Podcasts about Ravine

What were the key challenges and breakthroughs that shaped the BC and Ontario wine industries in the 1980s and 90s? What makes or breaks a new wine project, and why is finding the right vineyard often the most time-consuming step? What made Peter believe that Niagara-on-the-Lake could produce exceptional Chardonnay? In this episode of the Unreserved Wine Talk podcast, I'm chatting with Ann Sperling & Peter Gamble. You can find the wines we discussed at https://www.nataliemaclean.com/winepicks   Highlights What was Ann's best memory from growing up on the farm? When did Ann and Peter know that they wanted to work in the wine industry? How did Ann and Peter meet? What was the first bottle of wine Ann and Peter shared? How do Ann and Peter navigate their interwoven personal and professional lives? How do they negotiate professional disagreements, and who chooses the wine for dinner? What were the major challenges and opportunities in the BC and Ontario wine industry in the 1980s and 90s? In the early days, how did Peter envision the future of Ontario wines? What are some of the reasons certain vintages almost didn't make it into the bottle? What do you look for when considering a new project? What makes Ann and Peter different from the stereotypical flying winemakers? What were the signs that Niagara-on-the-Lake could produce exceptional Chardonnay? How has working on a small, focused vineyard impacted Ann and Peter's winemaking choices? Why must you suffer to make top-notch wines?   Key Takeaways It was in the early 80s in BC and maybe slightly before that in Ontario, that estate wineries became a thing. Prior to that, that meant there were a few really large wineries, not really making estate or single vineyards. Vineyards were a source of bulk wine for the most part. The hunt for the vineyard became a very important one. We looked at over 230 vineyards before we found one. I think everyone there was on the verge of giving up on this, thinking “Well, they're not really going to buy anything.” Because we'd get it to a certain stage, then we do soil analysis, and we weren't quite happy, or we talked to people who had made wine from the vineyard or something would come up, and we just wouldn't quite be where we wanted to be with the quality of the vineyard. I often work on the basis of paradigms, where I'll take a look at a wine sold throughout the world and say, you know, I think this could be done really well in this area. You know what it is you might be able to accomplish within the parameters that you have - the obvious things, the terroir, the exposures to soils, the temperatures in general.   About Ann Sperling & Peter Gamble Often referred to as the “power couple” of the Canadian wine industry, Peter Gamble and Ann Sperling have long pursued the pinnacles of wine quality in Canadian vineyards and wineries. Following her upbringing on her family's Okanagan Valley vineyard, Ann turned to the soil for the character and complexity of her wines. Acknowledged as a Canadian pioneer of organic and biodynamic viticulture, ‘terroir' was at the centre of her philosophy and she is renowned for her head winemaking roles at Malivoire, Southbrook, and Sperling Vineyards. Peter, a lifetime wine industry professional, has worked alongside Canada's most passionate winemakers to achieve greater heights with our finest appellation wines. Since 2000, Peter has provided expertise in ultra-premium winemaking operations, including: Stratus, Ravine, Benjamin Bridge and Lightfoot & Wolfville. With the purchase of a top-flight ancient Malbec planting in Mendoza, Argentina, in 2008, Ann and Peter broadened their winemaking activities, but Niagara remains their cherished home base. Current focus is on these Niagara projects: On Seven, Lailey and Stonebridge Vineyards and Dobbin Estate.         To learn more, visit https://www.nataliemaclean.com/342.

Le témoignage inédit d'une résistante juive rescapée de Birkenau, Macha Ravine.Mention légales : Vos données de connexion, dont votre adresse IP, sont traités par Radio Classique, responsable de traitement, sur la base de son intérêt légitime, par l'intermédiaire de son sous-traitant Ausha, à des fins de réalisation de statistiques agréées et de lutte contre la fraude. Ces données sont supprimées en temps réel pour la finalité statistique et sous cinq mois à compter de la collecte à des fins de lutte contre la fraude. Pour plus d'informations sur les traitements réalisés par Radio Classique et exercer vos droits, consultez notre Politique de confidentialité.Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

CONNECT WITH JULIE MATTSON:• Website: https://pushinguplilies.com• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pushinguplilies

