—some strange and bodiless demon always find its way next to, around or near me—anyone I liked, loved, or became close to had vanished, and I was left alone to suffer in the loveless and dark underworld without any solid way to escape. I had been fed with garbage for weeks —almost no fruits and vegetables at all, and had been without water for quite some time, my clothes were embarrassingly worn and dirty, wreaking of mildew—and now it was even worse—demons were always quick to overcome the body of any female I wished I could be— my entire life has been an nightmare, the glimpses and flashes of regression flashing through my mind— my abusive mother, my abusive husband— I was an altogether shit person, doomed to again succumb to slavery; meanwhile, the pretty and perfect bodies around me seemed not to worry, work, or care at all—I was taunted with everything I wanted and everything I loved—and it had taken me all the time I had lived to realized that I had never been loved at all. I guess I'm not ‘pure of heart' Stroke of genius, perhaps— Stroke or dark Let me stroke your cock underwater; Of course, said the God To the Goddess— m I've just aboutbhad it, Or lost it Wreaking all havoc on my mind, Or most of it I turn the whole goddamn world on a dollar And then I move on, There are so many others I hold my guitar like a body, It's a small one Like a daughter Or just someone to love me If that's what you're after, I'm honestly sorry I'm not pure of heart And nobody loves me It's been a week back at Equinox I've barely touched my decks But men fall in love with bodies, Not talent And I need somebody to love me For balance Cause I've been so out of it, I've been in ballet But this is New York, And that was Alaska. Callie whatever's music fucking sucks and she gets to open. For deadmau5. Okay, white supremacy. I get it. I quit. I don't know why I even try. It's okay. She's a little white girl. She's gonna look 40 in 5 years. Yeah, and I'm gonna have permanent lines in my head from getting fucked over by the world continually for being a fat black woman. But you still won't look 40. But I WILL be 40. But you won't LOOK it. I'm so broken and lonely I just want someone to hold me and love me But that just won't happen Love isn't for me I was just born in the wrong fucking body (No free days) I had named my new skateboard Ryder, and though it had been acquired quite by accident, it had been an instant manifestation that was somewhat unexpected, although I had explicitedly listed a new skateboard amongst the other items I had wished for in the series of spells that had would up the whole world into a strange and yet somehow better place, though of course not without its own shortcomings, and of course ultimately my own shortcomings— the spells had been working in the ways that they always did—explicitly accurate, and manifesting quickly with an unexpected twist, which would come with some sort of strange sting that didn't last long—but the lesson itself did, which was the thing that was important. I was in and out of love—of course, not all the way out of it entirely, but still bruised and burned from all that I had learned about the men I had fallen for, the the industry I had been at the very least introduced to, but still not entirely enough so that I was paid well, of course, pouting in every single sense that I would have to take a regular job at some point to smooth and jazzy, City-style modern and chic the synethetic experience / the sound of synesthesia - hard, weird, 90's sounding techno, glitch I hated Hudson Yards more than any other Equinox I had ever been to in my life—and I considered the fact that I had been to so many an achievement—I'd have never been able to afford it if I hadn't gotten on the mailing lists, awaiting the perfect time to join, eliminating the pricey initiation fee— then, something like $250, now having doubled, and all the more with an exclusive top-tier which has first excluded me from entering the Hudson Yards location at all, the actuality which had led to my eventual delay in arriving to JFK after all, though it had first been the Spirit Airlines flight delay out of LA and into Vegas to retrieve my drum machine, which now sat in yet another pawn shop in New York, and though I had at least until October to pick it up, I wasn't at all happy with any of the progress—or lack there of that I was making in music; the specifics of the curse began to unravel— and since I had once been married to a sufferably failed musician, it was more than likely his abborent energy the block which had been dellaying my eventual success—and there was an eventual success, knowing that all curses and hexes are ultimately returned to the sender at a devastatingly amplified . Though I seemed myself marked I realized it had been somrone or something all along that had allowed be back into Equinox in the first place, which was the only thing in the world I had wanted, besides food, water, and music— almost e entirely leaving love out of it, because in a sense there was this ever-present inner knowing that I could never be loved: my own child had during our last conversation regurgitated the sadness and destruction of the negative energy my ex had indudated him with—stories of dead babies and unsupervised near-death experiences where my ex husband, always reluctant to wake up, had slept through some tragedy in which my then-toddler had gotten himself into—he had slept through out eldest son's death, and of course, his over sleeping had lead to the numerous jobs he had lost over the course of our relationship, probably doomed to fail from the start but myself never having been aware of how blind becoming morbidly obsese and so drug-dependent could cause one to experience a walking death in itself—the loss of two children, the faithless, loveless My plan for the day has been to get into the sports club early with my laptop in hand, but of course, the quest for proper and balanced nutrition continued, as I had finally of course squired the protein I had been so desperately lacking, but still with the deficits of the actual energy I needed— I waxwork. Nice I awoke just before noon, only to drift back into a dream for 40 minutes or so, awaking again at 30 past the hour in a a rush and frenzy to skate to the food bank, which I had been m dreading, especially because it was my third week in a row and I knew for a fact. That threes were indeed a charm of some sort— a heavy esoteric rule that I had followed quite faithfully—so faithfully, in fact, that I always knew that true third time doing, saying, or seeing anything was a certain sign of rapid change, in one way or another, and proceeded in all with heavy caution. This also meant that it had been threee weekend since the last episode in my podcast series, and though I had thought to perhaps pawn my audio interface as well as my almost defunct MPC studi, as I was more preoccupied with improving my body so that I might find someone decent to offset the awful and horrible sexual monster that had been welling up from inside me — the reason I hated Hudson Yards the most1- mirrors and reminders, reflections of how I would never be good enough, in a sea of picture perfect Barbie dolls of all shapes and sizes— and I had nearly lost my mind and soul just by way of googling the upcoming support for the deadmau5 vs. test pilot show, very fittingly at the Brooklyn mirage and on the date which marked the anniversary of my own suicide, august 4th; and as the date grew near, I wanted more and more to try again1-to escape the horrible and awful cruel world of inequality—I hated the blackness of it all— the black slaves of Jamaica queens m a heavy contrast to the thoughtless Barbie dolls that didn't have tow work or think for anything—they were created just to have fun, lounge, party, and fuck—all of which I wanted to do but never had the chance. My entire life I had been too dark and too ugly to be pretty or adorable—and of course, my mother's scattered actions and bipolar personality, perhaps even schizophrenic tendencies which had been beaten into her by her father, rather than genetically inherited—had kept me from being good at anything. Sports, music, or anything which might have allowed me to be successful were often abandoned—my mother's temper tantrums always acting up on days which I was due to rehearsal or practice— eventually quitting because it no longer excited me, her mood swings controlling my entire destiny, and causing the uproar of anxiety and unconscious addiction that culminated in my doomed, abusive narrorator (Don't leave me like this) (From am to pm). Love,'money, party Alive fidkros The fight to keep blacks and browns in the darker and lower realms while elevating the whites and hybrid elites into ascension continues to deter the human race from true and forward evolution. "Post raciality and the silent technologically driven race war in America" -CC Stone Pollen on my lips, I love to kiss you; Missing the elliptical at Equinox A full eclipse And I've never known anything to smell to sweet as this, Just naturally I'd loved to be loved But I'm just getting famous I guess that's the trade, then A sacrifice, as if I'd not already lost my life, —Or slit my wrists Intermittent 5th dimension Tim, or what they used to call him… But he can't remember. This is major Tom, Another psalm Or poem, From Ms. Gypsy Spinning into mixes, Drifting into spiderwebs as a reminder She would write for The Times, Like the power, or a webinar She borrowed the guitar. Which then, became a gift So she dismissed him—the minister. Or who administers the medicine Of the administration Menustration , under stress of course Or as she keeps on fasting For Last Earth Seeing things? Certainly! I've been fasting, and under the influence of Dillon Francis God Dammit Hanzel Did you have to Hold her hand And have the other one Covered in Kandi On that album cover?! I can't stand it Whatever the master plan is Give me the schematics, quick So I can land a man to match with That holds a candle To that piñata Maybe I should shapeshift into Taylor Swift So I can get some dick in The right complexion… Is that too explicit? Or maybe I should just stick to Skrillex The first on my wishlist— Until Kayla Lauren (Or the other ones— And there's a lot of em; The rabbit's always on the run) Hey Allison Or Alex— Yeah, that's it I'm still an insomniac Just trying to forget that I'm black And only mildly attractive With a New New York accent And sudden onset passive aggression From the stress and pressure of synethesia And mastering my tracks Without another expensive subscription And another one Here comes another one The sun just spins in circles and whistles This is the worst I've ever written with indifference ‘Fear nothing' On, the fire burns And nothing more she ever feared It only gets better from here It only get better from here It only gets better from here Still, my love burns Like a smouldering flame Here, a star was born from the ashes, Destined for fame ‘Avarita,' She called, from the caverns of lust— The curse has been broken Come dawn, from the dusk So much for purpose— Gone was the suffering; Sending smoke signals to dieties Laying beneath all the names, The labels so sacred Such secrets and fables, The table of L E G E N D S All worlds collide in collisions of conciousness, space, and time as we travel the ever-infinite multidimensions of existence as we know it… (Or—Don't.) Rules of Time Travel: Don't. First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. [VOID]

First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. I smelled like an old, wet bandaid. My heart wasn't in it anymore—looking in the mirror for progress after nearly a month of extreme training and dieting, i could feel the difference, but not see it. Perhaps it was the result of sleeping under the white devil, or just the lack of good coffee since departing from Mexico—still, something was off about my energy, in the way that I was moving about my day to day—or, I should note, the way that I was barely moving—I seemed to be under a spell of mediocrity and apathetic listlessness, emotions and passions welling up in an uncontrollable, irritating and chaotic fury; i was lost from love. I hugged a tree in the entryway to the parking lot if the gym; it almost seemed to hug me back—and, in the broad daylight, I fought the will to lay my head down in relief, as if she had offered me a shoulder to cry all the tears that I needed; behold, however, the tears would come indeed, as I barely tried at the pectoral machine or whatever it was. After selecting Daft Punk's Discovery Album as the track for my first circuit, One Last Time bellowing into my sweaty earbuds as tears streamed down by face—without having to address it in too long, I realized I missed my son; not that it mattered. My ex husband was the evil everything that had ruined me—or rather, I was the evil thing that ruined myself by loving him. At least I was no longer nearly 400 pounds—not that it mattered. The leftovers made it impossible for me to go about my life acting as if nothing had happened; I couldn't wear almost anything without bulging and unsightly rolls. Being dark skinned might not have been so bad, as long as I could be perfect—maybe that's why every rapper bragged about fixing up girls in exchange for sex; it was too bad I wasn't attracted to black men enough to let that happened. Maybe I was supposed to have taken the bait of my brother and law while living in his home in Las Vegas—I could have had the all access pass to driving one of his three Mercedes, and maybe even lucky enough to have had my skin reduction surgery sponsored by the drug money he boastfully prided himself on, being a “business owner”. But no, I had let my own pride neglect his underhanded proposition; He couldn't fuck be, but even almost a year later, at least had the benefit of making me feel stupid for not taking advantage, obsessing over my body to a point that anyone would clearly consider unhealthy. I occasionally would look up at the screens in front of whatever machine I was working at, wondering “What the fuck am I watching?” As always, I knew if it was FX, it was assuredly something captivating—I didn't need more than its logo to be reminded of my once-obsession with Kurt Sutter's writing, demolishing Sons of Anarchy episode by episode once weekly for years, and repeatedly bing watching The Sheild until I could recite each episode word for word, and understand the happenings of any given season In Portuguese. Fuck this. For some reason, it was Rihanna's hit Only girl In the world blasting over the loud speakers after the conclusion of the Daft Punk album—that made me quit and call it a day; I had only been on the floor an hour and a half, which anyone would call a good workout, but to me it felt like giving up—like I was weak; but something about Rihanna's voice had allowed the picture of her perfect, skinny silhouette from the cover of one of her albums, or maybe a single (I didn't know, as I had never really considered myself a fan of hers, even though I could admire her vocals, and did recall with vivid conclusion cycling at least two of her hits on repeat in my high school days) but either way, I had probably always harnessed a deep disgruntlement and bitterness towards her, not simply for being about the complexion my mother constantly told me she wished I could have been, or “should” have been, but also for being so wonderously skinny—another thing my mother wished I should and could have been and always hated me for not being—though, it was true that the last time we had spoken, she commented on how perfect my figure was becoming, to which I replied cockily “I know.” But I hated everything about y figure now, and hadn't even the clothes I needed to help accentuate it; I possessed only a low-impact sports bra, which would have been a cute tube top on anyone with a body worth looking at—and a Victoria's Secret zip-up sports bra, which was falling apart and after being washed and worn to bits, was now not only too big, but also lacked almost any support at all. I felt fit, and probably was, under all the wretched skin and sagging I was sure came first handed my from Satan himself, as I was sure God was punishing me by assigning me to such an unforgivably unlovable vessel—not to say I wasn't fuckable, as I always knew I could l grab a decent enough dick and take it for a spin—but I had never seen the dopey-eyed, puppy like gaze of a man in love with a beautiful woman on me, ever, besides once—on the heavy (read: obese) light-skinned black man who I befriended at my first EDC, who clung to me for dear life and treated me like I was the light of the worlds for the duration of our friendship—-SUPACREE's first fan, a true hype man, and valuable asset during my free from Alaska; however, I never did feel the same thing for him as he did for me and was thoroughly dismissive, eventually growing apart entirely—however, if a decent looking Caucasian man had ever looked at me or treated me the same, i would know I had somehow reached my goal. I just wasn't attracted to black men—something I had been made, of course by black men, to feel ashamed of—certainly in the same way that most Caucasian men weren't really “into black girls”; probably the same thing that made all little white girls appear as demonic vampires, aside from the actual privelege and soul-sucking unawareness of any of the world's actual problems. It was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day at Equinox that I was again the Guinea pig central to some kind of secret social experiment, or worse, psychological—which meant of course I had become allures into a trap and had always been the perfect prey—still a dumb, fat, lazy and now hood-bound nigger with a taste for luxury and the wellness that had been stripped from the lower realms at all—desperate for the life I had designed for myself on my own but still trapped in some kind of hex or curse—some strange and bodiless demon always find its way next to, around or near me—anyone I liked, loved, or became close to had vanished, and I was left alone to suffer in the loveless and dark underworld without any solid way to escape. I had been fed with garbage for weeks —almost no fruits and vegetables at all, and had been without water for quite some time, my clothes were embarrassingly worn and dirty, wreaking of mildew—and now it was even worse—demons were always quick to overcome the body of any female I wished I could be— my entire life has been an nightmare, the glimpses and flashes of regression flashing through my mind— my abusive mother, my abusive husband— I was an altogether shit person, doomed to again succumb to slavery; meanwhile, the pretty and perfect bodies around me seemed not to worry, work, or care at all—I was taunted with everything I wanted and everything I loved—and it had taken me all the time I had lived to realized that I had never been loved at all. I guess I'm not ‘pure of heart' Stroke of genius, perhaps— Stroke or dark Let me stroke your cock underwater; Of course, said the God To the Goddess— m I've just aboutbhad it, Or lost it Wreaking all havoc on my mind, Or most of it I turn the whole goddamn world on a dollar And then I move on, There are so many others I hold my guitar like a body, It's a small one Like a daughter Or just someone to love me If that's what you're after, I'm honestly sorry I'm not pure of heart And nobody loves me It's been a week back at Equinox I've barely touched my decks But men fall in love with bodies, Not talent And I need somebody to love me For balance Cause I've been so out of it, I've been in ballet But this is New York, And that was Alaska. Callie whatever's music fucking sucks and she gets to open. For deadmau5. Okay, white supremacy. I get it. I quit. I don't know why I even try. It's okay. She's a little white girl. She's gonna look 40 in 5 years. Yeah, and I'm gonna have permanent lines in my head from getting fucked over by the world continually for being a fat black woman. But you still won't look 40. But I WILL be 40. But you won't LOOK it. I'm so broken and lonely I just want someone to hold me and love me But that just won't happen Love isn't for me I was just born in the wrong fucking body (No free days) I had named my new skateboard Ryder, and though it had been acquired quite by accident, it had been an instant manifestation that was somewhat unexpected, although I had explicitedly listed a new skateboard amongst the other items I had wished for in the series of spells that had would up the whole world into a strange and yet somehow better place, though of course not without its own shortcomings, and of course ultimately my own shortcomings— the spells had been working in the ways that they always did—explicitly accurate, and manifesting quickly with an unexpected twist, which would come with some sort of strange sting that didn't last long—but the lesson itself did, which was the thing that was important. I was in and out of love—of course, not all the way out of it entirely, but still bruised and burned from all that I had learned about the men I had fallen for, the the industry I had been at the very least introduced to, but still not entirely enough so that I was paid well, of course, pouting in every single sense that I would have to take a regular job at some point to smooth and jazzy, City-style modern and chic the synethetic experience / the sound of synesthesia - hard, weird, 90's sounding techno, glitch I hated Hudson Yards more than any other Equinox I had ever been to in my life—and I considered the fact that I had been to so many an achievement—I'd have never been able to afford it if I hadn't gotten on the mailing lists, awaiting the perfect time to join, eliminating the pricey initiation fee— then, something like $250, now having doubled, and all the more with an exclusive top-tier which has first excluded me from entering the Hudson Yards location at all, the actuality which had led to my eventual delay in arriving to JFK after all, though it had first been the Spirit Airlines flight delay out of LA and into Vegas to retrieve my drum machine, which now sat in yet another pawn shop in New York, and though I had at least until October to pick it up, I wasn't at all happy with any of the progress—or lack there of that I was making in music; the specifics of the curse began to unravel— and since I had once been married to a sufferably failed musician, it was more than likely his abborent energy the block which had been dellaying my eventual success—and there was an eventual success, knowing that all curses and hexes are ultimately returned to the sender at a devastatingly amplified . Though I seemed myself marked I realized it had been somrone or something all along that had allowed be back into Equinox in the first place, which was the only thing in the world I had wanted, besides food, water, and music— almost e entirely leaving love out of it, because in a sense there was this ever-present inner knowing that I could never be loved: my own child had during our last conversation regurgitated the sadness and destruction of the negative energy my ex had indudated him with—stories of dead babies and unsupervised near-death experiences where my ex husband, always reluctant to wake up, had slept through some tragedy in which my then-toddler had gotten himself into—he had slept through out eldest son's death, and of course, his over sleeping had lead to the numerous jobs he had lost over the course of our relationship, probably doomed to fail from the start but myself never having been aware of how blind becoming morbidly obsese and so drug-dependent could cause one to experience a walking death in itself—the loss of two children, the faithless, loveless My plan for the day has been to get into the sports club early with my laptop in hand, but of course, the quest for proper and balanced nutrition continued, as I had finally of course squired the protein I had been so desperately lacking, but still with the deficits of the actual energy I needed— I waxwork. Nice I awoke just before noon, only to drift back into a dream for 40 minutes or so, awaking again at 30 past the hour in a a rush and frenzy to skate to the food bank, which I had been m dreading, especially because it was my third week in a row and I knew for a fact. That threes were indeed a charm of some sort— a heavy esoteric rule that I had followed quite faithfully—so faithfully, in fact, that I always knew that true third time doing, saying, or seeing anything was a certain sign of rapid change, in one way or another, and proceeded in all with heavy caution. This also meant that it had been threee weekend since the last episode in my podcast series, and though I had thought to perhaps pawn my audio interface as well as my almost defunct MPC studi, as I was more preoccupied with improving my body so that I might find someone decent to offset the awful and horrible sexual monster that had been welling up from inside me — the reason I hated Hudson Yards the most1- mirrors and reminders, reflections of how I would never be good enough, in a sea of picture perfect Barbie dolls of all shapes and sizes— and I had nearly lost my mind and soul just by way of googling the upcoming support for the deadmau5 vs. test pilot show, very fittingly at the Brooklyn mirage and on the date which marked the anniversary of my own suicide, august 4th; and as the date grew near, I wanted more and more to try again1-to escape the horrible and awful cruel world of inequality—I hated the blackness of it all— the black slaves of Jamaica queens m a heavy contrast to the thoughtless Barbie dolls that didn't have tow work or think for anything—they were created just to have fun, lounge, party, and fuck—all of which I wanted to do but never had the chance. My entire life I had been too dark and too ugly to be pretty or adorable—and of course, my mother's scattered actions and bipolar personality, perhaps even schizophrenic tendencies which had been beaten into her by her father, rather than genetically inherited—had kept me from being good at anything. Sports, music, or anything which might have allowed me to be successful were often abandoned—my mother's temper tantrums always acting up on days which I was due to rehearsal or practice— eventually quitting because it no longer excited me, her mood swings controlling my entire destiny, and causing the uproar of anxiety and unconscious addiction that culminated in my doomed, abusive narrorator (Don't leave me like this) (From am to pm). Love,'money, party Alive fidkros The fight to keep blacks and browns in the darker and lower realms while elevating the whites and hybrid elites into ascension continues to deter the human race from true and forward evolution. "Post raciality and the silent technologically driven race war in America" -CC Stone Pollen on my lips, I love to kiss you; Missing the elliptical at Equinox A full eclipse And I've never known anything to smell to sweet as this, Just naturally I'd loved to be loved But I'm just getting famous I guess that's the trade, then A sacrifice, as if I'd not already lost my life, —Or slit my wrists Intermittent 5th dimension Tim, or what they used to call him… But he can't remember. This is major Tom, Another psalm Or poem, From Ms. Gypsy Spinning into mixes, Drifting into spiderwebs as a reminder She would write for The Times, Like the power, or a webinar She borrowed the guitar. Which then, became a gift So she dismissed him—the minister. Or who administers the medicine Of the administration Menustration , under stress of course Or as she keeps on fasting For Last Earth Seeing things? Certainly! I've been fasting, and under the influence of Dillon Francis God Dammit Hanzel Did you have to Hold her hand And have the other one Covered in Kandi On that album cover?! I can't stand it Whatever the master plan is Give me the schematics, quick So I can land a man to match with That holds a candle To that piñata Maybe I should shapeshift into Taylor Swift So I can get some dick in The right complexion… Is that too explicit? Or maybe I should just stick to Skrillex The first on my wishlist— Until Kayla Lauren (Or the other ones— And there's a lot of em; The rabbit's always on the run) Hey Allison Or Alex— Yeah, that's it I'm still an insomniac Just trying to forget that I'm black And only mildly attractive With a New New York accent And sudden onset passive aggression From the stress and pressure of synethesia And mastering my tracks Without another expensive subscription And another one Here comes another one The sun just spins in circles and whistles This is the worst I've ever written with indifference ‘Fear nothing' On, the fire burns And nothing more she ever feared It only gets better from here It only get better from here It only gets better from here Still, my love burns Like a smouldering flame Here, a star was born from the ashes, Destined for fame ‘Avarita,' She called, from the caverns of lust— The curse has been broken Come dawn, from the dusk So much for purpose— Gone was the suffering; Sending smoke signals to dieties Laying beneath all the names, The labels so sacred Such secrets and fables, The table of L E G E N D S All worlds collide in collisions of conciousness, space, and time as we travel the ever-infinite multidimensions of existence as we know it… (Or—Don't.) Rules of Time Travel: Don't. First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. [VOODOO CHILD.]