Welcome back to a new episode! This time, we're knee-deep in the chaos of end-of-year madness. Scott, Jamie, and Fabian share their strategies (or survival tactics) for those strange final days when students and teachers alike are barely holding it together. Fabian talks about how he's using Ravine in his classroom to teach survival and resource management, while Scott shares his experiments with AI-powered project-based learning. Jamie brings the creativity with Bob Ross-inspired “Happy Little Accidents” and a twist on the classic “Three Times Perspective” EduProtocol. We also take a moment to honor the memory of Dr. Scott Petrie.Join @hofmannedu.bsky.social, @jedijamie.bsky.social and @findingmyaloha.bsky.social each week by subscribing to our podcast and rating and reviewing us on Apple Podcasts! Join our Discord on rebelteacheralliance.com or here. Find us on Instagram @rebelteacheralliance, on BluSky @rtalliance.bsky.social, and on TikTok @rebelteacheralliance.Things Mentioned on the Show:Ravine (Board Game)Bob Ross and "Happy Little Accidents"

Out of Office – E12 – Bike Tariffs, Tuckerman Ravine, Henry's Weather Channel What a week! Are you still skiing????? We are winding down heavily over here at Out of Collective, breaking the bikes out, and getting ready for summer. And with that there's some things to talk about. Tune [...] The post Out of Office – E12 – Bike Tariffs, Tuckerman Ravine, Henry's Weather Channel appeared first on Out Of Collective.

Bradbury Thirteen 84-04-02 (01) The Ravine

We really enjoyed our fascinating chat with Jim Archer, owner of Elk Ravine Farm in New York (their animals are not sold for meat). Get to know all about the conservation work he and his family do on his land, the vital role his animals play and enjoy the antics of Frosty and Cashew! It was a learning experience for us and we know it will inspire you so you don't want miss this episode.

Two years after Chávez Ravine, My Name Is Buddy was a return to folk and dustbowl blues. In other words, to the kind of music Cooder had begun his career with. It is a song cycle set in the 1930s, but with clear references to the present – another California opus that would become the middle part of a full-fledged trilogy. Needless to say, it was another masterpiece.This podcast frequently uses small snippets of musical recordings in podcast episodes for educational, review, and commentary purposes. In all cases, without exception, we believe this is protected by fair use in the U.S., fair dealing in the U.K. and EEA, and similar exceptions in the copyright laws of other nations. No more of the original than necessary is used, and excerpts are edited into long-form narratives, making the use transformative in nature.Written, produced and edited by Frank SchnelleTheme and background music by Chris HaugenVoices produced with text-to-speech AIFollow us on Facebook, Instagram, Tik Tok and YouTubeThe Ry Cooder Story WebsiteSupport us on Patreon Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

"Chávez Ravine" can mean many things. Obviously, there is an area in Los Angeles by that name. But there is also a book, a short documentary, and a Ry Cooder album, in that order. Cooder's 12th solo effort wouldn't exist without the book or the documentary. Like the Buena Vista Social Club, it came about almost by accident. And again, it was an opportunity he knew how to seize. It became his own ode to a lost Shangri-La – a masterful street-corner opera.This podcast frequently uses small snippets of musical recordings in podcast episodes for educational, review, and commentary purposes. In all cases, without exception, we believe this is protected by fair use in the U.S., fair dealing in the U.K. and EEA, and similar exceptions in the copyright laws of other nations. No more of the original than necessary is used, and excerpts are edited into long-form narratives, making the use transformative in nature.Written, produced and edited by Frank SchnelleTheme and background music by Chris HaugenVoices produced with text-to-speech AIFollow us on Facebook, Instagram, Tik Tok and YouTubeThe Ry Cooder Story WebsiteSupport us on PatreonChávez Ravine: A Los Angeles Story on YouTube Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

We're putting Season Two to sleep like that little boy did to his old yellow dog. This is a live episode filled with round table discussions on what makes us people, what we liked about this past season, and where we're headed next! And because you're such good friends, we even play a little bonus game of "Ravine" just for you. This episode is a live recorded episode which means it's not as polished as our normal episodes, it does not contain sound effects, but it does contain coughing noises and microphone pings. But it also contains so much laughter you'll forget all about those negatives. Thank you all for a fantastic second season and we can't wait to jump into season three!Content Warnings: Language (We're a bunch of potty mouths)