First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. I smelled like an old, wet bandaid. My heart wasn't in it anymore—looking in the mirror for progress after nearly a month of extreme training and dieting, i could feel the difference, but not see it. Perhaps it was the result of sleeping under the white devil, or just the lack of good coffee since departing from Mexico—still, something was off about my energy, in the way that I was moving about my day to day—or, I should note, the way that I was barely moving—I seemed to be under a spell of mediocrity and apathetic listlessness, emotions and passions welling up in an uncontrollable, irritating and chaotic fury; i was lost from love. I hugged a tree in the entryway to the parking lot if the gym; it almost seemed to hug me back—and, in the broad daylight, I fought the will to lay my head down in relief, as if she had offered me a shoulder to cry all the tears that I needed; behold, however, the tears would come indeed, as I barely tried at the pectoral machine or whatever it was. After selecting Daft Punk's Discovery Album as the track for my first circuit, One Last Time bellowing into my sweaty earbuds as tears streamed down by face—without having to address it in too long, I realized I missed my son; not that it mattered. My ex husband was the evil everything that had ruined me—or rather, I was the evil thing that ruined myself by loving him. At least I was no longer nearly 400 pounds—not that it mattered. The leftovers made it impossible for me to go about my life acting as if nothing had happened; I couldn't wear almost anything without bulging and unsightly rolls. Being dark skinned might not have been so bad, as long as I could be perfect—maybe that's why every rapper bragged about fixing up girls in exchange for sex; it was too bad I wasn't attracted to black men enough to let that happened. Maybe I was supposed to have taken the bait of my brother and law while living in his home in Las Vegas—I could have had the all access pass to driving one of his three Mercedes, and maybe even lucky enough to have had my skin reduction surgery sponsored by the drug money he boastfully prided himself on, being a “business owner”. But no, I had let my own pride neglect his underhanded proposition; He couldn't fuck be, but even almost a year later, at least had the benefit of making me feel stupid for not taking advantage, obsessing over my body to a point that anyone would clearly consider unhealthy. I occasionally would look up at the screens in front of whatever machine I was working at, wondering “What the fuck am I watching?” As always, I knew if it was FX, it was assuredly something captivating—I didn't need more than its logo to be reminded of my once-obsession with Kurt Sutter's writing, demolishing Sons of Anarchy episode by episode once weekly for years, and repeatedly bing watching The Sheild until I could recite each episode word for word, and understand the happenings of any given season In Portuguese. Fuck this. For some reason, it was Rihanna's hit Only girl In the world blasting over the loud speakers after the conclusion of the Daft Punk album—that made me quit and call it a day; I had only been on the floor an hour and a half, which anyone would call a good workout, but to me it felt like giving up—like I was weak; but something about Rihanna's voice had allowed the picture of her perfect, skinny silhouette from the cover of one of her albums, or maybe a single (I didn't know, as I had never really considered myself a fan of hers, even though I could admire her vocals, and did recall with vivid conclusion cycling at least two of her hits on repeat in my high school days) but either way, I had probably always harnessed a deep disgruntlement and bitterness towards her, not simply for being about the complexion my mother constantly told me she wished I could have been, or “should” have been, but also for being so wonderously skinny—another thing my mother wished I should and could have been and always hated me for not being—though, it was true that the last time we had spoken, she commented on how perfect my figure was becoming, to which I replied cockily “I know.” But I hated everything about y figure now, and hadn't even the clothes I needed to help accentuate it; I possessed only a low-impact sports bra, which would have been a cute tube top on anyone with a body worth looking at—and a Victoria's Secret zip-up sports bra, which was falling apart and after being washed and worn to bits, was now not only too big, but also lacked almost any support at all. I felt fit, and probably was, under all the wretched skin and sagging I was sure came first handed my from Satan himself, as I was sure God was punishing me by assigning me to such an unforgivably unlovable vessel—not to say I wasn't fuckable, as I always knew I could l grab a decent enough dick and take it for a spin—but I had never seen the dopey-eyed, puppy like gaze of a man in love with a beautiful woman on me, ever, besides once—on the heavy (read: obese) light-skinned black man who I befriended at my first EDC, who clung to me for dear life and treated me like I was the light of the worlds for the duration of our friendship—-SUPACREE's first fan, a true hype man, and valuable asset during my free from Alaska; however, I never did feel the same thing for him as he did for me and was thoroughly dismissive, eventually growing apart entirely—however, if a decent looking Caucasian man had ever looked at me or treated me the same, i would know I had somehow reached my goal. I just wasn't attracted to black men—something I had been made, of course by black men, to feel ashamed of—certainly in the same way that most Caucasian men weren't really “into black girls”; probably the same thing that made all little white girls appear as demonic vampires, aside from the actual privelege and soul-sucking unawareness of any of the world's actual problems. It was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day at Equinox that I was again the Guinea pig central to some kind of secret social experiment, or worse, psychological—which meant of course I had become allures into a trap and had always been the perfect prey—still a dumb, fat, lazy and now hood-bound nigger with a taste for luxury and the wellness that had been stripped from the lower realms at all—desperate for the life I had designed for myself on my own but still trapped in some kind of hex or curse—some strange and bodiless demon always find its way next to, around or near me—anyone I liked, loved, or became close to had vanished, and I was left alone to suffer in the loveless and dark underworld without any solid way to escape. I had been fed with garbage for weeks —almost no fruits and vegetables at all, and had been without water for quite some time, my clothes were embarrassingly worn and dirty, wreaking of mildew—and now it was even worse—demons were always quick to overcome the body of any female I wished I could be— my entire life has been an nightmare, the glimpses and flashes of regression flashing through my mind— my abusive mother, my abusive husband— I was an altogether shit person, doomed to again succumb to slavery; meanwhile, the pretty and perfect bodies around me seemed not to worry, work, or care at all—I was taunted with everything I wanted and everything I loved—and it had taken me all the time I had lived to realized that I had never been loved at all. I guess I'm not ‘pure of heart' Stroke of genius, perhaps— Stroke or dark Let me stroke your cock underwater; Of course, said the God To the Goddess— m I've just aboutbhad it, Or lost it Wreaking all havoc on my mind, Or most of it I turn the whole goddamn world on a dollar And then I move on, There are so many others I hold my guitar like a body, It's a small one Like a daughter Or just someone to love me If that's what you're after, I'm honestly sorry I'm not pure of heart And nobody loves me It's been a week back at Equinox I've barely touched my decks But men fall in love with bodies, Not talent And I need somebody to love me For balance Cause I've been so out of it, I've been in ballet But this is New York, And that was Alaska. Callie whatever's music fucking sucks and she gets to open. For deadmau5. Okay, white supremacy. I get it. I quit. I don't know why I even try. It's okay. She's a little white girl. She's gonna look 40 in 5 years. Yeah, and I'm gonna have permanent lines in my head from getting fucked over by the world continually for being a fat black woman. But you still won't look 40. But I WILL be 40. But you won't LOOK it. I'm so broken and lonely I just want someone to hold me and love me But that just won't happen Love isn't for me I was just born in the wrong fucking body (No free days) I had named my new skateboard Ryder, and though it had been acquired quite by accident, it had been an instant manifestation that was somewhat unexpected, although I had explicitedly listed a new skateboard amongst the other items I had wished for in the series of spells that had would up the whole world into a strange and yet somehow better place, though of course not without its own shortcomings, and of course ultimately my own shortcomings— the spells had been working in the ways that they always did—explicitly accurate, and manifesting quickly with an unexpected twist, which would come with some sort of strange sting that didn't last long—but the lesson itself did, which was the thing that was important. I was in and out of love—of course, not all the way out of it entirely, but still bruised and burned from all that I had learned about the men I had fallen for, the the industry I had been at the very least introduced to, but still not entirely enough so that I was paid well, of course, pouting in every single sense that I would have to take a regular job at some point to smooth and jazzy, City-style modern and chic the synethetic experience / the sound of synesthesia - hard, weird, 90's sounding techno, glitch I hated Hudson Yards more than any other Equinox I had ever been to in my life—and I considered the fact that I had been to so many an achievement—I'd have never been able to afford it if I hadn't gotten on the mailing lists, awaiting the perfect time to join, eliminating the pricey initiation fee— then, something like $250, now having doubled, and all the more with an exclusive top-tier which has first excluded me from entering the Hudson Yards location at all, the actuality which had led to my eventual delay in arriving to JFK after all, though it had first been the Spirit Airlines flight delay out of LA and into Vegas to retrieve my drum machine, which now sat in yet another pawn shop in New York, and though I had at least until October to pick it up, I wasn't at all happy with any of the progress—or lack there of that I was making in music; the specifics of the curse began to unravel— and since I had once been married to a sufferably failed musician, it was more than likely his abborent energy the block which had been dellaying my eventual success—and there was an eventual success, knowing that all curses and hexes are ultimately returned to the sender at a devastatingly amplified . Though I seemed myself marked I realized it had been somrone or something all along that had allowed be back into Equinox in the first place, which was the only thing in the world I had wanted, besides food, water, and music— almost e entirely leaving love out of it, because in a sense there was this ever-present inner knowing that I could never be loved: my own child had during our last conversation regurgitated the sadness and destruction of the negative energy my ex had indudated him with—stories of dead babies and unsupervised near-death experiences where my ex husband, always reluctant to wake up, had slept through some tragedy in which my then-toddler had gotten himself into—he had slept through out eldest son's death, and of course, his over sleeping had lead to the numerous jobs he had lost over the course of our relationship, probably doomed to fail from the start but myself never having been aware of how blind becoming morbidly obsese and so drug-dependent could cause one to experience a walking death in itself—the loss of two children, the faithless, loveless My plan for the day has been to get into the sports club early with my laptop in hand, but of course, the quest for proper and balanced nutrition continued, as I had finally of course squired the protein I had been so desperately lacking, but still with the deficits of the actual energy I needed— I waxwork. Nice I awoke just before noon, only to drift back into a dream for 40 minutes or so, awaking again at 30 past the hour in a a rush and frenzy to skate to the food bank, which I had been m dreading, especially because it was my third week in a row and I knew for a fact. That threes were indeed a charm of some sort— a heavy esoteric rule that I had followed quite faithfully—so faithfully, in fact, that I always knew that true third time doing, saying, or seeing anything was a certain sign of rapid change, in one way or another, and proceeded in all with heavy caution. This also meant that it had been threee weekend since the last episode in my podcast series, and though I had thought to perhaps pawn my audio interface as well as my almost defunct MPC studi, as I was more preoccupied with improving my body so that I might find someone decent to offset the awful and horrible sexual monster that had been welling up from inside me — the reason I hated Hudson Yards the most1- mirrors and reminders, reflections of how I would never be good enough, in a sea of picture perfect Barbie dolls of all shapes and sizes— and I had nearly lost my mind and soul just by way of googling the upcoming support for the deadmau5 vs. test pilot show, very fittingly at the Brooklyn mirage and on the date which marked the anniversary of my own suicide, august 4th; and as the date grew near, I wanted more and more to try again1-to escape the horrible and awful cruel world of inequality—I hated the blackness of it all— the black slaves of Jamaica queens m a heavy contrast to the thoughtless Barbie dolls that didn't have tow work or think for anything—they were created just to have fun, lounge, party, and fuck—all of which I wanted to do but never had the chance. My entire life I had been too dark and too ugly to be pretty or adorable—and of course, my mother's scattered actions and bipolar personality, perhaps even schizophrenic tendencies which had been beaten into her by her father, rather than genetically inherited—had kept me from being good at anything. Sports, music, or anything which might have allowed me to be successful were often abandoned—my mother's temper tantrums always acting up on days which I was due to rehearsal or practice— eventually quitting because it no longer excited me, her mood swings controlling my entire destiny, and causing the uproar of anxiety and unconscious addiction that culminated in my doomed, abusive narrorator (Don't leave me like this) (From am to pm). Love,'money, party Alive fidkros The fight to keep blacks and browns in the darker and lower realms while elevating the whites and hybrid elites into ascension continues to deter the human race from true and forward evolution. "Post raciality and the silent technologically driven race war in America" -CC Stone Pollen on my lips, I love to kiss you; Missing the elliptical at Equinox A full eclipse And I've never known anything to smell to sweet as this, Just naturally I'd loved to be loved But I'm just getting famous I guess that's the trade, then A sacrifice, as if I'd not already lost my life, —Or slit my wrists Intermittent 5th dimension Tim, or what they used to call him… But he can't remember. This is major Tom, Another psalm Or poem, From Ms. Gypsy Spinning into mixes, Drifting into spiderwebs as a reminder She would write for The Times, Like the power, or a webinar She borrowed the guitar. Which then, became a gift So she dismissed him—the minister. Or who administers the medicine Of the administration Menustration , under stress of course Or as she keeps on fasting For Last Earth Seeing things? Certainly! I've been fasting, and under the influence of Dillon Francis God Dammit Hanzel Did you have to Hold her hand And have the other one Covered in Kandi On that album cover?! I can't stand it Whatever the master plan is Give me the schematics, quick So I can land a man to match with That holds a candle To that piñata Maybe I should shapeshift into Taylor Swift So I can get some dick in The right complexion… Is that too explicit? Or maybe I should just stick to Skrillex The first on my wishlist— Until Kayla Lauren (Or the other ones— And there's a lot of em; The rabbit's always on the run) Hey Allison Or Alex— Yeah, that's it I'm still an insomniac Just trying to forget that I'm black And only mildly attractive With a New New York accent And sudden onset passive aggression From the stress and pressure of synethesia And mastering my tracks Without another expensive subscription And another one Here comes another one The sun just spins in circles and whistles This is the worst I've ever written with indifference ‘Fear nothing' On, the fire burns And nothing more she ever feared It only gets better from here It only get better from here It only gets better from here Still, my love burns Like a smouldering flame Here, a star was born from the ashes, Destined for fame ‘Avarita,' She called, from the caverns of lust— The curse has been broken Come dawn, from the dusk So much for purpose— Gone was the suffering; Sending smoke signals to dieties Laying beneath all the names, The labels so sacred Such secrets and fables, The table of L E G E N D S All worlds collide in collisions of conciousness, space, and time as we travel the ever-infinite multidimensions of existence as we know it… (Or—Don't.) Rules of Time Travel: Don't. First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. I smelled like an old, wet bandaid. My heart wasn't in it anymore—looking in the mirror for progress after nearly a month of extreme training and dieting, i could feel the difference, but not see it. Perhaps it was the result of sleeping under the white devil, or just the lack of good coffee since departing from Mexico—still, something was off about my energy, in the way that I was moving about my day to day—or, I should note, the way that I was barely moving—I seemed to be under a spell of mediocrity and apathetic listlessness, emotions and passions welling up in an uncontrollable, irritating and chaotic fury; i was lost from love. I hugged a tree in the entryway to the parking lot if the gym; it almost seemed to hug me back—and, in the broad daylight, I fought the will to lay my head down in relief, as if she had offered me a shoulder to cry all the tears that I needed; behold, however, the tears would come indeed, as I barely tried at the pectoral machine or whatever it was. After selecting Daft Punk's Discovery Album as the track for my first circuit, One Last Time bellowing into my sweaty earbuds as tears streamed down by face—without having to address it in too long, I realized I missed my son; not that it mattered. My ex husband was the evil everything that had ruined me—or rather, I was the evil thing that ruined myself by loving him. At least I was no longer nearly 400 pounds—not that it mattered. The leftovers made it impossible for me to go about my life acting as if nothing had happened; I couldn't wear almost anything without bulging and unsightly rolls. Being dark skinned might not have been so bad, as long as I could be perfect—maybe that's why every rapper bragged about fixing up girls in exchange for sex; it was too bad I wasn't attracted to black men enough to let that happened. Maybe I was supposed to have taken the bait of my brother and law while living in his home in Las Vegas—I could have had the all access pass to driving one of his three Mercedes, and maybe even lucky enough to have had my skin reduction surgery sponsored by the drug money he boastfully prided himself on, being a “business owner”. But no, I had let my own pride neglect his underhanded proposition; He couldn't fuck be, but even almost a year later, at least had the benefit of making me feel stupid for not taking advantage, obsessing over my body to a point that anyone would clearly consider unhealthy. I occasionally would look up at the screens in front of whatever machine I was working at, wondering “What the fuck am I watching?” As always, I knew if it was FX, it was assuredly something captivating—I didn't need more than its logo to be reminded of my once-obsession with Kurt Sutter's writing, demolishing Sons of Anarchy episode by episode once weekly for years, and repeatedly bing watching The Sheild until I could recite each episode word for word, and understand the happenings of any given season In Portuguese. Fuck this. For some reason, it was Rihanna's hit Only girl In the world blasting over the loud speakers after the conclusion of the Daft Punk album—that made me quit and call it a day; I had only been on the floor an hour and a half, which anyone would call a good workout, but to me it felt like giving up—like I was weak; but something about Rihanna's voice had allowed the picture of her perfect, skinny silhouette from the cover of one of her albums, or maybe a single (I didn't know, as I had never really considered myself a fan of hers, even though I could admire her vocals, and did recall with vivid conclusion cycling at least two of her hits on repeat in my high school days) but either way, I had probably always harnessed a deep disgruntlement and bitterness towards her, not simply for being about the complexion my mother constantly told me she wished I could have been, or “should” have been, but also for being so wonderously skinny—another thing my mother wished I should and could have been and always hated me for not being—though, it was true that the last time we had spoken, she commented on how perfect my figure was becoming, to which I replied cockily “I know.” But I hated everything about y figure now, and hadn't even the clothes I needed to help accentuate it; I possessed only a low-impact sports bra, which would have been a cute tube top on anyone with a body worth looking at—and a Victoria's Secret zip-up sports bra, which was falling apart and after being washed and worn to bits, was now not only too big, but also lacked almost any support at all. I felt fit, and probably was, under all the wretched skin and sagging I was sure came first handed my from Satan himself, as I was sure God was punishing me by assigning me to such an unforgivably unlovable vessel—not to say I wasn't fuckable, as I always knew I could l grab a decent enough dick and take it for a spin—but I had never seen the dopey-eyed, puppy like gaze of a man in love with a beautiful woman on me, ever, besides once—on the heavy (read: obese) light-skinned black man who I befriended at my first EDC, who clung to me for dear life and treated me like I was the light of the worlds for the duration of our friendship—-SUPACREE's first fan, a true hype man, and valuable asset during my free from Alaska; however, I never did feel the same thing for him as he did for me and was thoroughly dismissive, eventually growing apart entirely—however, if a decent looking Caucasian man had ever looked at me or treated me the same, i would know I had somehow reached my goal. I just wasn't attracted to black men—something I had been made, of course by black men, to feel ashamed of—certainly in the same way that most Caucasian men weren't really “into black girls”; probably the same thing that made all little white girls appear as demonic vampires, aside from the actual privelege and soul-sucking unawareness of any of the world's actual problems. It was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day at Equinox that I was again the Guinea pig central to some kind of secret social experiment, or worse, psychological—which meant of course I had become allures into a trap and had always been the perfect prey—still a dumb, fat, lazy and now hood-bound nigger with a taste for luxury and the wellness that had been stripped from the lower realms at all—desperate for the life I had designed for myself on my own but still trapped in some kind of hex or curse—some strange and bodiless demon always find its way next to, around or near me—anyone I liked, loved, or became close to had vanished, and I was left alone to suffer in the loveless and dark underworld without any solid way to escape. I had been fed with garbage for weeks —almost no fruits and vegetables at all, and had been without water for quite some time, my clothes were embarrassingly worn and dirty, wreaking of mildew—and now it was even worse—demons were always quick to overcome the body of any female I wished I could be— my entire life has been an nightmare, the glimpses and flashes of regression flashing through my mind— my abusive mother, my abusive husband— I was an altogether shit person, doomed to again succumb to slavery; meanwhile, the pretty and perfect bodies around me seemed not to worry, work, or care at all—I was taunted with everything I wanted and everything I loved—and it had taken me all the time I had lived to realized that I had never been loved at all. I guess I'm not ‘pure of heart' Stroke of genius, perhaps— Stroke or dark Let me stroke your cock underwater; Of course, said the God To the Goddess— m I've just aboutbhad it, Or lost it Wreaking all havoc on my mind, Or most of it I turn the whole goddamn world on a dollar And then I move on, There are so many others I hold my guitar like a body, It's a small one Like a daughter Or just someone to love me If that's what you're after, I'm honestly sorry I'm not pure of heart And nobody loves me It's been a week back at Equinox I've barely touched my decks But men fall in love with bodies, Not talent And I need somebody to love me For balance Cause I've been so out of it, I've been in ballet But this is New York, And that was Alaska. Callie whatever's music fucking sucks and she gets to open. For deadmau5. Okay, white supremacy. I get it. I quit. I don't know why I even try. It's okay. She's a little white girl. She's gonna look 40 in 5 years. Yeah, and I'm gonna have permanent lines in my head from getting fucked over by the world continually for being a fat black woman. But you still won't look 40. But I WILL be 40. But you won't LOOK it. I'm so broken and lonely I just want someone to hold me and love me But that just won't happen Love isn't for me I was just born in the wrong fucking body (No free days) I had named my new skateboard Ryder, and though it had been acquired quite by accident, it had been an instant manifestation that was somewhat unexpected, although I had explicitedly listed a new skateboard amongst the other items I had wished for in the series of spells that had would up the whole world into a strange and yet somehow better place, though of course not without its own shortcomings, and of course ultimately my own shortcomings— the spells had been working in the ways that they always did—explicitly accurate, and manifesting quickly with an unexpected twist, which would come with some sort of strange sting that didn't last long—but the lesson itself did, which was the thing that was important. I was in and out of love—of course, not all the way out of it entirely, but still bruised and burned from all that I had learned about the men I had fallen for, the the industry I had been at the very least introduced to, but still not entirely enough so that I was paid well, of course, pouting in every single sense that I would have to take a regular job at some point to smooth and jazzy, City-style modern and chic the synethetic experience / the sound of synesthesia - hard, weird, 90's sounding techno, glitch I hated Hudson Yards more than any other Equinox I had ever been to in my life—and I considered the fact that I had been to so many an achievement—I'd have never been able to afford it if I hadn't gotten on the mailing lists, awaiting the perfect time to join, eliminating the pricey initiation fee— then, something like $250, now having doubled, and all the more with an exclusive top-tier which has first excluded me from entering the Hudson Yards location at all, the actuality which had led to my eventual delay in arriving to JFK after all, though it had first been the Spirit Airlines flight delay out of LA and into Vegas to retrieve my drum machine, which now sat in yet another pawn shop in New York, and though I had at least until October to pick it up, I wasn't at all happy with any of the progress—or lack there of that I was making in music; the specifics of the curse began to unravel— and since I had once been married to a sufferably failed musician, it was more than likely his abborent energy the block which had been dellaying my eventual success—and there was an eventual success, knowing that all curses and hexes are ultimately returned to the sender at a devastatingly amplified . Though I seemed myself marked I realized it had been somrone or something all along that had allowed be back into Equinox in the first place, which was the only thing in the world I had wanted, besides food, water, and music— almost e entirely leaving love out of it, because in a sense there was this ever-present inner knowing that I could never be loved: my own child had during our last conversation regurgitated the sadness and destruction of the negative energy my ex had indudated him with—stories of dead babies and unsupervised near-death experiences where my ex husband, always reluctant to wake up, had slept through some tragedy in which my then-toddler had gotten himself into—he had slept through out eldest son's death, and of course, his over sleeping had lead to the numerous jobs he had lost over the course of our relationship, probably doomed to fail from the start but myself never having been aware of how blind becoming morbidly obsese and so drug-dependent could cause one to experience a walking death in itself—the loss of two children, the faithless, loveless My plan for the day has been to get into the sports club early with my laptop in hand, but of course, the quest for proper and balanced nutrition continued, as I had finally of course squired the protein I had been so desperately lacking, but still with the deficits of the actual energy I needed— I waxwork. Nice I awoke just before noon, only to drift back into a dream for 40 minutes or so, awaking again at 30 past the hour in a a rush and frenzy to skate to the food bank, which I had been m dreading, especially because it was my third week in a row and I knew for a fact. That threes were indeed a charm of some sort— a heavy esoteric rule that I had followed quite faithfully—so faithfully, in fact, that I always knew that true third time doing, saying, or seeing anything was a certain sign of rapid change, in one way or another, and proceeded in all with heavy caution. This also meant that it had been threee weekend since the last episode in my podcast series, and though I had thought to perhaps pawn my audio interface as well as my almost defunct MPC studi, as I was more preoccupied with improving my body so that I might find someone decent to offset the awful and horrible sexual monster that had been welling up from inside me — the reason I hated Hudson Yards the most1- mirrors and reminders, reflections of how I would never be good enough, in a sea of picture perfect Barbie dolls of all shapes and sizes— and I had nearly lost my mind and soul just by way of googling the upcoming support for the deadmau5 vs. test pilot show, very fittingly at the Brooklyn mirage and on the date which marked the anniversary of my own suicide, august 4th; and as the date grew near, I wanted more and more to try again1-to escape the horrible and awful cruel world of inequality—I hated the blackness of it all— the black slaves of Jamaica queens m a heavy contrast to the thoughtless Barbie dolls that didn't have tow work or think for anything—they were created just to have fun, lounge, party, and fuck—all of which I wanted to do but never had the chance. My entire life I had been too dark and too ugly to be pretty or adorable—and of course, my mother's scattered actions and bipolar personality, perhaps even schizophrenic tendencies which had been beaten into her by her father, rather than genetically inherited—had kept me from being good at anything. Sports, music, or anything which might have allowed me to be successful were often abandoned—my mother's temper tantrums always acting up on days which I was due to rehearsal or practice— eventually quitting because it no longer excited me, her mood swings controlling my entire destiny, and causing the uproar of anxiety and unconscious addiction that culminated in my doomed, abusive narrorator (Don't leave me like this) (From am to pm). Love,'money, party Alive fidkros The fight to keep blacks and browns in the darker and lower realms while elevating the whites and hybrid elites into ascension continues to deter the human race from true and forward evolution. "Post raciality and the silent technologically driven race war in America" -CC Stone Pollen on my lips, I love to kiss you; Missing the elliptical at Equinox A full eclipse And I've never known anything to smell to sweet as this, Just naturally I'd loved to be loved But I'm just getting famous I guess that's the trade, then A sacrifice, as if I'd not already lost my life, —Or slit my wrists Intermittent 5th dimension Tim, or what they used to call him… But he can't remember. This is major Tom, Another psalm Or poem, From Ms. Gypsy Spinning into mixes, Drifting into spiderwebs as a reminder She would write for The Times, Like the power, or a webinar She borrowed the guitar. Which then, became a gift So she dismissed him—the minister. Or who administers the medicine Of the administration Menustration , under stress of course Or as she keeps on fasting For Last Earth Seeing things? Certainly! I've been fasting, and under the influence of Dillon Francis God Dammit Hanzel Did you have to Hold her hand And have the other one Covered in Kandi On that album cover?! I can't stand it Whatever the master plan is Give me the schematics, quick So I can land a man to match with That holds a candle To that piñata Maybe I should shapeshift into Taylor Swift So I can get some dick in The right complexion… Is that too explicit? Or maybe I should just stick to Skrillex The first on my wishlist— Until Kayla Lauren (Or the other ones— And there's a lot of em; The rabbit's always on the run) Hey Allison Or Alex— Yeah, that's it I'm still an insomniac Just trying to forget that I'm black And only mildly attractive With a New New York accent And sudden onset passive aggression From the stress and pressure of synethesia And mastering my tracks Without another expensive subscription And another one Here comes another one The sun just spins in circles and whistles This is the worst I've ever written with indifference ‘Fear nothing' On, the fire burns And nothing more she ever feared It only gets better from here It only get better from here It only gets better from here Still, my love burns Like a smouldering flame Here, a star was born from the ashes, Destined for fame ‘Avarita,' She called, from the caverns of lust— The curse has been broken Come dawn, from the dusk So much for purpose— Gone was the suffering; Sending smoke signals to dieties Laying beneath all the names, The labels so sacred Such secrets and fables, The table of L E G E N D S All worlds collide in collisions of conciousness, space, and time as we travel the ever-infinite multidimensions of existence as we know it… (Or—Don't.) Rules of Time Travel: Don't. First rule of inter dimensional time traveling… DON'T. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Welcome to the Instant Trivia podcast episode 1095, where we ask the best trivia on the Internet. Round 1. Category: Beastly Literary Characters 1: The title character of this 19th c. tale had "a pretty white star on my forehead. I was thought very handsome". Black Beauty. 2: In the original Pinocchio story, the guy given this name in the movie is just called the talking cricket. Jiminy Cricket. 3: In a tale by Beatrix Potter, Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca are "two bad" these rodents. mice. 4: She is Harry Potter's pet owl and airmail delivery system. Hedwig. 5: Polynesia is the parrot who teaches this title physician how to talk to the animals. Dr. Dolittle. Round 2. Category: Everyone'S Taking Sides 1: In Mexican cuisine, these are refried and served as a side dish. beans. 2: Croutons or bread crumbs can be used to make this traditional Thanksgiving side dish. stuffing. 3: Simmer ground hominy in milk or water to make this Southern side dish. grits. 4: We're at liberty to tell you that during WWI this German side dish was known in the U.S. as Liberty cabbage. sauerkraut. 5: Tzatziki is a Greek side dish made with cucumbers and this fermented milk product. yogurt. Round 3. Category: Foreign Relations 1: In Swedish a brorsdotter is this. niece. 2: In French a frere is this, whether in the monastery or the family. brother. 3: Depending on where you are speaking Spanish, this relative could be a nana or an abuela. grandmother. 4: This older relative is a grosstante in German. great-aunt. 5: In Portuguese irma means this and cidade irma is this kind of city. sister. Round 4. Category: World Currency 1: In 2018 its pres. Erdogan urged his people to take euros and dollars from under their pillows and convert them to the native lira. Turkey. 2: The name of this Maltese currency comes from the Latin libra, meaning "pound". lira. 3: In December 1995 Venezuela devalued by 41% this currency named for its liberator. bolívar. 4: In England, paper bills of this monetary unit come in denominations of 5, 10, 20 and 50. pounds. 5: After the U.S. pulled out of the 2015 nuclear deal with this country in 2018, its currency plunged. Iran. Round 5. Category: To Donuts 1: "The Donut" by Michael Krondl says the treat became popular with this profession back when all-night food options were few. policemen. 2: Milk and powdered sugar are Mark Bittman's 2 ingredients for this 5-letter substance that covers many a Krispy Kreme donut. glaze. 3: In Israel, jelly donuts are the traditional food during this winter holiday. Hanukkah. 4: Your basic donut shop donut is made with yeast; this crispy type named for a different treat uses baking powder. a cake donut. 5: The doughboys of the WWI U.S. Army were grateful for the "Donut Lassies" of this "Army". the Salvation Army. Thanks for listening! Come back tomorrow for more exciting trivia!Special thanks to https://blog.feedspot.com/trivia_podcasts/ AI Voices used

Join Squidge and VTuber Alyxa the Kitsune as they embark on a hilarious journey through the world of Metal Gear Solid. With Alyxa's unexpected reactions and heartfelt connections to the game's characters, combined with Squidge's relatable frustrations and comedic banter, this episode offers a fresh and entertaining take on the iconic game. From explosive surprises to brainstorming a kid-friendly version of Metal Gear Solid, this episode is a laugh-out-loud gaming adventure that will leave you wanting more.Remember that you can always get in touch with us on our Facebook page, on Twitter, or with our Contact page.Show NotesBecause he started us off last time (and even though he was the guest for this one), Squidge introduced the episode and the idea behind it:Waffling Taylor's Lite: the pocket size podcast that packs a gaming punch.In this serving of byte sized banter with a side of gaming goodness. We catch up with Alyxa the kitsune about Metal Gear Solid for the PS One.Take it away, guys— SquidgeThe WT Lite series of episodes will be peppered in alongside the "standard" episodes, so keep an eye out for them. These episodes allow us to focus specifically on a specific game or series, and really focus on our guest's thoughts. And after a brief discussion on Metal Gear memes - nanomachines, son! - Squidge wanted to know about Alyxa the Kitsune:So, hi, my name is Alyxa.I am a voice actress. I haven't done a lot of voice acting stuff, though. In Portuguese, by the way. European Portuguese. Not in the thick of Brazilian Portuguese. I'm also a VTube streamer on twitch. I go by Alyxa the Kitsune - that's A-L-Y-X-A underscore T-H-E underscore K-I-T-S-U-N-E. Okay. I was trying to see if I had forgotten any letters. I did not.And I actually started streaming. My first stream was actually playing Metal Gear Solid. And it also created, like, this funny nickname among my followers, which is Glitter Fox.— AlyxaThere's So Much StoryFor his first question, Squidge wanted to know whether Alyxa was ready for the sheer amount of story involved in Metal Gear Solid.I was a bit, because my boyfriend played the games, like, way before I started playing them.I'm playing the whole series for the first time in my life. I've never previously played anything Metal Gear Solid related. I knew some memes, that's all I know. The extremely famous and extremely overused alert sound.But I will never forget that there was this one time when I was having a very anxious moment of thinking, "oh, well, is anything even worth it in life?" And my boyfriend is actually like, "there's this video game series that I really like, and this character actually says something like this," and I'm pretty sure he was talking about Metal Gear Solid Two. I'm pretty sure he was talking about Metal Gear Solid Two, now that I think about it. And just a few months ago, he decided to replay the whole series again. And I was like, "okay, but I really need to understand, why does he like Metal Gear Solid so much?" And so that's how I decided to play the games.So I was a bit ready for the amount of story and information that was going to be dumped on me. I was not ready for the extreme amount of information that was going to be dumped on me. Yeah, the lore is quite extensive, especially because when he was playing, I wasn't paying that much attention, so I couldn't really like I was picking this and that and that information over there, but really basically almost nothing.But then I started playing, I was like, "oh, that is a lot. That is a lot."— AlyxaWhose The Best On Shadow Moses?There are quite a lot of characters in Metal Gear Solid, and almost all of them interact with Snake whilst he is on Shadow Moses Island. So Squidge's question was: who is Alyxa's favourite character?You gave me, like, a week to think about this, and it's still hard to choose just one character.So imagine if this was, like, about the whole series and not just the first game. I would be like, "I don't know. I would need a month think, at the very least," because every single character has something that's I wouldn't say, like, lovable about them. Like, not all of them are lovable. I mean, you got [Revolver] Ocelot, for crying out loud....But everyone has something so interesting about them.Like, I love Mei Ling and all the Chinese sayings that she has that are also connected to things that we have to do and that we should do.I also love Sniper Wolf because I cried when Sniper Wolf died. I cried when she died, and I was not expecting that. I saw my boyfriend playing, like, the whole first game, and I was like, "okay, Sniper Wolf died." But when I played it, it hurts. Because when she was talking about her past and how she suffered, I'm like, "I was not ready for this. I was not."And then there's Otakon. He kind of sounds like the comic relief, which is also good, but I don't know, there's something so enduring about him.— AlyxaFull Show NotesCheck out the full show notes for the full list of Squidge's questions, some extra stuff, and some links to related things.What's your most memorable 'Snake' moment in Metal Gear Solid? If you could recruit any character from the Metal Gear Solid universe as your real-life espionage partner, who would it be and why? In true Metal Gear Solid fashion, let's hear your best codec call impression! Dial in with your own hilarious codec conversation. Let us know!Let us know on Discord, Twitter, Facebook, or try our brand-new contact page.And have you left us a rating or review? We really like to hear back from listeners about our show, so check out https://wafflingtaylors.rocks/our-podcast/ for links to services where you can leave us some wonderful feedback.The Waffling Taylors is a proud member of Jay and Jay Media. If you like this episode, please consider supporting our Podcasting Network. One $3 donation provides a week of hosting for all of our shows. You can support this show, and the others like it, at https://ko-fi.com/jayandjaymedia ★ Support this podcast ★

Summary: Even though rattlesnakes are only found in the New World, there are a plethora of cool species. Join Kiersten as she take a few close up looks at some wicked cool rattlesnakes.   For my hearing impaired listeners, a complete transcript of this podcast follows the show notes on Podbean   Show Notes: America's Snake: The Rise and Fall of the Timber Rattlesnake by Ted Levin Rattlesnake: Portrait of a Predator by Manny Russo https://www.savethebuzztails.org https://waterlandlife.org https://www.fws.gov/specis/eastern-massasauga https://www.desertmuseum.org https://www.floridamuseum.ufl.edu Music written and performed by Katherine Camp   Transcript  Kiersten - This is Ten Things I Like About…a ten minute, ten episode podcast about unknown or misunderstood wildlife. (Piano music stops) Welcome to Ten Things I Like About… I'm Kiersten, your host, and this is a podcast about misunderstood or unknown creatures in nature. Some we'll find right out side our doors and some are continents away but all are fascinating.  This podcast will focus ten, ten minute episodes on different animals and their amazing characteristics. Please join me on this extraordinary journey, you won't regret it. This episode continues rattlesnakes and the second thing I like about this astounding reptile is the variety of species alive today. Today we'll start off with a little taxonomy. As a reminder taxonomy is the scientific classification of living creatures. It is a way of grouping plants and animals into families for easier study. Rattlesnake classification is as follows: Kingdom: Animalia (this means it's an animal), Phylum: Chordata (roughly speaking they have a backbone), Class Reptilia (they are reptiles), Order Squamata (this contains lizards and snakes), Suborder Serpentes (snakes), Family Viperidae (a group of venomous snakes called vipers including rattlesnakes), Subfamily Crotalinae and two different genera including Crotalus and Sistrurus. Don't worry there won't be a test at the end of this episode! Currently there are 32 accepted species of rattlesnake with 83 subspecies. Upon the advent of DNA testing, this number has fluctuated as scientists discover more information about family relatedness based on genetics versus physical characteristics or behavior. Basically what I'm saying is that this number may be correct today but different tomorrow. The majority of species are found in Genus Crotalus and only three are classified in Sistrurus. There is one outstanding physical characteristic that separates the two genera. The scales on the top of the head of Genus Crotalus will typically be small and similarly shaped, while Genus Sistrurus will have a less uniform group of nine large scales on the crown of the head. There are always exceptions to the rule in Nature so this description is not a hard and fast rule, but a more general rule.  Before we look at some specific rattlesnakes more closely, let's discuss where rattlesnakes can be found on the planet. Rattlesnakes are a New World animal which means they are found only in North, Central, or South America. They can be found from southern Canada to central Argentina with the most variety found in the southwestern United States and northern Mexico. A few are found on islands in the Caribbean such as Aruba. The habitats they are found in vary from desert to semi-arid desert to prairie to timber woodlands. They did not evolve to tolerate rainforest habitat. Rattlesnakes can be found in areas that have a cold winter as long as they have dens to hibernate in to keep from freezing to death. In areas that are warmer, they have adapted to living near human suburbs because they are attracted to the mice and rats that are attracted to us. In areas that are colder and the need for a denning sit that remains undisturbed through the winter is crucial, they are struggling to survive.  Now that we know a little about rattlesnake taxonomy and where we can find them, let's take a closer look at a few individual species. One of the most well known rattlesnakes is the Diamondback. This snake is an icon of the wild west of the United States but there is an Eastern Diamondback as well as a Western Diamondback. The eastern Diamondback is native to the southeastern United States and can be found in the pinelands of Florida, the coastal plains of North Carolina and southern Mississippi through eastern Louisiana. The western diamondback is found throughout the western portion of the United States including Arizona, California, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Texas, and northern Mexico. The two snakes are separate species in Genus Crotalus. The eastern Diamondback is Crotalus adamanteus and the western diamondback is Crotalus  atrox. As their name suggests they have large diamond shaped patterning on their back. It begins behind the head and travels down to the tail. The diamond shapes will be darker than the base color of the snakes. The eastern diamondback is typically brown or gray with the base color darkening toward the tail where dark bands appear just before the rattle. The western diamondback base color ranges from light brown to dark brown to reddish brown depending on habitat with bright white and black stripping just before the rattle. Both diamondback snakes are some of the longest and heaviest rattlesnakes alive today with adults ranging from 2 1/2 feet to 7 1/2 feet.  Let's look at one of the snakes in Genus Sistrurus. Sistrurus catenatus, the eastern Massasauga is a small but thick bodied rattlesnake found in the eastern portions of North America. This 1 1/2 foot to 2 1/2 foot snake is found in the northern midwest United States and Ontario, Canada. Their current range is much smaller than their historic range. They tend to favor shallow wetlands with surrounding upland areas that they use for hunting, breeding, and hibernating. Coloration varies from gray to light brown, but some black individuals have been seen. The splotches that travel down the back are generally dark in color and resemble a colored in number eight. They will also have rows of smaller blotches down the sides of the body. The tail has a small rattle which sounds like the buzz of an insect when they are agitated.  Let's travel down into South America and take a look at the only rattlesnakes found there. The South American Rattlesnake or Crotalus durissus  is found in the Cerrado ecoregion of southern Brazil, Uruguay, Paraguay and northern Argentina. In Portuguese this snake is called “cascavel”. The cascavel typically makes its home in grasslands and savanna habitats although they are occasionally found in dry forests and open clearings in jungles. Adults range in size from 2 1/2 feet to 6 feet in length. Base colors vary widely from yellow  to light brown to reddish to dark brown or even gray. Some reports of greenish tinted specimens have seen seen near forested areas. They have two stripes that run from the top of the head down the neck that fade as the body gets larger. Diamond shaped patterning flows down the rest of the body terminating at the tail where the rattle begins. Like most other rattlesnakes they are a heavy bodied snake and they have one of the widest ranges of any rattlesnake. There are several subspecies of Crotalus durissus.  We're going to look at one more species in depth and this is the one rattlesnake that doesn't have a functioning rattle. That's right, this rattlesnake doesn't have a rattle. The Santa Catalina Island rattlesnake, Crotalus catalinensis, is genetically a rattlesnake but after years and years of living on an island they have lost their rattle. They do have the button, the base of rattle, but it comes off with every shed preventing a rattle from developing. They are native to Isla Santa Catalina in the Gulf of California. Adults range in size from 2 feet to 2 3/4 feet. They can be found almost anywhere on the island and unlike other rattlesnake species they are often found hunting in trees. They are the most arboreal rattlesnake of any rattlesnake species. This may explain why they are more slender than any other rattlesnakes, as well. This is a lovely little rattlesnake with a grayish brown base color and large white-bordered diamond blotches along the back. The tail terminates in black and gray striping reminiscent of diamondback rattlesnake tails. These snakes can be a very pale gray with light brown blotches creating a stunningly beautiful pattern.   That is all for this episode of rattlesnakes. There are so many more cool species of rattlesnake but I had to restrain myself to my ten minutes limit. Thanks for joining me because the variety of species alive today is my second favorite thing about rattlesnakes.    If you're enjoying this podcast please recommend me to friends and family and take a moment to give me a rating on whatever platform your listening. It will help me reach more listeners and give the animals I talk about an even better chance at change.    Join me next week for another episode about rattlesnakes.     (Piano Music plays)  This has been an episode of Ten Things I like About with Kiersten and Company. Original music written and performed by Katherine Camp, piano extraordinaire.