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/history

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/military-history

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/literary-studies

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/german-studies

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/jewish-studies

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/genocide-studies

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/russian-studies

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/eastern-european-studies

The Nazis and their collaborators buried over 100,000 victims at Babyn Yar, a ravine in modern-day Ukraine. Most of the individuals were Jewish, making this area one of the most infamous mass murder sites in history. The Ravine of Memory: Babyn Yar Between the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War (Purdue UP, 2025) starts when the travesty ends, telling the story of the ravine's memory and forgetting in Soviet literature and culture—in Russian as well as in Yiddish. This book challenges the prevailing binary conceptions of Babyn Yar as exclusively a Holocaust or a “Great Patriotic War” story. It is neither the exclusive product of Soviet censorship nor individual dissidents. Babyn Yar is more than a physical space where untold horrors took place. Symbolically, it is the ultimate meeting point of so many disparate threads of Soviet culture: the state and the artist, the Jew and the non-Jew, and the Holocaust and the Great Patriotic War. Ultimately, it is a place that reveals the frailty and courage of those who bear witness to atrocity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Episode 294Ad-Free Safe House Edition Pulp Nonfiction“I'd die before I'd let a man do anything to me,” she said. And she did.Adapted from “Joanna And The Hillbilly Lover Boy,” by George Vedder Jones, True Detective, Vol.73 No.1, May 1960Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/true-crime-historian--2909311/support.

Lettuce Pray, Sundays With Shyteys Nan, Rigid Otter, Neil Questions Daves Voices Again, Elf Chasing, All The 80s Bands, Bloody Doggers, More A-Team Spoilers, Everyone Gets Stoned, Pokemon Encounters, Coal Bald and some other shenanigansBluesky:https://bsky.app/profile/dungeonsanddheads.bsky.socialInstagram:https://www.instagram.com/dungeonsanddheads/Discord:https://discord.gg/brB2Agj65VPatreon:patreon.com/DungeonsAndDHeadshttps://www.dungeonsanddickheads.co.uk/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

When Michael's car crashes 50 feet into a ravine, his legs are pinned and he can't move. The only has for survival is his six-month-old puppy Honey. Rescued by a Dog - Patreon Membership!To support the podcast with $5/month (cancel anytime), go to patreon.com/rescuedbyadogpodcast! Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase, I may receive a commission at no extra cost to you.

For this episode, we're taking an enormous detour from our normal content and diving into the philisophody or philisophities ravine, with our wonderful friend Andy. We talk about what philosophy is and why it is important to medical research, whilst investigating discussions around consent, cancer treatment, trauma and pain. Stay tuned at the end for an outtake right when we started recording :)  Remember, you can get in touch with us via clinical.research.intro@gmail.com. Please feel free to send questions, comments and compliments for Elyse to read out on the pod. It's fun to make Debbie squirm! Credit to our friend Sam Winnie for their awesome and cute music. Check out their work at https://www.samwinnie.com/ Reading Andy recommends - "Writing History Writing Trauma" by Dominic LaCapra and "The Body in Pain" by Elaine Scarry

A spate of horror stories involving the most mundane of all transportation, and then we explore the connection between mysterious ravines, mist, and the ability to travel through time!   Patreon https://www.patreon.com/user?u=18482113 PayPal Donation Link https://tinyurl.com/mrxe36ph MERCH STORE!!! https://tinyurl.com/y8zam4o2 Amazon Wish List https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/28CIOGSFRUXAD?ref_=wl_share   Help Promote Dead Rabbit! Dual Flyer https://i.imgur.com/OhuoI2v.jpg "As Above" Flyer https://i.imgur.com/yobMtUp.jpg “Alien Flyer” By TVP VT U https://imgur.com/gallery/aPN1Fnw “QR Code Flyer” by Finn https://imgur.com/a/aYYUMAh   Links: Chinese woman trapped for a month in an elevator starves to death https://www.latimes.com/world/asia/la-fg-china-elevator-trapped-starve-death-20160305-story.html Xian lift death: 'Why did no-one miss her? https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-china-35742148 Footage of a Man Who Spent Forty-One Hours Trapped in an Elevator https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_bMhNI_TY8 Here's how many days a person can survive without water https://www.businessinsider.com/how-many-days-can-you-survive-without-water-2014-5 China aghast as woman crushed by escalator at shopping mall https://www.latimes.com/world/asia/la-fg-china-woman-eaten-escalator-20150727-story.html Unexplained Disappearance Of A Professor Who Perhaps Entered A Parallel World http://www.messagetoeagle.com/unexplained-disappearance-of-a-professor-who-perhaps-entered-a-parallel-world/ Legends of Tenerife, "La Niña de las Peras" http://elpostantillano.net/espiritualidades/20112-wwwtarotistascom.html Change of Scenery: Other Dimensions, Other People http://inexplicata.blogspot.com/2011/04/change-of-scenery-other-dimensions.html Barranco de Badajoz https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barranco_de_Badajoz Golosov Ravine https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golosov_Ravine SECRETS OF OLD ROOM https://www.gazetanv.ru/article/?id=167   ----------------------------------------------- Logo Art By Ash Black Opening Song: "Atlantis Attacks" Closing Song: "Bella Royale" Music By Simple Rabbitron 3000 created by Eerbud Thanks to Chris K, Founder Of The Golden Rabbit Brigade Dead Rabbit Archivist Some Weirdo On Twitter AKA Jack YouTube Champ Stewart Meatball The Haunted Mic Arm provided by Chyme Chili Forever Fluffle: Cantillions, Samson Foreign Correspondent: Fabio Nerbon Discord Mods: Mason http://www.DeadRabbit.com Email: DeadRabbitRadio@gmail.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/DeadRabbitRadio Facebook: www.Facebook.com/DeadRabbitRadio TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@deadrabbitradio Dead Rabbit Radio Subreddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/DeadRabbitRadio/ Paranormal News Subreddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/ParanormalNews/ Mailing Address Jason Carpenter PO Box 1363 Hood River, OR 97031 Paranormal, Conspiracy, and True Crime news as it happens! Jason Carpenter breaks the stories they'll be talking about tomorrow, assuming the world doesn't end today. All Contents Of This Podcast Copyright Jason Carpenter 2018 - 2024  