I smelled like an old, wet bandaid. My heart wasn't in it anymore—looking in the mirror for progress after nearly a month of extreme training and dieting, i could feel the difference, but not see it. Perhaps it was the result of sleeping under the white devil, or just the lack of good coffee since departing from Mexico—still, something was off about my energy, in the way that I was moving about my day to day—or, I should note, the way that I was barely moving—I seemed to be under a spell of mediocrity and apathetic listlessness, emotions and passions welling up in an uncontrollable, irritating and chaotic fury; i was lost from love. I hugged a tree in the entryway to the parking lot if the gym; it almost seemed to hug me back—and, in the broad daylight, I fought the will to lay my head down in relief, as if she had offered me a shoulder to cry all the tears that I needed; behold, however, the tears would come indeed, as I barely tried at the pectoral machine or whatever it was. After selecting Daft Punk's Discovery Album as the track for my first circuit, One Last Time bellowing into my sweaty earbuds as tears streamed down by face—without having to address it in too long, I realized I missed my son; not that it mattered. My ex husband was the evil everything that had ruined me—or rather, I was the evil thing that ruined myself by loving him. At least I was no longer nearly 400 pounds—not that it mattered. The leftovers made it impossible for me to go about my life acting as if nothing had happened; I couldn't wear almost anything without bulging and unsightly rolls. Being dark skinned might not have been so bad, as long as I could be perfect—maybe that's why every rapper bragged about fixing up girls in exchange for sex; it was too bad I wasn't attracted to black men enough to let that happened. Maybe I was supposed to have taken the bait of my brother and law while living in his home in Las Vegas—I could have had the all access pass to driving one of his three Mercedes, and maybe even lucky enough to have had my skin reduction surgery sponsored by the drug money he boastfully prided himself on, being a “business owner”. But no, I had let my own pride neglect his underhanded proposition; He couldn't fuck be, but even almost a year later, at least had the benefit of making me feel stupid for not taking advantage, obsessing over my body to a point that anyone would clearly consider unhealthy. I occasionally would look up at the screens in front of whatever machine I was working at, wondering “What the fuck am I watching?” As always, I knew if it was FX, it was assuredly something captivating—I didn't need more than its logo to be reminded of my once-obsession with Kurt Sutter's writing, demolishing Sons of Anarchy episode by episode once weekly for years, and repeatedly bing watching The Sheild until I could recite each episode word for word, and understand the happenings of any given season In Portuguese. Fuck this. For some reason, it was Rihanna's hit Only girl In the world blasting over the loud speakers after the conclusion of the Daft Punk album—that made me quit and call it a day; I had only been on the floor an hour and a half, which anyone would call a good workout, but to me it felt like giving up—like I was weak; but something about Rihanna's voice had allowed the picture of her perfect, skinny silhouette from the cover of one of her albums, or maybe a single (I didn't know, as I had never really considered myself a fan of hers, even though I could admire her vocals, and did recall with vivid conclusion cycling at least two of her hits on repeat in my high school days) but either way, I had probably always harnessed a deep disgruntlement and bitterness towards her, not simply for being about the complexion my mother constantly told me she wished I could have been, or “should” have been, but also for being so wonderously skinny—another thing my mother wished I should and could have been and always hated me for not being—though, it was true that the last time we had spoken, she commented on how perfect my figure was becoming, to which I replied cockily “I know.” But I hated everything about y figure now, and hadn't even the clothes I needed to help accentuate it; I possessed only a low-impact sports bra, which would have been a cute tube top on anyone with a body worth looking at—and a Victoria's Secret zip-up sports bra, which was falling apart and after being washed and worn to bits, was now not only too big, but also lacked almost any support at all. I felt fit, and probably was, under all the wretched skin and sagging I was sure came first handed my from Satan himself, as I was sure God was punishing me by assigning me to such an unforgivably unlovable vessel—not to say I wasn't fuckable, as I always knew I could l grab a decent enough dick and take it for a spin—but I had never seen the dopey-eyed, puppy like gaze of a man in love with a beautiful woman on me, ever, besides once—on the heavy (read: obese) light-skinned black man who I befriended at my first EDC, who clung to me for dear life and treated me like I was the light of the worlds for the duration of our friendship—-SUPACREE's first fan, a true hype man, and valuable asset during my free from Alaska; however, I never did feel the same thing for him as he did for me and was thoroughly dismissive, eventually growing apart entirely—however, if a decent looking Caucasian man had ever looked at me or treated me the same, i would know I had somehow reached my goal. I just wasn't attracted to black men—something I had been made, of course by black men, to feel ashamed of—certainly in the same way that most Caucasian men weren't really “into black girls”; probably the same thing that made all little white girls appear as demonic vampires, aside from the actual privelege and soul-sucking unawareness of any of the world's actual problems. It was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day at Equinox that I was again the Guinea pig central to some kind of secret social experiment, or worse, psychological—which meant of course I had become allures into a trap and had always been the perfect prey—still a dumb, fat, lazy and now hood-bound nigger with a taste for luxury and the wellness that had been stripped from the lower realms at all—desperate for the life I had designed for myself on my own but still trapped in some kind of hex or curse—some strange and bodiless demon always find its way next to, around or near me—anyone I liked, loved, or became close to had vanished, and I was left alone to suffer in the loveless and dark underworld without any solid way to escape. I had been fed with garbage for weeks —almost no fruits and vegetables at all, and had been without water for quite some time, my clothes were embarrassingly worn and dirty, wreaking of mildew—and now it was even worse—demons were always quick to overcome the body of any female I wished I could be— my entire life has been an nightmare, the glimpses and flashes of regression flashing through my mind— my abusive mother, my abusive husband— I was an altogether shit person, doomed to again succumb to slavery; meanwhile, the pretty and perfect bodies around me seemed not to worry, work, or care at all—I was taunted with everything I wanted and everything I loved—and it had taken me all the time I had lived to realized that I had never been loved at all. I guess I'm not ‘pure of heart' Stroke of genius, perhaps— Stroke or dark Let me stroke your cock underwater; Of course, said the God To the Goddess— m I've just aboutbhad it, Or lost it Wreaking all havoc on my mind, Or most of it I turn the whole goddamn world on a dollar And then I move on, There are so many others I hold my guitar like a body, It's a small one Like a daughter Or just someone to love me If that's what you're after, I'm honestly sorry I'm not pure of heart And nobody loves me It's been a week back at Equinox I've barely touched my decks But men fall in love with bodies, Not talent And I need somebody to love me For balance Cause I've been so out of it, I've been in ballet But this is New York, And that was Alaska. Callie whatever's music fucking sucks and she gets to open. For deadmau5. Okay, white supremacy. I get it. I quit. I don't know why I even try. It's okay. She's a little white girl. She's gonna look 40 in 5 years. Yeah, and I'm gonna have permanent lines in my head from getting fucked over by the world continually for being a fat black woman. But you still won't look 40. But I WILL be 40. But you won't LOOK it. I'm so broken and lonely I just want someone to hold me and love me But that just won't happen Love isn't for me I was just born in the wrong fucking body (No free days) I had named my new skateboard Ryder, and though it had been acquired quite by accident, it had been an instant manifestation that was somewhat unexpected, although I had explicitedly listed a new skateboard amongst the other items I had wished for in the series of spells that had would up the whole world into a strange and yet somehow better place, though of course not without its own shortcomings, and of course ultimately my own shortcomings— the spells had been working in the ways that they always did—explicitly accurate, and manifesting quickly with an unexpected twist, which would come with some sort of strange sting that didn't last long—but the lesson itself did, which was the thing that was important. I was in and out of love—of course, not all the way out of it entirely, but still bruised and burned from all that I had learned about the men I had fallen for, the the industry I had been at the very least introduced to, but still not entirely enough so that I was paid well, of course, pouting in every single sense that I would have to take a regular job at some point to smooth and jazzy, City-style modern and chic the synethetic experience / the sound of synesthesia - hard, weird, 90's sounding techno, glitch I hated Hudson Yards more than any other Equinox I had ever been to in my life—and I considered the fact that I had been to so many an achievement—I'd have never been able to afford it if I hadn't gotten on the mailing lists, awaiting the perfect time to join, eliminating the pricey initiation fee— then, something like $250, now having doubled, and all the more with an exclusive top-tier which has first excluded me from entering the Hudson Yards location at all, the actuality which had led to my eventual delay in arriving to JFK after all, though it had first been the Spirit Airlines flight delay out of LA and into Vegas to retrieve my drum machine, which now sat in yet another pawn shop in New York, and though I had at least until October to pick it up, I wasn't at all happy with any of the progress—or lack there of that I was making in music; the specifics of the curse began to unravel— and since I had once been married to a sufferably failed musician, it was more than likely his abborent energy the block which had been dellaying my eventual success—and there was an eventual success, knowing that all curses and hexes are ultimately returned to the sender at a devastatingly amplified . Though I seemed myself marked I realized it had been somrone or something all along that had allowed be back into Equinox in the first place, which was the only thing in the world I had wanted, besides food, water, and music— almost e entirely leaving love out of it, because in a sense there was this ever-present inner knowing that I could never be loved: my own child had during our last conversation regurgitated the sadness and destruction of the negative energy my ex had indudated him with—stories of dead babies and unsupervised near-death experiences where my ex husband, always reluctant to wake up, had slept through some tragedy in which my then-toddler had gotten himself into—he had slept through out eldest son's death, and of course, his over sleeping had lead to the numerous jobs he had lost over the course of our relationship, probably doomed to fail from the start but myself never having been aware of how blind becoming morbidly obsese and so drug-dependent could cause one to experience a walking death in itself—the loss of two children, the faithless, loveless My plan for the day has been to get into the sports club early with my laptop in hand, but of course, the quest for proper and balanced nutrition continued, as I had finally of course squired the protein I had been so desperately lacking, but still with the deficits of the actual energy I needed— I waxwork. Nice I awoke just before noon, only to drift back into a dream for 40 minutes or so, awaking again at 30 past the hour in a a rush and frenzy to skate to the food bank, which I had been m dreading, especially because it was my third week in a row and I knew for a fact. That threes were indeed a charm of some sort— a heavy esoteric rule that I had followed quite faithfully—so faithfully, in fact, that I always knew that true third time doing, saying, or seeing anything was a certain sign of rapid change, in one way or another, and proceeded in all with heavy caution. This also meant that it had been threee weekend since the last episode in my podcast series, and though I had thought to perhaps pawn my audio interface as well as my almost defunct MPC studi, as I was more preoccupied with improving my body so that I might find someone decent to offset the awful and horrible sexual monster that had been welling up from inside me — the reason I hated Hudson Yards the most1- mirrors and reminders, reflections of how I would never be good enough, in a sea of picture perfect Barbie dolls of all shapes and sizes— and I had nearly lost my mind and soul just by way of googling the upcoming support for the deadmau5 vs. test pilot show, very fittingly at the Brooklyn mirage and on the date which marked the anniversary of my own suicide, august 4th; and as the date grew near, I wanted more and more to try again1-to escape the horrible and awful cruel world of inequality—I hated the blackness of it all— the black slaves of Jamaica queens m a heavy contrast to the thoughtless Barbie dolls that didn't have tow work or think for anything—they were created just to have fun, lounge, party, and fuck—all of which I wanted to do but never had the chance. My entire life I had been too dark and too ugly to be pretty or adorable—and of course, my mother's scattered actions and bipolar personality, perhaps even schizophrenic tendencies which had been beaten into her by her father, rather than genetically inherited—had kept me from being good at anything. Sports, music, or anything which might have allowed me to be successful were often abandoned—my mother's temper tantrums always acting up on days which I was due to rehearsal or practice— eventually quitting because it no longer excited me, her mood swings controlling my entire destiny, and causing the uproar of anxiety and unconscious addiction that culminated in my doomed, abusive narrorator (Don't leave me like this) (From am to pm). Love,'money, party Alive fidkros The fight to keep blacks and browns in the darker and lower realms while elevating the whites and hybrid elites into ascension continues to deter the human race from true and forward evolution. "Post raciality and the silent technologically driven race war in America" -CC Stone {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I smelled like an old, wet bandaid. My heart wasn't in it anymore—looking in the mirror for progress after nearly a month of extreme training and dieting, i could feel the difference, but not see it. Perhaps it was the result of sleeping under the white devil, or just the lack of good coffee since departing from Mexico—still, something was off about my energy, in the way that I was moving about my day to day—or, I should note, the way that I was barely moving—I seemed to be under a spell of mediocrity and apathetic listlessness, emotions and passions welling up in an uncontrollable, irritating and chaotic fury; i was lost from love. I hugged a tree in the entryway to the parking lot if the gym; it almost seemed to hug me back—and, in the broad daylight, I fought the will to lay my head down in relief, as if she had offered me a shoulder to cry all the tears that I needed; behold, however, the tears would come indeed, as I barely tried at the pectoral machine or whatever it was. After selecting Daft Punk's Discovery Album as the track for my first circuit, One Last Time bellowing into my sweaty earbuds as tears streamed down by face—without having to address it in too long, I realized I missed my son; not that it mattered. My ex husband was the evil everything that had ruined me—or rather, I was the evil thing that ruined myself by loving him. At least I was no longer nearly 400 pounds—not that it mattered. The leftovers made it impossible for me to go about my life acting as if nothing had happened; I couldn't wear almost anything without bulging and unsightly rolls. Being dark skinned might not have been so bad, as long as I could be perfect—maybe that's why every rapper bragged about fixing up girls in exchange for sex; it was too bad I wasn't attracted to black men enough to let that happened. Maybe I was supposed to have taken the bait of my brother and law while living in his home in Las Vegas—I could have had the all access pass to driving one of his three Mercedes, and maybe even lucky enough to have had my skin reduction surgery sponsored by the drug money he boastfully prided himself on, being a “business owner”. But no, I had let my own pride neglect his underhanded proposition; He couldn't fuck be, but even almost a year later, at least had the benefit of making me feel stupid for not taking advantage, obsessing over my body to a point that anyone would clearly consider unhealthy. I occasionally would look up at the screens in front of whatever machine I was working at, wondering “What the fuck am I watching?” As always, I knew if it was FX, it was assuredly something captivating—I didn't need more than its logo to be reminded of my once-obsession with Kurt Sutter's writing, demolishing Sons of Anarchy episode by episode once weekly for years, and repeatedly bing watching The Sheild until I could recite each episode word for word, and understand the happenings of any given season In Portuguese. Fuck this. For some reason, it was Rihanna's hit Only girl In the world blasting over the loud speakers after the conclusion of the Daft Punk album—that made me quit and call it a day; I had only been on the floor an hour and a half, which anyone would call a good workout, but to me it felt like giving up—like I was weak; but something about Rihanna's voice had allowed the picture of her perfect, skinny silhouette from the cover of one of her albums, or maybe a single (I didn't know, as I had never really considered myself a fan of hers, even though I could admire her vocals, and did recall with vivid conclusion cycling at least two of her hits on repeat in my high school days) but either way, I had probably always harnessed a deep disgruntlement and bitterness towards her, not simply for being about the complexion my mother constantly told me she wished I could have been, or “should” have been, but also for being so wonderously skinny—another thing my mother wished I should and could have been and always hated me for not being—though, it was true that the last time we had spoken, she commented on how perfect my figure was becoming, to which I replied cockily “I know.” But I hated everything about y figure now, and hadn't even the clothes I needed to help accentuate it; I possessed only a low-impact sports bra, which would have been a cute tube top on anyone with a body worth looking at—and a Victoria's Secret zip-up sports bra, which was falling apart and after being washed and worn to bits, was now not only too big, but also lacked almost any support at all. I felt fit, and probably was, under all the wretched skin and sagging I was sure came first handed my from Satan himself, as I was sure God was punishing me by assigning me to such an unforgivably unlovable vessel—not to say I wasn't fuckable, as I always knew I could l grab a decent enough dick and take it for a spin—but I had never seen the dopey-eyed, puppy like gaze of a man in love with a beautiful woman on me, ever, besides once—on the heavy (read: obese) light-skinned black man who I befriended at my first EDC, who clung to me for dear life and treated me like I was the light of the worlds for the duration of our friendship—-SUPACREE's first fan, a true hype man, and valuable asset during my free from Alaska; however, I never did feel the same thing for him as he did for me and was thoroughly dismissive, eventually growing apart entirely—however, if a decent looking Caucasian man had ever looked at me or treated me the same, i would know I had somehow reached my goal. I just wasn't attracted to black men—something I had been made, of course by black men, to feel ashamed of—certainly in the same way that most Caucasian men weren't really “into black girls”; probably the same thing that made all little white girls appear as demonic vampires, aside from the actual privelege and soul-sucking unawareness of any of the world's actual problems. LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLO00000OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-- {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

This episode of A365 will discuss gender expression and identity in the global workplace.     Rafael Franco (Brazil) leads the conversation with Edelman leaders to address several topics, including understanding and respecting pronouns, recognizing differences in inclusive language globally, navigating gender expression in the workplace and more. The episode will also explore the experiences of those within the LGBTQIA+ community in sharing their identity at work and in the world.    Transcript Dani Jackson Smith [00:00:01] It's who you are to work after hours and back at home. Exploring every layer. Finding out what makes you uniquely you. And letting that shine back out into the world. It's authentic. 365 A podcast that takes a glimpse into how some of the most inspiring people among us express themselves and make magic happen. I'm your host, Danny Jackson Smith, VP at Edelman by day, community enthusiast and lover of the people always. On this episode, we are engaging our colleagues across the globe in a conversation on gender identity, understanding that how gender is addressed and acknowledge shifts based on your location. Let's join the conversation now.   Rafael Franco [00:00:51] Hello. I'm Rafael from Brazil, Adama San Paolo. And we're here today to discuss to explore the stigmas around gender identity and expression, to go beyond the binary gender identity and expression at work. And for this conversation I have here, for different persons around the globe, we have Monika Tik Tok from Brazil whistles. She's a senior account manager. I will ask everyone to say your pronouns as well as tragedian director from Malaysia. Lauren Gray, Senior Vice President, New York Crisis and Reputation Risk Advisory. And Nick Nelson, Senior Vice President Austin. Welcome, everyone.   Nick Nelson [00:01:34] Glad to be here.   Monica Czeszak [00:01:36] Happy to be here, too.   Rafael Franco [00:01:38] So we just start with an open question to everyone. So one identity is important to us all, and should we be respected by everyone knowing the formal definition of gender identity and expression? What do those terms mean to you personally and your response? Again, please say your personal pronouns. Mo, you can you can start, please.   Monica Czeszak [00:02:03] Okay. Hi, everyone. Glad to be here. If everyone, I'm Monica. But let's see Mo for short. As you heard, my name is a little tricky. My pronouns are actually all the pronouns. And like the lady on the mall, that puts everything on the shopping carts. So he / she / they I'm comfortable with all of those. And to me, that's a special question because expression to me it's whatever I feel like that day. Sometimes it's braids, sometimes it's baggy clothes, sometimes it's nothing at all. I'm also very forth on getting out of that image that everyone that's nonbinary only wears pajamas. And I think expression is just feeling comfortable with yourself and being your best self every day, and that's particularly special at work. And I think respect only starts with us looking at each other and getting to know each other and asking questions and having safe spaces to ask those questions because it's not easy. Sometimes I'm very feminine, so people might assume I use she or her. Sometimes I'm very masculine, so people might assume similar he. But it's very fluid like gender and like expressions. So we have to be safe to ask each other questions and present ourselves as we are.   Rafael Franco [00:03:28] Okay, great. What about you, Asra?   Ezra Gideon [00:03:31] So yeah, my pronouns are he / him. I've recently transitioned from female to male about two years ago. And I guess, you know, I'm. How do I say this? It is more true to me being a he / him than it ever was before, you know, being in any other pronoun, to be honest. So it's most comfortable for me and this is the pronoun that I feel most myself. It's a little tricky here because the Malaysian language does not have a he / him / they / them, its all dia means they / he / she. So it's you know, it's it's an amazing language. Trouble is, in Kuala Lumpur, corporate language is still English. So but it's still kind of, you know, a yeah, there's a mix of of Malay and English. So it's it's not as difficult, I think, for us here in Kuala Lumpur as opposed to parts of other parts of Malaysia. But yeah, it's a it's those are the pronouns I'm comfortable within and I'm happy to to use whatever pronouns someone tells me they want. I will use that because I respected that, that they know themselves better than I do. So, you know. So, yeah.   Rafael Franco [00:04:52] That's great. Well, I'm making myself vulnerable here because I'm not a known non-native English speaker. So it's hard for us Brazilians as well to understand this gender way of speaking in English. So I will hand over to my English colleagues. My English speaker, English- speaking colleagues learning and make plays well.   Lauren Gray [00:05:17] Thank you so much. I actually wanted to start by just sharing a definition of gender identity and gender expression, just in case anyone who's listening in doesn't know those definitions. And these come from the LGBTQ+ advocacy organization GLAAD and its media reference guide online. Reporters can use that guide to help better understand and cover LGBTQ issues. For gender identity, it's really a person's internal, deeply held knowledge of their own gender. Everybody has a gender identity. For most people, it matches the sex that they were assigned at birth. For our transgender community members, it doesn't align with sex assigned at birth. And many people's gender identity is that of a man or woman. But for other non-binary community members, it just doesn't fit neatly into one of those two categories. And just to give you a little bit more context on that, there was a recent study by the Trevor Project that found that one in four Gen Z LGBTQ community members are non-binary with an additional other 20% questioning their gender identity, and one half of those Gen Z non-binary individuals actually don't identify as transgender. So what we're seeing is really a sea change in the breadth and variety of language that's being used to describe and understand how nuanced gender can be. For me, my pronouns are she her, hers. But as a member of the LGBTQ community, hearing people share their pronouns and seeing pronouns included in emails, signatures, or in zoom display names. It's really a signal of a more diverse, inclusive environment. And I think it's one of the very important things that our colleagues can do in the workplace as an outward sign of support for our community and for those who are also looking for other ways to be a stronger ally. I would encourage you to get to know your LGBTQ colleagues, acknowledge their partners or spouses or families in the very same ways that you would people outside of the LGBTQ community and read up on things, look at the news, watch what's happening as things develop, and try to acknowledge moments of significance to the community, moments when you have terrible setbacks and moments when we celebrate great progress.   Nick Nelson [00:07:38] Nick Yeah. Lauren Thank you so much for that. I think, you know, it's always helpful here and be reminded of my pronouns are he is and my name is Nick Nelson since I didn't start with that. I think one of the things that I am still learning is the conversation we're having right now. You know, I work in multicultural DEI space, and so I've had the privilege to learn about gender identity, gender expression, but I've also had to acknowledge my own privilege as a gender male and not having to understand people who don't identify in the same way. And it's been a really rewarding experience to learn so much and have conversations like these and facilitate conversations like these for clients and for our colleagues. And so I think what it means to me is just a learning experience still. You know, I'm 33 years old and I'm still learning so many things as if I was still in school. And I think that's been the great thing about this particular workplace, but especially the work that I do is it gives me an opportunity to educate and to bring clients and colleagues along on the journey with me. But it also provides an opportunity for me to learn more and then be more supportive of my colleagues who may not be who may not identify it the same way or feel confident or comfortable identifying the same way as I do. So I'm really glad to be in this space with you all and have this discussion because it's long overdue and it's always important to talk through and kind of hear the perspectives. And I am looking forward to walking away from this with a new perspective that I can then bring into my work and support everyone, you know, regardless of their walk in life.   Rafael Franco [00:09:35] And we have mentioned our journey to understand this this theme better. And also Lauren mentioned the pronouns on our email signatures. And this awake me about Monica because I have wrongly assumed her pronouns in the beginning as she / her only. And we never have talked about that before. So Mo, is there a best way to to make sure we are always using pronouns properly and inclusively, especially in a global firm like Edelman?   Monica Czeszak [00:10:12] Yeah. And I think that's the funny part because when you have different problems, sometimes it falls back to you to let people know about your names, but you're not always safe or comfortable with sharing. So when you have a widespread initiative like the email signatures, like Lauren said, you're showing other people that it's okay to introduce yourself and say your problems and ask people for their problems as well. To me since I relate to all of them and none of them. It's like whatever rings that they it's fine. I feel very glad when someone uses he for me because it shows me they're trying to use other problems with me or when they talk in a general neutral way, but at the same time I'm comfortable in all those spaces. So I never really made the effort of going out there and saying to people, Hey, this is my problems and I'm comfortable this and comfortable with that. And once we had the signatures, it was like, Oh, I can let people know. And it kind of blew my mind a little because it was so simple and so easy. And at the same time I had a few emotional exchanges. Rafael was one of those people, but other colleagues came to me and was like, Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I never knew. Are you okay? Should I say things different? And it never occurred to me before that people might be struck that way after knowing my problems, that they did something wrong or something was not right before. So I had a lot of very emotional and very good exchanges with my colleagues, and I tried to make sure they knew that it was okay. We were getting to know each other better and I was happy. Now they knew and they were trying to be more. I don't know, inclusive of me. And it was very good for me to have those conversations because it opened doors for us to know each other better. Go ahead, Nick.   Nick Nelson [00:12:22] Yeah. I just wanted to build on that one. Thank you for sharing. But too, it's something that I speak about in client forums and in our employee forums where inclusion or being inclusive is not difficult, but it is intentional. So using the email signature was such a simple thing that started these conversations and got you such reactions, but also gave you an opportunity to express that. That's a perfect example of that. You know, inclusion is always intentional, but it's not always difficult and it just takes people like our company or like other companies who have done that, starting these initiatives where you can put your pronouns in your email or like we've done in this conversation, starting with introducing yourself and your pronouns. So you've established that already, and that was just such a small, simple step. So I'm really glad to hear that it was that impactful for you, where it was starting some new conversations, drawing some reactions and possibly an educational opportunity for so many of your colleagues.   Monica Czeszak [00:13:35] Absolutely. And it's completely intentional. And what I like most about it, it's at the end of those conversations, what we came to realize is that it has to be intentional and it has to be like a day to day exercise. In Portuguese, every word is gendered, like objects are gendered, every pronoun is gendered. So we are still figuring out how to be gender neutral and what are the rules and how to express it. And it's hard. You have to practice, so you have to know that. You have to use it and try to use it every day. So you get to that place in which it's easy and common to be gender neutral as well. So having those conversation was great for me in getting to this place where other people were also comfortable in asking and learning and trying to exercise. It was great.   Rafael Franco [00:14:28] Yeah, and as most said, and in Portuguese we have children conversations in general, everywhere, gender, but we are figuring out ways to do it. And so, for example, we have inclusive language and we have neutral language. One of them is not like formal. So we cannot use a broadly because it's not common for people to understand. But there are some ways that you can remove the gender from the phrase, rephrasing it. So that's one way that we that we tried to do here in Brazil. And Ezra, inclusive language, as I was saying, translates differently in different countries. And can you help better help us understand this dynamic based on your local experience?   Ezra Gideon [00:15:16] Yeah, sure. I guess in when, if and when we speak Bahasa Malaysia, which is to me, how many times, how many percent of my day spent speaking Bahasa maybe 20, to 80% of my time is speaking English because, you know, in Kuala Lumpur, almost everyone speaks English. In fact, everyone does. It's a matter of the degree of English or how well they speak it. But I only spend about 20% of my time speaking Bahasa Malaysia. But it's a mix and match when you're is very close friends and it gets very, you know, how do you say gets more when you're more familiar with people that gets a little bit less structured. So then, you know, it's a mix of English and Malay but I do think that people who speak Malay, the Bahasa and the Malay language tend to be less concerned over pronouns. And it's just they / them generally. And when they speak and when they say dia means, you know, they or he or she. So it doesn't really affect the composition of the person or the wellbeing of someone. But, but again, you know, how that works for us is still we speak a lot more English than we do Malay. And it's hard to educate people in a country where it's illegal to be trans or gay. So they just won't. They just won't because I don't have to. Because it's illegal anyway. You being you. Yeah.   Rafael Franco [00:16:45] Sure. And Lauren, we were talking about places where it's illegal to be LGBTQ plus and not even in countries where it's it is recognizable and it's okay to be gay or lesbian and trans and etc.. We know that not all LGBTQ plus employees feel comfortable sharing their experiences sexual orientation, gender identity, or expression in the workplace. So how can we recognize that and still be supportive to our colleagues, of our colleagues?   Lauren Gray [00:17:23] So you're absolutely right about that. And that's actually really a surprise sometimes to people in the US. There's data from the Human Rights Campaign for 2018 that found that about 46% of LGBTQ employees are closeted at work, which is actually usually very, very surprising to people. And we really want people to be able to be their authentic selves at work. Some of it is an issue of representation. There was some really interesting research as well from McKinsey in their 2020 Women in the Workplace report that found that in corporate America, LGBTQ women specifically only make up 2.3% of entry level employees, 1.6% of managers, and even smaller numbers at more senior levels. So to help counter this and help bring people out at work, we really need to focus on ways that we can increase visibility at work and representation for business. It's great to think about recruiting and retention and what that could look like, and we actually had a really interesting experience recently at Edelman. We created this task force called Out Front. It's an LGBTQ task force. It's really meant to help to. Will clients on complex LGBTQ issues. And as part of that task force, we created a team chat to make sure that people were in the loop and that we were communicating on issues that were raised and bringing in people with appropriate expertize. And we found that that chat really brought people together across offices. It was amazing and people started communicating on it all the time, sharing articles and stories and life events and wedding photos and pictures of birth of new children, etc.. And it was just this really incredible way that really organically people came together and started to increase visibility. So as much as we can do things like that, I think that will really, really help bring people out at work.   Rafael Franco [00:19:21] And this, I guess, changes our culture, culture of the company, right. And the culture of the company is impacted and informed by the people who work there. So, Nick, how can we all be inclusive and supportive to our to all our colleagues who wish to or wish not to fully express their gender identity at workplace?   Nick Nelson [00:19:46] Yeah. I think the most important thing is to create a safe space, right? Create a safe space for our colleagues at Edelman and beyond to show up the way that they want to. Right. And for some people. I would say that doesn't necessarily mean that they're closeted. That means that that's not a part of themselves that they want to share in the workplace. And I think we have to create the space and grace for that. Right. You know, I think the term that we use a lot is authentic self. And I think authentic self is subjective and relative to every individual. And so, you know, if you choose to share these details with me. Great. Thank you so much. I appreciate it. If this is not important to your workday or if this is not a part of the identity that you want to share in any part of your life. Great. I still like you anyway. I still enjoy working with you. And so I think that's the most important thing, is just the space to be yourself and then not, we have to be careful. And this is something that I see a lot in my work. We have to be careful not to create a box or terms for what showing up as your authentic self means. Right. You know what that means for Lauren, for example, may be very different for me, and that's not because anyone is shy or afraid. But we have to consider that people are bringing a lot of different experiences into this moment that we're meeting them. You know, I have no idea what has happened to you guys before 21 minutes ago when we started this recording. Right. And I don't know what's going to happen to you after. But I have to understand that there's so many things contributing to the way that you are showing up in this moment. And so all I can do and all we can do is make sure that we're being supportive colleagues and meeting you in this moment and helping you show up the way that you want to be your best self.   Rafael Franco [00:21:54] That's very powerful and very, very true. And so I would get back to Turing because we have talked about added initiatives in during this conversation. And Adam Eco is one of our employee network groups. Adam And it was created to help to good turn on community for LGBTQ close employees and allies and provide a place and space where employees can share, learn and grow. So how can an employee group serve to good community for or benefit non cisgender employees at work?   Lauren Gray [00:22:33] It's a really great question, and I'm glad that you asked that this year. Edelman Equal has we've had several key priorities. The first is educational programing. So, for example, after the overturn of Roe v Wade, we hosted a conversation with Jim Obergefell, who is the lead plaintiff in the Supreme Court case, the marriage equality case. And we talked about what these developments might mean for LGBTQ community members and for marriage equality broadly. We also talked about monkeypox this week with Dr. David Nabarro. So we did a briefing, public health briefing on it, and we talked about considerations for employers and answered questions that people may have about what's happening and what that looks like. And I think this educational programing is really important because it doesn't just benefit our broader Edelman community. But if you are an LGBTQ employee and you want to have a voice in helping shape the conversation that's happening at Edelman, in the knowledge on these issues in your own workplace, you can really be part of planning what some of that looks like. We also advocate for employees. We want to make sure that we are on top of what employee benefits should be happening for LGBTQ employees and making sure that we're included in data that Edelman is collecting so that we're being appropriately represented. And then also just provide a space to really connect and get to know each other and advocate for each other and support each other. Sometimes it's nice just to have fun together, but other times it's it's also really nice to have built up strong relationships with other LGBTQ employees. If you have questions or want to pressure test certain things or just to talk about things that have happened in the workplace.   Rafael Franco [00:24:14] That's great. And Asra, you have started your major media transition a short time ago and not within the most ideal condition, as your country is not welcoming to the full diversity of the LGBTQ community. And you have told me that Adam and I have have have had a very powerful space in this transition. So can you share a little bit of your experiences and specifically your how your work environment has impacted your transition?   Nick Nelson [00:24:46] Absolutely. I think, you know, it took a while before I discovered, you know, you know exactly you know, what my life would would be had I had taken this journey, for example. It's a lot of obstacles. But, you know, I, I spoke to my my mother and I told her everything. And I said, if it means I have to quit, I will have to do it because it's I can, you know, cannot not live, you know, being myself. But, you know, we took it on together, actually. And I think this is very important. It's because of that kind of leadership that you feel you can go to someone you're safe for the most. You know, Muslim is Muslim muslin is Muslim I Muslim. So it it mean you need to trust this person, you know? But, you know, after all of that, long story short, we managed to find a way to bridge that gap by I said, I'm going to come out, we're going to stay and fight this together. Whatever the system is, we will will face it together. And I came out to the colleagues and I think to Ipac. And so I think online when we were all doing the pandemic at that time, and it made me so much braver. And she was right there next to me and she's saying, going, going. That's fine. You know, and it's so many people involved. It's it's not just my M.D., but she was that person for me. And had I not had someone like that to be able to help me in on a day to day, even struggle with with the outside world, because coming to Edelman is like a whole different world. When I go back home, it's a whole different world, right? So but it's made me mentally healthy, so much better. I'm so much better for it. Being able to do what I do every day. I think I've even gotten better at my job, I'll be honest with you. So, so, so that that I think was very important. But it's not just leadership. It's the whole team. They're so polite. They ask me, you know, if they're saying something wrong, they're just amazing. It's it's hard to express. But yeah, it's been amazing. So we have two sets of laws in Malaysia. One is for Muslims, which is the Sharia law, and another is secular for everybody else who is not Muslim. And I can never change my gender marker, obviously, because if as soon as I do that, it will be, you know, it's illegal. Right. But they're going to they can try and test and test you on a day to day basis if they want you to have a look at your ID card and it doesn't match with the way you look or how you express yourself, it can give you a hard. But I've been very lucky. I've been honestly luckier than most and most grateful. Grateful for that. But it's harder for a lot more people here. I'm in a good position. I could probably get a job easier than some transpeople because I've been known in the industry before I transitioned. So yeah, it, you know, there's more to it than that. But in a nutshell, it really helps to have that culture of support from top down and it helps so much.   Rafael Franco [00:28:05] Well, I think I can speak on behalf of everyone here. We are so glad to hear that you have this help and have this opportunity of transition and be yourself at at the workplace. And as we are discussing the pronoun usage, for example, and the respect for gender identity and expression, they are very important in life and at work. So more can can you give us an overview of why it's so important to respect pronouns, why these tiny words are so important and so impactful on our lives, in our day to day work.   Monica Czeszak [00:28:47] Is a little emotional, but I think what we need to start off is just stripping away everything else and just realizing that we are all human beings that want to be seen. We want to make connections, we want to be cherished. We want to love and be loved. And that's the center of everything. And. Having that in the workplace, which is, let's say, most of our day, it's the biggest slice of our day when we go to work and we talk colleagues and we talk to clients. It's so important because. Imagine spending like a third of your life not being seeing and acknowledge every day. That's that's hurtful at a human level. So having that space where you can be yourself and like Ezra, find support and have people acknowledge and see you for who you are is very powerful because that gives us the confidence and the courage to go out there and face whatever we are facing on the other aspects of our lives as well. And this week I was with our lead in Brazil. We went to an event to sign an open letter to support LGBT inclusion in the workplace alongside other companies here in Brazil. And everyone that's standing at that event and talking to each other, there was those moments when you'll find someone in the audience and you look into their eyes and you could see that connection, the power of that connection, of being seen and being heard. And two of the things that made me the most emotion out there was that cry out for us to be brave. So let's create a safe space and not be afraid of creating more safe spaces to each other. But also when people would find each other and say, We know it's hard. We know it's little by little, but every little thing makes life so much better. And this is so important in the workplace.   Rafael Franco [00:31:00] That's true. That's totally true. And we are talking a lot about how inside a company we can do to to make our colleagues days better. But since we work in the client services business, we and just like colleagues, clients can also project their discomfort or express express microaggressions towards people of the community. So Nick, if you can speak to navigating sensitivities with clients and protecting the company and employer relationship, also how we can can we protect our teams and ourselves to make everyone feel safe and comfortable of showing up as they authentic self?   Nick Nelson [00:31:47] Yeah. Yeah. And Ezra, I'm definitely curious to hear what you have to say about this, but I think in my experience, one thing that I am learning and observing is that especially with clients, sometimes they genuinely don't know when they are projecting these things. I think, you know, if it's bias showing up, it's some of those kind of, you know, inherent things that they may have brought to the table. And so my experience, which has been pretty successful in the past, is just addressing it head on, you know, stopping in that moment and saying, hey, I heard you say this thing. What did you mean by that? And that is a very intentional question. As we were talking about earlier. It creates space. It creates a space to talk through it. No judgment, but also to educate and kind of point out why that might not be okay or point out, you know, what a different way to articulate that opinion may be, but also to ask questions. You know, I, I work with a bunch of people who don't work in the DEI or multicultural engagement or things like that. And so I have to understand that a lot of people don't know. A lot of people don't sit in forums like this and have these conversations. And so with clients in particular or even with colleagues, you know, I think we have a I don't want to say a responsibility, but I do think we have an opportunity to try to get to it in that moment. I think where we may need to do some more work is letting it linger or letting it pass. Right. Because then you've not only signaled that whatever this person said was okay, but that's you're okay with it, right? And so I think there's a way to get into that conversation and have it come out of it with an educational moment, an opportunity. And then to your second question, I think. I think it's such an interesting position to be in. Right. And I think it goes back to what we were talking about earlier, you know, creating space for someone to show up however they want. Right. And if they are out and proud, as we say, great was lean into that. Let's build it. You know, I want to shout out Laura and the equal team for all of the work that they're doing, not just, you know, with the yards these, but then bringing in some of those experts to talk about the impact on our community, but then also how that impacts the broader community. Right. I don't think perspectives like that are hurt. And then as we're all transitioned to you, but one thing that you said that I always kind of keep in my brain is brave. I've never had to be, quote, brave. Right? I exist as who I am. I show up and take of space. I've not had to go through that experience that you have and I've not had to do it publicly. I've not had to kind of navigate the things like that on top of, you know, the cultural situation that you're in. So I applaud you and people like you who are willing to bring those educational opportunities to us. And like I said to Lauren and Mo, you know, all of these things that we just don't think about, you know, that I don't think about because I don't have these question marks. I don't have things that may signal something else to someone. And so I really just want to appreciate you guys publicly and openly for that kind of work and how it advances this exact conversation that we're having.   Monica Czeszak [00:35:38] I just wanted to add that. I think not everyone can relate to how huge that is. But I think we all when we go back to ourselves, we know about fear. We all fear something and the size of the fear and the importance of having that backup. But another thing I would say, we know things are hard in Brazil. We have a lot of violence against the trans community especially. And we know in different parts of the world we have different regulations and laws. So it's very different in contexts. What kind of fear you have when coming out, when reaching out for help and making those connections. But I think it's important for us to also see the hope in that, and they will hear it in your voice. They won't see your face, but the little flesh in your eyes and you're saying how much better he was than you expected and all the support you get. And I think we have to keep that in mind because we know there's a lot of bigoted people. We know there's a lot of conservative people. We know there's a lot of. Evil in the world. But there's also hope, there's also connection. There's also friendship and and help sometimes where you least expect and people can change and people can learn and we can build those networks that are accommodating and comfortable and resourceful to others. So I just wanted to bring out hope from your story, because I think we need to remind ourselves of that.   Rafael Franco [00:37:15] That's very powerful. And I'm I'm clapping here on mute does not disturb your speeches. So headed now to the end of our conversation, I would just like you to get your final, final thoughts. And we navigate this a little bit during our conversation. But just for wrapping wrapping up, what can those who are not part of the community do do to be better allies and accomplices for the LGBTQ plus colleagues at work? So, Nick, if you want to start.   Nick Nelson [00:37:53] Sure. Happy to start. I think allyship is so important because, you know, while I think this group, you know, we are having this conversation publicly and openly, I think we are at a certain part of our journey. Right. I think there are people who may not be there. Right. And so that's where allies come in. And I recall a conversation that Edelman hosted during the chaos of 2020 where the gentleman presenting said, you know, there's allyship and then there's accomplices. Right. So are you going to stand beside me or are you going to stand in front of me? Right. And some of us just need someone to stand beside us, which I believe we would consider as an ally. But then some of us who may not be as advanced in our journey or kind of still understand where we fit into an organization or to society or culture may need an accomplice. And so I think understanding where our colleagues are, creating the space to have conversations about pronouns, about workplace identity, about all of these things is where you can really understand where you fit on that spectrum. So is it, you know, walk beside me, walk in front of in front of me. And then sometimes for some of us is get behind me, move out of my way, let me clear the pad so I can make it so much easier for others who come after me. Right. And so I think that's where our colleagues, rather than whether or not they're in the community, honestly, can be the most helpful, is just really understanding. You know, is it that accomplice is an ally or is it just, I got your back. Let me know what you think.   Rafael Franco [00:39:38] Right.   Lauren Gray [00:39:39] I guess I just wanted to build on a point that my made earlier that I thought was such a good point. And I think that's that we don't expect perfection from people and being allies. And I think that's a really good thing to raise that we shouldn't let being perfect become the enemy of the good. It's enough for many people within the community just to see that you're trying, just to see that you're interested and trying to build a connection and doing what you can to be supportive. I think often people are really afraid of making mistakes in some of these conversations, and I think it's just good to affirm and I was glad that raised that that hurt a lot of people within the community. We just want to see you trying to really, really appreciate that.   Rafael Franco [00:40:28] That's totally true, Ezra.   Nick Nelson [00:40:33] I think for me, what I've noticed and what I see around me, it's always good to give people the benefit of the doubt. I think I am braver because I believe in the good of people more than anything else. I'm not brave because, you know, I didn't even see anything coming. So really, I don't know what to be scared of. But really, it was the fact that people were relatively good. And if you do try the and if they reject you, it's fine. You have to learn to heal a little bit from that. But you can educate and sometimes the more you can do that in a big way and I see this with clients as well is, is, is to yeah. To allow them to to make mistakes also and be and correct them in the in the not in a good way because they sometimes don't know. They, they don't know even what they're doing, especially, let's say for for some place like in Malaysia, you know, I mean, we're not living on trees. No, that's not that's not it. But but a lot of this awareness of the community, it's not part of the conversation on a day to day. To give them a chance. And, you know, that's that that's that's what I have.   Rafael Franco [00:41:49] That makes the work better a more.   Monica Czeszak [00:41:52] I think the first thing that comes to mind when we talk about allyship and. Our job, as well as a communications firm, is to really talk more and make it safe to talk more, because I know it's a very far and honorable place and I can speak from experience throughout my life. I made so many mistakes growing up after I grew up, as I developed as a professional and as a person. And sometimes it's hard to have those conversations, and sometimes it touches into memories or situations that you're not ready for. And there's no rush. You can take your time. You can see if, when, where it's good for you to talk about it. But as an ally, make sure to signal that you are there. When the person is ready and talk about what you're thinking, raise questions and participate because it's what we do on a day to day. As a firm, we talk to our clients, we talk to society, we talk to our colleagues. And that's part of the experience itself, to be open and to reach out and use everything. Your experience in learning and hearing to build something better. Because I like to say to my colleagues, when I talk about diversity, equity and inclusion, it's a journey so it doesn't really have a destination. We keep building up on the conversations and experience we are having.   Rafael Franco [00:43:28] That's true. And when you're in the position of being an ally, you don't need to wait to be ready. You go with fear. You just make mistakes. But few certain that you need to be there for people that you care about and your colleagues and the people in your life. So just be there and listen and have this conversation.   Dani Jackson Smith [00:43:53] And that's a wrap for this episode. Many thanks to you for talking with us. Be sure to subscribe to our podcast. And until next time, keep it authentic all day, every day. Special thanks to our team behind the scenes.  

Become a Patreon supporter at www.themidnighttrainpodcast.com   This week we're taking the train across the pond for another creepy adventure. That's right, we are doing one of our creepy episodes! It's been a while so we figured it was time. This week we are headed to what some people say is one of the top scariest countries in the world! Not only that…we know we have some awesome listeners here. This week we are headed to creepy Portugal! We are gonna try our best to find the coolest, creepiest places for you guys. I'm just going to assume there's going to be a bridge in here someplace.  So without further Ado.. Let's fucking rock and roll!!!   So first up we're gonna do a little history lesson. Will keep it somewhat sorry and sweet since if we got into the complete history of a country of the age of Portugal, it would be an entire episode on its own. To get there history of this country we went to the source, portugal.com and an article written by Goncarlo Costa.    The history of Portugal starts many ages ago, when the so-called Iberian tribes inhabited the territory of today's Portugal. Then, in the beginning of the first millennium BC, Celtic tribes invaded and intermarried with the local Iberians, creating what is now known as the Celtiberians.   The Lusitanians, who inhabited the interior region of Portugal since the Iron Age, are considered the forefathers of the Portuguese nation. This is why today we have names like Lusophone, someone who speaks Portuguese, or Luso-American, a Portuguese American person. They were known for successfully fending off the Roman armies until the death of their leader, Viriathus, known as a hero in Portugal.   The tribe was considered a worthy adversary by the Romans, so much that they named the province of the whole territory of modern Portugal (south of the Douro River) and part of western Spain after them.   The Romans left various works, such as baths, temples, bridges, roads, theaters and statues; some of them are still found in different parts of the country.   This lasted until the Barbarian invasions, when Germanic tribes migrated to various parts of the Roman Empire. In Portugal, the territory became controlled by the Germanic in the 5th century. The Kingdom of the Suebi controlled Galicia and the North and Center of Portugal, while the Visigothic Kingdom controlled the rest of the Iberian Peninsula, including the rest of Portugal, until eventually conquering the Suebi and, consequently, the whole of Iberia. This is when the rigid class structure appeared in the country, with a Nobility and Clergy getting more and more political and social power.   In the 8th century, the Islamic Umayyad Caliphate invaded the Iberian Peninsula from the North of Africa. Al-Andalus, the Islamic name for the Peninsula, became a part of the Caliphate, and Portugal with it. The Portuguese kept lots of things from their Muslim past, like many of their words, architecture and the famous ‘azulejos'.   The Christians held on in the North of the Peninsula, creating the Kingdom of the Asturias. This was until the Reconquista, when they reconquered the lands from the Moors, the Muslims.   In this Kingdom, at the end of the 9th century, a county based in the now north of Portugal was established, the County of Portugal. The county grew in power and, at the end of the 11th century, a Burgundian knight named Henry, who was fighting in the Reconquista, was crowned as ‘Count of Portugal' and merged it with the County of Coimbra.   Henry's son, Afonso Henriques, proclaimed himself King of Portugal in 1139 with Guimarães as its capital. This city remains known until this day as the “Cradle of the Nation' by the Portuguese.   However, it was only in 1179 that a papal bull officially recognized Afonso I as king. The Reconquista continued with the Algarve, the south of the country, finally being conquered in 1249, and Lisbon becoming the capital in 1255. Since then, Portugal's land borders have remained almost unchanged, being considered one of the longest standing borders in Europe.   The Kingdom of Portugal remained very important in Europe's (and especially Iberian) politics, waging several wars against Spain, creating an alliance with England (the longest standing alliance in the world, lasting until today) and starting the “Age of Discovery”.   In this Age, the country built a vast empire, having territory all over the world, from South America to Oceania. They started by exploring their coast and adventuring into the Moroccan coast, hoping to continue the Reconquista to the North of Africa. Then, the Portuguese sailors started to adventure into the open sea, when they discovered the islands of the Canaries, Madeira, Azores and Cape Verde. Subsequently, the Portuguese explored the coast of Africa, setting trading ports, and tried to discover the maritime route to India, which they did in 1498, under the explorer Vasco da Gama.   They continued to explore and look for trade around the world, from Africa, passing through Arabia, and reaching Japan, setting several outposts, many of them having developed into colonies later on. In 1500, they reached South America and started the colonization of Brazil.   The Empire started to decline, however, when the Dutch, English, and French got in the game. They started to surround or conquer the scattered Portuguese trading posts and territories, diminishing their power. On the Battle of Alcácer-Quibir, in 1578, Portugal lost its king, becoming part of a dynastic union with Spain that lasted until 1640, when it finally gained its independence again.   After that, the country never became the great power it once was. It lost several colonies (including its largest one, Brazil) and trade routes, it saw its capital being destroyed by an earthquake in 1755 and it was occupied during the Napoleonic Wars.   From then on, Portugal was a minor power in Europe, having just some colonies in Africa and Asia and never becoming an economic powerhouse.   Then, in 1910, due to corruption, dissatisfaction with the several Kings and the loss of claimed African lands to the English, the monarchy ended and a Republic was created. Fiercely secular, to the point where it was antichurch, filed with corruption, government instability and near to bankruptcy, the regime came to an end with a military coup in 1926.   A military dictatorship was installed and then, a fascist-like regime, the ‘Estado Novo' (‘New State'), headed by António de Oliveira Salazar. This period was marked by authoritarianism, lack of freedom and, from 1961, by the Portuguese Colonial War.   All of this ended when, in April 25th 1974, the Carnation Revolution happened, carried out by the Armed Forces Movement (Movimento das Forças Armadas – MFA), a movement of young left-leaning captains of the Portuguese Armed Forces. With the Revolution, democratic reforms were made and the first free elections with multiple parties happened, as well as the independence of all of Portugal's colonies.   It also started the PREC (Processo Revolucionário Em Curso – Ongoing Revolutionary Process), a period when conservative and left-leaning forces inside the MFA confronted each other, marked by political turmoil, violence, instability, and the nationalization and expropriation of private lands. It came to an end on the 25 November 1975, when the MFA moderates appeared as the main force.   Nevertheless, revolutionary achievements were not forgotten, with the Constitution pledging until this day to realize socialism, as well as declaring extensive nationalizations and land seizures as irreversible, many, however, now overturned.   Nowadays, Portugal is one of 15 most sustainable states in the world and considered the third most peaceful. It has high living standards and a good economy. It was a founding member of NATO, the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), the European Free Trade Association (EFTA) and the Community of Portuguese Language Countries. It entered the European Economic Community (now the European Union) in 1986 and is one of its fiercest supporters, even having produced a European Commission President.   Ok so that's a brief…incredibly brief mini history of Portugal. Really the take aways are…super old, plenty of things happened to make the place creepy over that many years. So let's see what creepy stuff Portugal has to offer!   What better way to start than with a sanatorium! Valongo Sanatorium to be exact. The construction of the Mont'Alto Sanatorium began in 1932. Due to the appearance of a large number of people who had contracted tuberculosis, there was a need to expand the facilities, and these expansion works were completed in 1958. construction of these hospital units were carried out in high altitude places, due to the purity of the air, and also because they were away from the populations to avoid the effects of contagion. The sanatorium only operated for a short period, having been inaugurated in 1958 and closed in 1975, after which it entered a profound state of disrepair. Due to its dimensions, it is considered one of the most imposing buildings of its type in Portugal.Its building is large, with an area of ​​approximately 88,000 m², having been built with a view to housing about 300 patients. The building was designed by the architect José Júlio de Brito , who was also responsible for other prominent structures in the city of Porto, such as the Coliseu or Teatro Rivoli . The sanatorium complex, which occupied nine hectares, also included a school, a laundry room, a water reservoir, and a chapel dedicated to Our Lady of the Sick.    The installation of the Sanatorium in Valongo was part of a phase in the history of health in Portugal, during which the government undertook the construction of several specialized establishments to combat tuberculosis, a disease that was ravaging the country at the time. This period began in 1899, with the foundation of the National Institute of Assistance to Tuberculosis, which began the construction of several sanatoriums in different parts of the national territory. In 1930, efforts against tuberculosis were renewed in the north of the country, with the creation of the Assistance to Tuberculosis of Northern Portugal by António Elísio Lopes Rodrigues, and at that time, planning began to build a sanatorium that would house the sick in that region, who had lower economic resources.  Serra de Santa Justa was chosen, where the air was healthier, in addition to being isolated from urban centers, in order to reduce the risk of contagion.   Shortly after, the Sá family donated a plot of land in Serra de Santa Justa, allowing the construction of the building, whose works began in 1932.  However, the works were suspended due to lack of funding, having been resumed due to the support of the local populations.  On July 5, 1940, ATNP began building the Casa de Nossa Senhora da Conceição, to support the children of the sanatorium's patients. According to the Diário Popular of 3 January 1956, the finishing works and equipping of the sanatorium were already under way, and it was expected to be completed during the following year, and that it would have a capacity for 350 beds.  However, the works were only completed in 1958.  Another reason for the delay in the work may have been the opposition by the Companhia das Minas de São Pedro da Cova to the construction of the building, because it was being installed inside an area destined for coal mining, a few kilometers away from the mines.  However, at the time of the sanatorium's inauguration, mining was already entering its final phase, ending up closing in 1970.  Some of the users of the hospital were the mine workers themselves, who suffered from occupational diseases such as tuberculosis and silicosis . The Sanatorium of Monte Alto was inaugurated on 1 November 1958,  being the last one to be opened in Portugal. The inauguration ceremony included a religious service at the Chapel of Nossa Senhora dos Enfermos, the unveiling of a commemorative tombstone, a tribute to the League of Combatants of theFirst World War, and concluded with a port of honor offered by the board of directors. of the sanatorium.  During the ceremony, the admission and accommodation process of the first clients, all veterans of the First World War, was also carried out. Although it was planned for three hundred patients,  its initial capacity was only fifty beds, and during its operation it accommodated 350 people.    In the early 1970s, there began to be greater control over the tuberculosis disease, which began to be fought in a different way, through the outpatient system.  In this way, the sanatoriums ceased to be useful, and were progressively abandoned or underwent a process of readaptation for other purposes.  In the case of the Montalto Sanatorium, the closure process began in 1972,  due to the low number of tuberculosis patients in the Porto District.  At that time, the building already had only a few patients, having been thought of its adaptation as a psychiatric hospital or for the returnees from overseas, which did not advance.  Due to the process of closing the Sanatorium, Casa Nossa Senhora da Conceição ceased to function as a boarding school, starting to support only external students. The building was abandoned after the April 25 Revolution , when the last employee left, although it was only officially closed in 1975.  Following its closure, it was completely looted, being a of the main reasons its connection to the Estado Novo, as it was mostly built and used during that regime.  This connection to the Estado Novo also had a negative impact on the collection of funds, making it impossible to carry out works on the building. It was also used as a training ground by firefighters and civil protection, who performed drills there and destroyed some walls.  Later, the sanatorium was used for paintball games and photo shoots, and various ceremonies related to the supernatural, such as rituals, were also performed there. The building was also hit by several fires, accentuating its degradation. History is awesome and fun and you know we love it but…. The reason we're here is for creepiness! There are stories abound of how haunted this place is. Given the numerous people who died there it makes sense to us! So what kind of stuff are we talking about here ? Well, let's look.    Well paranormal investigators have been spending time here for years, when there's no paintball matches going on, to try and find crazy shit! There have been numerous reports of strange noises and things moving around. There have been entities seen and apparitions spotted. It's hard to find much in English so finding pages from Portuguese websites and trying to find studies was tough but we managed to find one study where a group of friends were exploring the abandoned hospital and had some interesting things happen. They talked about how they started hearing strange noises while they were exploring. The noises seemed to be following them around the building. They talked about how they had a heavy feeling around them as they explored. The sounds seemed to keep getting closer to them. They claim that things started getting knocked over and moved on their own. At one point, one of the group claimed they saw a shadowy figure seemingly watching them. At that point they all decided it was time to go! Sounds like a pretty crazy experience!  True or not? We like to think so!   Can't go and episode without fucking tuberculosis… Teatro Lethes:   The building that today is called Teatro Lethes, began as a Jesuit College – Colégio de Santiago Maior, founded by the then Bishop of the Algarve, D. Fernando Martins Mascarenhas -, whose license was granted to them on 8 February 1599. of learning, above all of a religious nature – the “first university in the Algarve”, as someone has called it. In 1759, the Society of Jesus was banned from the country and its goods were confiscated. The College of Santiago Maior closed its doors. With the occupation of Napoleonic troops commanded by General Junot, the premises of the former College were raided and desecrated in order to enlist the soldiers there. Years later, in 1843, the College was auctioned off by Dr. Lazaro Doglioni, who had publicly expressed his intention to build a theater in Faro similar to S.   The Latin inscription on the facade of the building, monet oblectando , can be translated as “instructing, playing”, thus emphasizing the cultural concerns of the promoter of the construction of this concert hall.   The inauguration of Teatro Lethes took place on 4 April 1845, as part of the celebrations for the birthday of Queen Maria II. Later, in 1860, it was expanded by Dr. Justino Cumano, nephew of Lázaro Doglioni. On September 11, 1898, the so-called animatograph was exhibited for the first time in Faro., installed in the Lethes Theater as it is the largest and most distinguished cultural space in the city. It was restored between 1906 and 1908 to improve acoustics and comfort. The decline of the shows and, consequently, of the hall, begins in 1920, with the Theater closing in 1925, having sold the property to the Portuguese Red Cross, in whose possession it still remains. The Lethes Theater room was later ceded, by protocol, to the Algarve Regional Delegation of the Ministry of Culture. In the North wing, restored and adapted in 1991, the regional services of the Ministry of Culture operated. On October 5, 2012, by protocol between the Municipality of Faro and the Portuguese Red Cross, Teatro Lethes recovered its initial design. The Algarve Theater Company – ACTA was installed as a resident structure. ACTA, in addition to presenting shows of its own creation, also promotes hospitality at the Lethes Theater, and is also responsible for managing the equipment. this history was taken directly from the theatre website!   There are a couple stories about this place that prettier day lead to its hauntings. The first is the story of a ballerina who was in love but was not loved back. She was so distraught that she hung herself in the middle of the stage. Some versions say that she was driven to the brink by the demands of theater life. The second is that of a soldier's body that was found inside one of the walls. There isn't as much info on that story as the ballerina. Staff and visitors claim you can hear the ballerinas footsteps in the theater to this day. There are also reports of a shadowy figure moving about as well. Could this be the ballerina still performing for the people? Or the soldier patrolling the theater? Who knows but it sounds like a cool place to visit!! The Castelinho of Sao Joao, Estoril   The area between Estoril and Cascais, out on Lisbon's Atlantic coast, is rife with buildings of character. Many of them are designed to give the impression of miniature castles, indeed some of them were fortified because they were built during times of instability within the Iberian peninsula.   In the 1980s, a wealthy socialite, José Castelo Branco, was looking for just such a property and found one that seemed ideal in Sao Joao, a district on the edge of Estoril. The day he went to view the property was a beautiful sunny one and so he decided to walk along the cliff path which adjoined the property. As he was walking back to the building, he saw a young girl. She didn't speak, but simply stared at him. In his own account of the events of that day, Mr Castelo Branco said that he felt a compulsion to jump from the edge. This feeling was, he believed, coming from the young girl. He immediately elected to leave the property and ruled out buying it.   On hearing what had happened, someone from the local town hall did some research into the building and discovered that a young blind girl had fallen from the cliffs to her death in the eighteenth century and that several people had reported seeing her at the castelinho since, each claiming that they felt a strong will to jump while she looked at them.   Let's check out a cemetery now…cus those are always fun!    This one is called the cemetery of pleasures. After the city of Lisbon was hit by an outbreak of cholera in 1833, causing thousands of deaths,  it was urgent to create a large cemetery for both rich and poorer victims. It has the weird name of  Cemetery of ‘Pleasures', called after the nearby neighborhood (Prazeres) with the same name. Many of its tombs are big mausoleums, some with the size of small chapels.    Most of the Prazeres mausoleums belong to rich, old or ‘important' families, like  the Palmela family. Many of the mausoleums are richly elaborate, have fine sculptures and decorations. There are also statues of the deceased. It's like a ‘city in a city' for the dead, with well-defined lanes (70! ) and funerary chapels that were built to look like little houses.   The unusual thing about a lot of these graves is that they have little “front doors” with glass windows through which you can see the caskets and remnants of the dead and their visitors. Most of the trees are a species of cypress (Cupressus sempervirens), much used in Portuguese cemeteries.   The cemetery is one of the largest in Lisbon.    The Autopsy Room , which was in the chapel until the Morgues were created in 1899, is one of the curiosities that can be seen, as well as the Sala do Acervo , where some of the oldest funeral records can be consulted. This is another way of helping the visitor to interpret the different ways that human beings have had to culturally, socially and psychologically approach Death, throughout different times.   As with the many famous families and celebrities, another thing that adds to some people thinking there's more going on at this place is the presence of many freemason symbols and you know how that gets people talking!    At any rate, being a cemetery you can imagine the tales of hauntings surrounding this place! Everything from apparitions being seen wandering the grounds, to Disembodied voices. People have seen orbs in person and in pictures. I mean being able to see into these little houses and see the caskets and remains is creepy enough…add haunting to that…and it's definitely a place we want to go!   Next up, Quinta Das Conchas   The Quinta das Conchas (or the garden of shells) in Lisbon is best known for its expansive parkland, just to the north of the city centre. Families can be found playing here during the warmer months and countless dog walkers can be seen at any time of the year. The house at the heart of the estate though has a darker past which is lesser known. In the early part of the twentieth century, when Portugal was still a colonial power, the owner of the estate was a wealthy man called Francisco Mantero Belard. Like many of his countrymen, he was accustomed to having servants who took care of the running of his home. So, when he moved into the quinta, he acquired the services of a slave from Sao Tomé and Principe. There was nothing unusual about this at the time, other than that he elected to keep this slave woman in a small cage. She was made to live like an animal and, according to local myth, subjected to a variety of cruel treatment for several years. People working in the manor house in modern times have reported hearing wailing coming from empty rooms, as well as dramatic changes in temperature.   Let's switch it up and talk a little about Portuguese folklore! We're gonna talk about the coco or coca. There are also many other names for this guy or gal including Cucuy, Cuco, Cuca, Cucu or Cucuí. It is a mythical ghost-monster, equivalent to the bogeyman, found in many Hispanophone and Lusophone countries. It can also be considered an Iberian version of a bugbear as it is a commonly used figure of speech representing an irrational or exaggerated fear. A bugbear is described as  a legendary creature or type of hobgoblin comparable to the boogeyman and other creatures of folklore, all of which were historically used in some cultures to frighten disobedient children. The Cucuy is a male being while Cuca is a female version of the mythical monster. In Spain, Portugal, and Latin America, parents sometimes invoke the Coco or Cuca as a way of discouraging their children from misbehaving; they sing lullabies or tell rhymes warning their children that if they don't obey their parents, el Coco will come and get them and then eat them.    Continuing with the mystery surrounding this child scarer, the Coco also does not take on a specific physical form. For the Portuguese it is a dragon that is represented every year in the celebration of Corpus Christi…at least that is what I've source says.. another says: "In Portuguese côco, refers to a ghost with a pumpkin head. The male form is known as Coco, and the female form as Coca. It is said it's hard to tell the difference between the two. It seems that parents are to blame for the invocation of the Coco as a way of punishment for their wayward children. They would sing rhymes warning their children if they did not obey their parents the Coco would come and eat them.".... So a pumpkin headed goblin… Although the Coco was ghostly monster like in appearance, that wasn't the most frightening thing about them. Children would be scared out of their wits at the idea of a monster that could eat them and not leave a trace. So imagine being a child forced to sleep with a lullaby of a monster that was coming to devour them.    Duermete niño, duermete ya…que viene el cuco y te comerá (sleep child, sleep now…or else comes the coco to eat you).   Creepy, so this folk tale seems to have many different versions depending on where you look. We think that due to the fact that many Latin American countries also use this in folklore as well as there being a certain in Brazil, it's hard to actually put the facts together. Every place we looked about this tale had a little bit of a different take, hopefully we got it close as we mean no disrespect to the tales!   You know what else Portugal has…aliens, at least a few. He's a couple stories!    On September 4, 1957, four Portugal Air Force pilots claimed to have seen and chased some UFOs. They took off with their bomber aircraft from the Ota Air Base in Portugal under Captain José Lemos Ferreira leadership (the others pilots were sergeants Alberto Gomes Covas, Salvador Alberto Oliveira e Manuel Neves Marcelino). When they were heading towards the city of Portalegre, Captain Ferreira noticed a light above the horizon and warned the others. The light changed its own sizes a couple of times, first increasing, then shrinking. After several minutes the pilots noticed a small yellow circle getting out of the craft, and 3 more circles appeared later. When the UFOs were near Coruche, the bigger aircraft climbed out of the Earth as the smaller ones disappeared. The bombers landed without any problems and Captain Ferreira declared: "after this, do not come to us with that Venus, weather balloons, aircraft and similar stuff which have been being used as general explanations for almost every case of UFOs".   On September 10, 1990, around 9:30AM and for about 50 minutes, a small "balloon" was seen hovering towards a small football field, on a small village called Alfena in the outskirts of Porto. The object was described as "a small turtle with long legs" with a metallic shine. The people present got scared and a group of construction workers started throwing stones at it, and the object hovered backed away, leaving the site. An amateur photographer took several pictures of the shapeshifting object; the pictures were considered by several experts as real and the witness accounts by the simple folks were not considered hoax.    We also found this first hand account.. "My name is Cristina Marto de Pimental. I am a reporter. On New Year's Eve, December 31, 1997, my husband and I were at a seaside party in Funchal, which is on the South shore of Madeira Island, in the Atlantic Ocean, 912 kilometres East of Morocco. We were watching the New Year's festivities, all the fireworks in the sky. Then several people at the party called my attention to a red and motionless light above Funchal. The OVNI suddenly made a very tight circle, returned to its initial position, and, a few seconds later, it accelerated at great speed in a vertical direction. We were all quite amazed at the sight. A British couple at the festival videotaped the UFO as it hovered. The next day I telephoned the Fuerzas Aereas Portugeses (FAP) headquarters in Lisboa. The Portuguese air force told me that they'd had no flights, neither planes nor helicopters, and no satellites were over Madeira at that time."   Whoooooo aliens!!!   Time for some quick hitters, you beautiful bastards!   Quinta da Paulicea, Agueda:   Not far from the city center of Águeda, Quinta da Paulicea sits in the middle of large unkept plot of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence. It is the classic image of what a Hollywood haunted house should look like. It was inhabited by an Águedense family, who had moved to Brazil in the late 1800s, but returned in the early 1900s, naming the home after the city of São Paulo. Much of the family succumbed to the influenza pandemic in 1918, with the exception of Neca Carneiro. He was a patron of the community's sports and cultural programs but died childless at the young age of 37. The home has sat vacant ever since, due to legal constraints with the family back in Brazil. Although not certified as haunted, there are many reports of supernatural encounters at Quinta da Paulicea. Some have heard the neighing of horses where the stables once stood. Others have been frightened by the sound of a shotgun blast or a gentle pulling on hair. A worker in the garden suddenly experienced such an intense headache that he fled and never returned. Whether haunted or not, this beautiful home has many stories to tell.   Mines of São Pedro de Cova – Gondomar:   The village of São Pedro da Cova was largely an agricultural community until the discovery of coal in the 1802. The exhausting and dangerous industry of mining soon took over. Several generations of miners worked here until low oil prices forced the mines to shut down in the 1970's. All that's left of the mines are these ruins. Neighbors say spirits of the miners protect the ruins and the mine shafts. Others claim to hear screaming from the deep holes.   Termas de Água Radium, Sortelha:    Legend has it that this beautiful structure, in the Guarda District, was built by Spanish Count Don Rodrigo after learning that the natural “healing waters” might cure his daughter's skin disease. News of the waters quickly spread. In the 1920s, the site became a restorative spa known as the Hotel Serra da Pena. In actuality, the waters were radioactive, seeping from a uranium mine not far away. Radioactivity was all the rage in the 20's and 30's, so the site bottled the spring water and sold it under the name “Radium Water.” Of course, after radioactivity was studied further in the 40's, it became apparent that the healing qualities of radium water actually carried the opposite effect. The hotel went out of business in the 50's and has been abandoned ever since. It is said the site is haunted by the many people who drank from the contaminated spring.   Sanatório da Serra da Estrela – near Covilhã:   This massive structure was built in 1936 by Portugal's railway department as a treatment facility for its employees suffering from Tuberculosis. The building was later leased to the Portuguese Society of Sanatoriums on condition of receiving all patients needing treatment.  However it was closed in the 1980's and left to deteriorate for decades to come.  Rumors circulate that it is haunted by its many former patients.  The Sanatório has now been refurbished and transformed into the luxurious new Pousada Serra da Estrella.   Quinta da Juncosa – Penafiel, Rios de Monihos:    This old farmhouse was home to the Baron of Lages and his family.  The Baron was very jealous, and suspected his wife of infidelities.  Legends have it, the Baron tied his wife to a horse and dragged her around the farm until she died.  After discovering his wife was innocent, the Baron killed his children and committed suicide.  They say the Baron's guilt keeps him from resting in peace.  Ghosts of the Baron and his wife are said to be seen around the property.   So we did this episode in honor of our Portuguese listeners who have keep us in the top 10 in Portugal for quite some time. We thank you guys so much for that. But we have one request for you…in every creepy episodes so far until this one…we've found a haunted bridge, Texas had like 50. In all of my searching the recesses of the Internet, I could not find a single reference to a haunted bridge in Portugal, we need our Portuguese listeners to hit us up and let us know any stories about haunted bridges. It was tough to find a ton of information on a lot of these places so hopefully we did them right! If we made any mistakes or got anything wrong, you know what we say…blame the Internet!! Movie list   https://www.indiewire.com/gallery/best-body-horror-movies/

It's almost time to celebrate Easter in Portugal (Páscoa em Portugal). In this epi, I'll speak about Portuguese Easter, traditions related to this celebration and also some vocabulary related to Páscoa. Timestamps:00:00 Easter in Portugal and its History01:32 Portuguese Easter Traditions02:38 Typical Portuguese Easter Food03:23 How to say Happy Easter in PortugueseHere are 3 Ways To Say "Happy Easter" In Portuguese:1. Feliz Páscoa2. Páscoa Feliz3. Boa PáscoaDo you want to learn European Portuguese in a structured and fun way and become part of our community within Mia Esmeriz Academy? If yes, feel free to check out my FREE WEBINAR, where I will speak about 4 SECRETS to learn European Portuguese Fast and Effectively:https://event.webinarjam.com/register/45/05v7qf8o________________________________________________________WATCH THIS EPISODE ON YOUTUBE:https://youtu.be/455CjVzsrEUFREE ONLINE COURSE:https://school.learn-portuguese.org/p/kickstarter-course/?src=PODWEBSITE:https://learn-portuguese.orgONLINE COURSES:https://school.learn-portuguese.org/coursesBLOG POST:https://learn-portuguese.org/how-to-say-happy-easter-in-portuguese-5SOCIAL MEDIA:

This podcast is about the different personalities of different people. In Portuguese, as well as in English, we have several ways to describe somebody`s personality. Firstly, I will explain in English the adjectives that describe personalities. Once you know what I am speaking about, you`ll be able to understand the examples in a context, ( if you are an intermediate language learner) easier than if the adjectives were loose, and not in sentences. In order to improve your listening, and vocabulary, listen to it twice and repeat it out loud for yourself. Record your voice, to compare it with my pronunciation. If you want the PDF, go to my Instagram page "teachermaryportuguese" and send me a DM, asking for the Pdf. Hope to see you soon Visit my facebook channel Aprendendo português com os Nativos. There is a place to know more about the Brazilian culture, documents to live there, Brazilian shops and to interact with other students like you. To participate you need to ask to join in, and I will let you in, more than happy. Come on, join us. The more people we have the better our community will be. There is a google form there, fill in just in case you want an experimental class with me. link to fill in the Google forms https://forms.gle/gQq4SpmwTHVKMQuY6 #brazilianportugueselanguage #brazilianpodcasts #brazilianteacher #brazilianportugueselessonsoninstagram

The purpose of this podcast is to teach you the nationality of who comes from Brazil, Chile, France, and so on... 1-This podcast also will teach you the structure such as speaking about your country. verb to be + from + the name of your country. I am from Italy = eu sou da Itália she is from Russia = ela é da Rússia 2- to be + Nationality I am Brazilian = eu sou brasileiro(a) you are Argentine- você é argentino. Notice it is very important to know that in English, you write the name of your nationality in capital letters. e.g Brazilian, Argentine, Chilean... In Portuguese not. to speak about our nationality we write in lower case. E.g brasileiro, argentino, chileno (a) Visit my facebook channel Aprendendo português com os Nativos. There is a place to know more about the Brazilian culture, documents to live there, Brazilian shops and to interact with other students like you. To participate you need to ask to join in, and I will let you in, more than happy. Come on, join us. The more people we have the better our community will be. There is a google form there, fill in just in case you want an experimental class with me. link to fill in the Google forms https://forms.gle/gQq4SpmwTHVKMQuY6

In Portuguese we have two tenses to talk about the past, and both are widely used, but with different goals. Learn once and for all in which situations to use the two types of past in Portuguese, Pretérito Perfeito and Pretérito Imperfeito. CONVERSATION PROGRAM → http://brazilianing.com/sbw Access the transcript at→ http://brazilianing.com/podcast --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/daniele-lima/message

Gostou do episódio e quer ajudar a nossa lojinha a crescer? Compre com quem você sabe que vai sempre te atender bem! https://www.estante42.com.br/ .Siga a estante 42 os participantes nas redes sociais:Estante 42Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/estante42/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/estante.42E-mailsMande suas críticas, elogios e sugestões: contatoestante42@gmail.com

Living a Produced Life While Staying True to Yourself, with Carolina Groppa Not only actors but also the people working behind the scenes bring a film or TV show to life. And one of the people behind the scenes is the producer. We know that a film or a show cannot exist without a producer, but do we know what exactly is it that they do? In today's episode of Radically Loved, we're joined by a fantastic guest, Carolina Groppa. She is an Emmy-nominated film producer and the host of the Life With Caca podcast. She will talk about the reality of being a producer and her experience producing films. Also, she will share how yoga and meditation have helped her deal with the demands of her profession. This episode is full of firsthand insights. Check out the episode highlights below and make sure to tune in to the full episode! About Our Guest Carolina Groppa is an Emmy-nominated film producer for her documentary, Autism in Love (2015). Her work also includes Miss Virginia (2019) and The Female Brain (2017). Aside from being a producer and an actress, she is also the host of the Life With Caca podcast. There, she holds intimate conversations with other producers about their experiences in the industry. How Carolina Stays True to Herself Life With Caca Even among people in the industry, they don't know what the different types of producers do. Life With Caca is a podcast space for producers, especially women in the field. Carolina invites colleagues to understand how they got there and what the lifestyle of a producer is like. “Caca” is not just Carolina's nickname. In Portuguese, it means “something messy.” The podcast looks deeper into how producers go through both the wonderful and the messy parts of their lives. The lifestyle conversation also tells stories of diversity and representation in the industry. Mindfulness and Meditation Most people in this field are very anxious people. They're good at problem-solving and thinking about problems that don't exist yet. It is an excellent skill to have in the job but not in personal life. When she discovered yoga, she didn't fully understand it. A teacher broke it down for her and made her love the physical practice. Eventually, she learned that yoga starts off the mat. Yoga helps her lean into a place of love instead of fear. Be patient and kind to yourself when meditating. Set realistic boundaries. Without mindfulness, we can get caught up in the motions of life. However, once you are a “woke” person, being absent from your body and the world is harder. Living a balanced life means hitting your goals, big or small, one day at a time. Becoming a Producer Carolina is originally from Brazil. Her family moved to Florida when she was nine. In her early teens, she discovered acting and auditioned for a conservatory in Los Angeles. However, that coincided with the writers’ strike, so she didn't get the traction that she wanted. She started producing to create acting opportunities for herself. She did everything from producing the show to marketing it and playing the lead; it was a huge success. Your brain has to be wired for multitasking to be a producer. Life of a Producer Some producers take advantage of their colleagues, and that breeds a lot of misconceptions about the profession. You will never know where your experiences will lead you. But if you put in the work, success will find you. And you will only connect the dots looking backwards. You're never going to learn until you work on something. Honesty and Authenticity There is a disconnect between reality and what we see on social media. Carolina started her podcast to break away from that mirage. The life of a producer is not glamorous every time. The more you practice yoga, the more you can realign with the most authentic version of yourself. That, in turn, creates a ripple effect. She feels authentic when she can make someone's day a little better or inspire and motivate people through her podcast. Because of social media, we spend zero time grounding and going into our bodies. Before she interviews her guests, she aligns with myself so that she can be connected with them. It allows her to have profound conversations with them, and they respond to that. 5 Powerful Quotes From This Episode “There's a lot of actors and comedians and writers and directors with podcasts, and they're all fantastic. But nothing, no one is talking to the producers. And as a producer, I know how frustrating that can be to have something you work on so hard, get a ton of visibility, and then you rarely get to have a moment to share your story or your perspective on that experience.” “I think with social media, oftentimes, we can just get a very myopic, one-dimensional view of what it takes to get to that one photo that you're seeing. And I've been using this metaphor, a lot, of a garden. It's like you're seeing someone's garden in full bloom, and you're not seeing the years of planting seeds, and weeds that you have to pull out, and things that you thought would grow and blossom that didn't, and the frustrations that come with that, and then what is it that makes people keep going.” “Lately I've been thinking that this idea of a balanced life is not an overarching thing. It's a balanced day. Every day you have to decide, “Okay, today I want my day to be 60% work and 40% home life.” Or “80% I'm going to relax, and 20% I'm going to do the work.” And if you can hit those, whatever that is for you daily, that is living a balanced life one day at a time.” “Frankly, you're never going to learn until you're just in it. And that's so much of this career path, which is why it's so well-suited for my personality of you just figure it out as you go along. And that isn't for everybody. Some people are terrified by that… It's always evolving. And in a way, it's terrifying. But it's exhilarating. And that's why I think because it can have these two very diametrically opposed extremes to yoga and the mindfulness is a thing that brings me back to try and find the middle of that pendulum. Otherwise, I spiral out of control.” “I think [freedom is] having autonomy. There's the freedom that we can discuss of, like I live in a country where I can walk out of my house, and as a woman, I can go pretty much anywhere, and do anything, and wear anything, and say anything, and most of the time be okay. There's still precautions, of course, as a woman, you always have to take, but there's that freedom. And I think having that freedom gives you ammo to have autonomy and to feel empowered, go after the things that you want to do.” Resources Life With Caca by Carolina Groppa, available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, and YouTube To know more about what she does, visit her website, lifewithcaca.com. You may also reach her on social media, @carolinagroppa. If you enjoyed this episode, please share it with your friends, and don't forget to send us messages on Instagram or Twitter. If you have any comments or feedback, please don't hesitate to leave a review and subscribe to us on iTunes. Thank you so much for listening!

Because we do use more articles than other languages in general. In a lot of languages we don't use articles before proper names. In Portuguese we do. We also use the definite articles before Possessive adjectives. - (A) minha tia fala comigo. This one is not a rule, but we often use it before them. *** in some states in Brazil, people don't always use the articles before proper names.

Audiences of all ages will benefit from its beautiful images and sharply scripted story…surreal and hypnotizing.”--Barry Hertz, Toronto Globe and Mail “Powerful…a little science fiction, a lot of fantasy, and a surprisingly potent allegory.”--Jared Mobarak, The Film Stage This timely and fast-paced animated adventure story takes a flight of fancy through a world in the grip of an epidemic of fear. Ruled by an evil media-mogul despot who spreads lies and threats, the population cowers in the safety of a domed community. A lone scientist believes that the birds are trying to give mankind a message, and he begins to build a machine to translate their songs into human speech. An accident destroys the machine and its inventor disappears, but his wide-eyed ten-year-old son Tito understands the urgency of his dad’s mission. Guided in a dream by a bird drawing that takes flight from an ancient cave painting, Tito recruits his friends Sarah and Buiú to join him in following the bird’s clues in order to rebuild his dad’s machine and avert a global crisis. Colorful and lusciously textured oil-painted imagery combines with digital drawings and computer animation for a haunting allegory suitable for all ages. In Portuguese with English subtitles. DCP digital widescreen. 

A Thanksgiving Meal –  סעודת הודיה This week in the US we will be sitting down to a Thanksgiving meal, so what better opportunity to explore the sources and traditions of a Seuda Hodaah – סעודת הודיה  a thanksgiving meal in the Jewish tradition… and survey a collection of Thanksgiving sermons…. We’ll even explain why turkey is called Hodu… which means “thanks” in Hebrew… If you like the madlik podcast please subscribe at iTunes.  And for your Andoids, the podcast is now available on Google PlayMusic and Stitcher.  For easy links go to madlik.com ------------------ In the Bible: After the battle of the five kings: Genesis 14: 18 יח  וּמַלְכִּי-צֶדֶק מֶלֶךְ שָׁלֵם, הוֹצִיא לֶחֶם וָיָיִן; וְהוּא כֹהֵן, לְאֵל עֶלְיוֹן. 18 And Melchizedek king of Salem brought forth bread and wine; and he was priest of God the Most High. יט  וַיְבָרְכֵהוּ, וַיֹּאמַר:  בָּרוּךְ אַבְרָם לְאֵל עֶלְיוֹן, קֹנֵה שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ. 19 And he blessed him, and said: 'Blessed be Abram of God Most High, Maker of heaven and earth; כ  וּבָרוּךְ אֵל עֶלְיוֹן, אֲשֶׁר-מִגֵּן צָרֶיךָ בְּיָדֶךָ; וַיִּתֶּן-לוֹ מַעֲשֵׂר, מִכֹּל. 20 and blessed be God the Most High, who hath delivered thine enemies into thy hand.' And he gave him a tenth of all. כא  וַיֹּאמֶר מֶלֶךְ-סְדֹם, אֶל-אַבְרָם:  תֶּן-לִי הַנֶּפֶשׁ, וְהָרְכֻשׁ קַח-לָךְ. 21 And the king of Sodom said unto Abram: 'Give me the persons, and take the goods to thyself.' כב  וַיֹּאמֶר אַבְרָם, אֶל-מֶלֶךְ סְדֹם:  הֲרִמֹתִי יָדִי אֶל-יְהוָה אֵל עֶלְיוֹן, קֹנֵה שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ. 22 And Abram said to the king of Sodom: 'I have lifted up my hand unto the LORD, God Most High, Maker of heaven and earth, כג  אִם-מִחוּט וְעַד שְׂרוֹךְ-נַעַל, וְאִם-אֶקַּח מִכָּל-אֲשֶׁר-לָךְ; וְלֹא תֹאמַר, אֲנִי הֶעֱשַׁרְתִּי אֶת-אַבְרָם. 23 that I will not take a thread nor a shoe-latchet nor aught that is thine, lest thou shouldest say: I have made Abram rich; כד  בִּלְעָדַי, רַק אֲשֶׁר אָכְלוּ הַנְּעָרִים, וְחֵלֶק הָאֲנָשִׁים, אֲשֶׁר הָלְכוּ אִתִּי:  עָנֵר אֶשְׁכֹּל וּמַמְרֵא, הֵם יִקְחוּ חֶלְקָם.  {ס} 24 save only that which the young men have eaten, and the portion of the men which went with me, Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre, let them take their portion.' {S} RASHI: And Malchizedek: The Midrash Aggadah (Targum Jonathan, Ned. 32b, Mid. Ps. 76:3) states that he was Shem, the son of Noah.   ומלכי צדק: מדרש אגדה הוא שם בן נח:   The weaning of Isaac: Genesis 21: 8 8 And the child grew and was weaned, and Abraham made a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned.                                 חוַיִּגְדַּ֥ל הַיֶּ֖לֶד וַיִּגָּמַ֑ל וַיַּ֤עַשׂ אַבְרָהָם֙ מִשְׁתֶּ֣ה גָד֔וֹל בְּי֖וֹם הִגָּמֵ֥ל אֶת־יִצְחָֽק: RASHI: and was weaned: At the end of twenty-four months. — [from Gen. Rabbah 53:10, Keth. 60a]  ויגמל: לסוף עשרים וארבע חדש: a great feast: for all the prominent people of the generation were there: Shem, Eber, and Abimelech. — [from Tan. Buber, Vayishlach 23] Cf. Gen. Rabbah 53:10.                 משתה גדול: שהיו שם גדולי הדור, שם ועבר ואבימלך: חיי אדם כלל קנ”ה סעיף מ”א ומשנה ברורה סי’ תר”ע סק”ט בשם המהרש”ל The Thanksgiving Sacrifice: Leviticus יב  אִם עַל-תּוֹדָה, יַקְרִיבֶנּוּ--וְהִקְרִיב עַל-זֶבַח הַתּוֹדָה חַלּוֹת מַצּוֹת בְּלוּלֹת בַּשֶּׁמֶן, וּרְקִיקֵי מַצּוֹת מְשֻׁחִים בַּשָּׁמֶן; וְסֹלֶת מֻרְבֶּכֶת, חַלֹּת בְּלוּלֹת בַּשָּׁמֶן. 12 If he offer it for a thanksgiving, then he shall offer with the sacrifice of thanksgiving unleavened cakes mingled with oil, and unleavened wafers spread with oil, and cakes mingled with oil, of fine flour soaked.   Vayikra Rabbah 9:7 ר' אלעזר ור' יוסי בר חנינא ר' אלעזר אמר: שלמים הקריבו בני נח. רבי יוסי בר חנינא אמר עולות הקריבו בני נח  ...  מתיב ר' אלעזר לרבי יוסי בר חנינא (שם יח): ויקח יתרו חותן משה עולה וזבחים לאלהים. דא מה עבד לה רבי יוסי בר חנינא? עבד כמאן דאמר לאחר מתן תורה נתגייר יתרו. איפלגו רבי חייא בר אבא ורבי ינאי חד אמר: לאחר מתן תורה נתגייר יתרו. וחד אמר: קודם מתן תורה נתגייר יתרו. אמר רבי הונא: ולא פליגי. מאן דאמר קודם מתן תורה נתגייר יתרו, כמאן דאמר, שלמים הקריבו בני נח.חת Rabbi Pinchas, Rabbi Levi and Rabbi Yochanan [said] in the name of Rabbi Menachem from Gallia: In the time to come, all sacrifices will be annulled - but the sacrifice of thanksgiving will not be annulled. All prayers will be annulled, but the prayer of gratitude will not be annulled. This accords with what is written [Jeremiah 33:11]: "The voice of joy and the voice of gladness, the voice of the groom and the voice of the bride, the voice of those who say 'Give thanks to the LORD of hosts' etc." - this is the prayer of gratitude. "Those who bring [the sacrifice of] thanksgiving to the House of the LORD": this is the sacrifice of thanksgiving. Thus David said: "I owe You vows and will offer you thanksgivings" [Psalms 56:13] - not "thanksgiving," but "thanksgivings," [indicating both] the thanksgiving prayer and the prayer of gratitude. In the Talmud: Tractate Berakoth  46a Zera once was ill. R. Abbahu went to visit him, and made a vow, saying, If the little one with scorched legs1 recovers, I will make a feast for the Rabbis. He did recover, and he made a feast for all the Rabbis. Modern Times: Chabad Hasidim celebrate the 19th of Kislev to commemorate the release of the first Lubavitcher Rebbe;  Schneur Zalman from jail…. also considered to be the Rosh Hashana of Chassidus.  Also the day the Rebbe walked out of his room for the first time since his heart attack on shemini atzeret (1978)..for the Chassidim this was huge and still is for them as they feel that this day is hodoo of his recovery and hence his subsequent relationship to the hasidim.  Also 12 tammuz the previous Rebbe release from prison in Russia. (all events that allowed the next frame to occur which leads to today ) The 30th day of Nissan See a reference in a luach (הלכה יומית) here to the custom to have a  on the anniversary of the UN Vote for the partition of Palestine and the resulting birth of Israel:   א‘ ל‘ ניסן. מה משמעותו של יום העצמאות יום היום בו הוכרזה המדינה בשנת תש“ח, הינו יום שמחה ותודה לבורא עולם, על הנס הגדול שעשה לנו בהקמת המדינה. אף על פי שאויבנו לא רצו בהקמת המדינה היהודית, הכריזה המועצה הזמנית על הקמת המדינה היהודית, ונחתמה מגילת העצמאות יש לקיים סעודת הודיה ביום זה, ולברך את ה‘ על כך Prayers: See Alan Brill’s: The Book of Doctrines and Opinions: notes on Jewish theology and spirituality. Service for Thanksgiving Day 1905- In Commemoration of 250 Years of Jews in the US. by Rev H. Pereira Mendes of the Spanish- Portuguese synagogue of NY offered in 1905 at a special convocation to commemorate the 250th anniversary of the settlement of Jews in the United States.  2005 was 350 years….   Throughout the past ages Thou hast carried Israel as on eagles' wings. From the bondage of Egypt, through the trials of the wilderness, ….From nation to nation Thou didst lead us, until the hand of the oppressor was weakened and the day of human rights began to dawn Thou hast opened unto us this blessed haven of our beloved land. we lift up our hearts in gratitude to Thee, in that two hundred and fifty years ago Thou didst guide a little band of Israel’s children who, . seeking freedom to worship Thee, found it in a land which, with Thy blessing, became a refuge of freedom and justice for the oppressed of all peoples. O Lord, look down from Thy holy habitation from heaven and bless this Republic. Preserve it in the liberty which has been proclaimed in the land, and in the righteousness which is its foundation. Bless it with prosperity and peace. May it advance from strength to strength and continue to be a refuge for all who seek its shelter. Imbue all its citizens with a spirit of loyalty to its ideals. May they be ever mindful that the blessings of liberty are safeguarded by obedience to law, and that the prosperity of the nation rests upon trust in Thy goodness and reverence for Thy commandments. Bless the President and his counselors, the judges, lawgivers, and executives of our county. Put forth upon them the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and the spirit of might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. May America become a light to all peoples, teaching the world that righteousness exalteth a nation. Our Father in Heaven, Who lovest all nations, all men are Thy children. Thou dost apportion tasks to peoples according to their gifts of mind and heart. But all, are revealing Thy marvelous plans for mankind. May the day speedily dawn when Thy kingdom will be established on earth, when nations shall learn war no more, when peace shall be the crowning reward of a world redeemed by justice, and all men shall know Thee, from the greatest unto the least. -------------- Service for Thanksgiving Day 1940 – Rabbi Joseph Lookstein at Kehilath Jeshurun in New York We thank Thee for the beauty and utility of Thy creations, for the flowers which are the stars of the earth even as the stars are the flowers of heaven; for the fertility of the soil and the abundance of its products; for the food that is borne within its bosom and the waters that flow from its deep and inner fountains; for the air that surrounds all creatures and that holds within its invisible self the secret and power • of life. Almighty God, we pray that we may remain true to the destiny for which we were created. We pray that the dignity of human per­sonality may be preserved and the reverence of man for man may continue. We pray that the beautiful heavens that Thou didst spread over our heads may not be darkened by the clouds of hate and that the magic carpet which is earth may not be disturbed by the tramp of hostile feet. We pray that man’s inhumanity to man may forever end and that human genius may continue to strive for greater perfection and for nobler fulfillment. Let man come to understand that he is closest to God when he is nearer to man, that he worships at Thy holy throne when he serves Thy creatures and that he is within Thy holy shrine when he is at one with his fellow-beings. We pray sincerely for America and the ideals of democracy and freedom that are here enshrined. May she be strong to withstand all the currents that assail her and all the forces of evil that would invade her sacred precincts. A tower of light to her own citizenry, may she cast a steady beam and light up all the dark areas of the world and show to a perplexed and straying humanity the path of freedom, of life and of peace.  Rabbi and Congregation.  May the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to Thee, oh Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.  Cf Leonard Cohen “if it be your will”  ----------------- 1951 The Faith of America: Readings, Songs and Prayers for the Celebration of American Holidays by Mordecai Kaplan; Williams, J. Paul; Kohn, Eugene Kaplan   Intro THANKSGIVING DAY: a day devoted to a grateful awareness of the blessings of American life. A blessing not appreciated is easily lost. If we take for granted the blessings that we enjoy by virtue of our living in a land of almost boundless opportunities and take no thought to the moral foundation on which the welfare of our people rests, those blessings will sooner or later be lost. Thanksgiving should be used to make us aware of those moral foundations, of our dependence on divine justice and love for the continued enjoyment of the blessings of American life.  Prayer  The Significance of the Day  OUR GOD AND FATHER, it is good to give thanks to Thee and to acknowledge Thy blessings. Only thus can we savor them to the full. In the hurried pace of our lives and in our preoccupation with the petty and the trivial, we are prone to take Thy gifts for granted. Oblivious of thy bounties, we sinfully waste the opportunities they afford us for living the good life. Therefore, do we set aside this day for thanksgiving.  We thank Thee for the land and for its fruits by which we live. We thank thee for the vigor of body and mind that enables us to exploit the fertility of our country’s fields and forests and the buried treasures of its mineral wealth. We thank Thee for the varied beauty of its landscape, for the grandeur of its mountains, the hospitality of its plains and prairies, and the gleaming vistas of ocean from its coasts.  We thank Thee for the inspiration of our country’s history—for the courage and hardihood that sustained its explorers and pioneers, for the heroism that inspires its fighters for freedom and equality, for the enterprise that builds its teeming cities, for the arts that express the beauty and meaning of its way of life, for the just laws and free institutions that enable its people to work together in peace and harmony.  Grant, O God, in Thy grace, that we may perfect our national life to the measure of Thy bounty. Grateful for the gifts Thou hast bestowed upon us, may we use them to extend the area of freedom, justice, and good-will among men. May our use of Thy, gifts bear. Witness to mankind that life is good when lived according to Thy benign will, O gracious Giver of all good. AMEN.  ------------- George Washington – Thanksgiving Proclamation Issued on October 3, 1789 And also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations, and beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions; to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a blessing to all the people by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to protect and guide all sovereigns and nations (especially such as have shown kindness to us) ----------- In hard times A THOUGHTFUL MIND will perceive propriety in a service of thanksgiving on the ground, not only of any exceptional benefit, but of the continuance of those ordinary blessings which give its gladness and beauty to life. The preservation of our life itself from casualty or from disease, which might have fallen upon it, is no less a sign of God’s goodness than a narrow escape from what seemed certain death. And so, though any given year may not have been marked by what we should call conspicuous blessings, it is right and proper that we should meet to give thanks for that bounty of heaven which has not failed, for our personal life, and health, and happiness, for the undisturbed serenity and tranquility of our homes, for the maintenance of public order, content and liberty, for the peaceful progress of industry, for the regular and beneficent operations of nature. The hand of God is in all this, as well as in the events which more strikingly exhibit His goodness and His power . . . The year that is ending has not been what we commonly call a “good” year. It has been rather a bad year in the history of other nations, in business and in politics within our own borders. How then shall we meet the call which invites us to give thanks today to God for His goodness. We might try to banish from our minds these gloomy facts…. And yet it is more likely to be useful to look at the facts as they are and to ask whether, if we should judge them aright, we should not find, not in spite of them, but in them, traces and tokens of God’s goodness and occasions for praise. We mourn, for example, the decline of our material Prosperity, but it is a shallow view of things which regards material prosperity as an unmixed good for a man or for a nation. The psalmist who said, “It is good for me that I have been afflicted,” uttered a truth which finds abundant confirmation in national as well as in personal history. Look at your neighbor whom you knew as a poor boy and who now is worth his millions. . . . He used to be considerate of others, helpful to those who needed help, nobly generous with what little he had to give. Now he seems to think that poverty is a crime, and it is easier to get a flame out of an iceberg than a dollar out of his purse. Once he judged men by their moral character. Now he speaks of them as “worth” whatever their property would sell for in the market. . . . What has made the change in him? Nothing but his success. . . . And the same thing is equally true of a nation. The unparalleled development of the material resources of the American people in recent years has astonished the world, but it has also awakened the gravest solicitude of thoughtful minds. The ever rising tide of wealth, the vast increase and wide diffusion of luxury, the reckless extravagance and waste which have been common, the senseless rivalry in vulgar display, the growing tyranny of money in the hands of rich men and rich corporations, the wild fever of speculation, the prostitution of public office to an unrestrained desire of wealth, the increased inequality, and, in consequence of this, the deepening animosity of the classes of which society is composed, the swift and shameless spread of corruption in politics, the intrusion into the place of legitimate and honest business of the methods and morals of the gambling room, the growing frequency of gross violations of trust—all these things . . . have come as the direct and inevitable fruit of the era of prosperity which now—for a time at least, is ended. . . . As you try to gather up your reasons for thanksgiving, do not turn your thoughts away from the things which at first seem dark. . . . Look at them, rather, frankly . . . and see if the goodness and the mercy of God are not manifest in them. So may your sorrows be turned into joy, and your sore disappointment into confident hope. So may you gain the height of adoring trust whereon he stood who long ago declared: “I will bless the Lord at all time: His praise shall continually be in my mouth.” Edward B. Coe   Turkey The guinea fowl bears some resemblance to the then-recently found American bird. Though it is native to eastern Africa, the guinea fowl was imported to Europe through the Ottoman Empire and came to be called the turkey-cock or turkey-hen. When settlers in the New World began to send similar-looking fowl back to Europe, they were mistakenly called turkeys. Every language seems to have radically different names for this bird. The Turkish word is hindi, which literally means “Indian.” The original word in French, coq d’Inde, meant rooster of India, and has since shortened to dinde. These names likely derive from the common misconception that India and the New World were one and the same. In Portuguese, it’s literally a “Peru bird,” and in Malay, it’s called a “Dutch chicken.” Hodu – India הֹדוּ Hôdûw, ho'-doo; of foreign origin; Hodu (i.e. Hindustan):—India. India = "flee away" or " give ye thanks" Strongs Lexicon H1912

asset title: Grammar Lesson 15: False Cognates, Driver's License filename: tafalado_gra_15.mp3 track number: 41/46 time: 10:50 size: 7.62 MB bitrate: 96 kbps No kidding, Orlando was in Mexico City one time and saw a man in Chapultepec Park who was selling helados esquisitos. Why would anyone want to buy 'weird' ice cream? Turns out, in Spanish esquisito means exquisite, and Mexicans actually like to have their helado esquisito! It's a positive thing. In Portuguese, esquisito means strange or weird. OK, that's what we mean by false cognates. Although many words between Spanish and Portuguese are similar, there are others that trick you because the meaning isn't what you expect.DialogPortugueseValdo: Você tirou sua carteira de motorista aqui no Texas?Michelle: Tirei sim. E logo comecei a dirigir pra todos os lugares.Valdo: Você não ficou surpresa ao saber que aqui se consegue a carteira aos 16 anos? Porque no Brasil só a partir dos 18. E o seu teste, você foi bem?Michelle: Você acredita que eu coloquei meu apelido no computador ao invés do meu nome e sobrenome?Valdo: Ah, é que você ainda estava grávida! Você não ficou embarassada em dirigir no dia do teste com aquele barrigão?Michelle: Claro que não! Eu até freqüentei a universidade grávida.SpanishValdo: ¿Sacaste tú la licencia de conducir aquí en Texas?Michelle: Sí, la saqué. Y después empecé a manejar por todos los lugares.Valdo: ¿No te sorprendiste al saber que aquí se consigue la licencia a los 16 años de edad? Porque en el Brasil sólo a partir de los 18. Y tu examen, ¿cómo saliste?Michelle: ¿Puedes creer que puse mi sobrenombre en la computadora en lugar de mi nombre y apellido?Valdo: Y todavía estabas embarazada! ¿No te avergonzaste en manejar el día del examen con esa barriga?Michelle: Claro que no! Yo también asistí a la universidad embarazada.EnglishValdo: Did you get your driver's license here in Texas?Michelle: Yes, I got it. And then I began to drive everywhere.Valdo: Weren't you surprised to find out that here one can get their driver's license at 16? Because in Brazil you have to be 18. And how about your test, how did it go?Michelle: Can you believe that I put my nickname on the computer instead of my first and last name?Valdo: Wow, and you were still pregnant! Weren't you embarrassed about driving for your test with that big stomach?Michelle: Of course not! I even attended the university while pregnant.

No kidding, Orlando was in Mexico City one time and saw a man in Chapultepec Park who was selling helados esquisitos. Why would anyone want to buy 'weird' ice cream? Turns out, in Spanish esquisito means exquisite, and Mexicans actually like to have their helado esquisito! It's a positive thing. In Portuguese, esquisito means strange or weird. OK, that's what we mean by false cognates. Although many words between Spanish and Portuguese are similar, there are others that trick you because the meaning isn't what you expect.helle: Can you believe that I put my nickname on the computer instead of my first and last name? Valdo: Wow, and you were still pregnant! Weren't you embarrassed about driving for your test with that big stomach? Michelle: Of course not! I even attended the university while pregnant.