Welcome back to Your Daily Chocolate! Patty returns after a short break to dive into December with a focus on kindness. Today her guest is Dark Joseph Ravine, a Canadian influencer and advocate for positivity. He shares his mission to promote kindness through his movement 'Kindness for Success.' Joseph discusses the influence of positive celebrities, his experiences with professional kindness in his marketing agency, and his award-winning children's book on anti-bullying. He and Patty talk about how true success is happiness, and Joseph reflects on the role of social media and how communal well-being can overshadow consumerism. Connect with Dark Joseph Ravine: Website X/Twitter Instagram Facebook YouTube --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/patty-deutsche/support

The Problem: John is a highly sensitive person. (Recorded on Monday, November 25, 2024.) New Roderick on the Line Merchandise! Featuring a terrific design by Sean Wolfe. (“For the Record” rehearsal courtesy of Scott Simpson. Featuring Kathleen Edwards, David Bazan, El May, and John Roderick) Support Roderick on the Line on Patreon.

Ash Men, Sins, and the Will of the Ancestors. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. ‘Do you think you know who you are? Step outside your comfort zone.'  11:00 p.m. Thursday Night. Rhada stood by the Lily Pond. She'd looked at her phone once. A couple had walked past, causing me to delay my approach and heightened Rhada's unease; an unexpected bonus. It wasn't too difficult of a shot with my air pistol. The only light functioning in the area went out in a crash of light. She jumped slightly then crouched and scanned the surrounding overgrowth. The light had robbed her of her night vision which allowed me to get close. I snapped the air pistol off into its three parts. Running around with any kind of gun in NYC wasn't wise. In the same vein, the 'stun gun' I now brandished was all light and no shock. It was all theater for Rhada's imagination. With the flash of my weapon, Rhada's eyes bore in on my location. Her small knife was now over-matched, so her only option was flight. A smart 'victim' would race for the well illuminated road close by. Hunters who hunted hunters did what Rhada did; she raced into a geographic feature in Central Park called the Ravine. It was tough, uneven terrain off the beaten path. I had walked it once before, in dim light. This night I was aided by a half-Moon and the faintest clue of where the chase was leading while Rhada was having to figure things out as she ran. At the last second, she sensed she had lost the race. She spun around to slash at me; she was playing for keeps. I swung down, losing my false stun device while I knocked her knife free. I had lashed downward so that I could find her knife later; it was important to her. My tool cost $3 and I could live without it. We struggled. Rhada tried to scream so I covered her mouth with my sweater-covered forearm. Dutifully, she bit down. More close body wrestling ensued and I could tell Rhada was truly famished for the attention. I cuffed her hands behind her back, slapped some Christmas tape over her lips; I swear that stuff has no adhesive; and retrieved her knife. ‘What is it going to be, little Sweet-meat?' I taunted her softly as I caught my breath. I had Rhada pressed face-first in the loam. Despite her strenuous efforts to keep her legs together, I rubbed my hand between her legs. ‘Fuck it,' I mused. ‘You are a real whore. You are soaking wet over some guy running you down and making you a fuck-hole.' I wasn't sure she was wet and being called 'fuck-hole' really excited her. ‘You are probably so loose I couldn't feel a thing if I did fuck you,' I kept up the pressure. ‘Maybe I'll strip you down and leave you tied to a lamp post; write 'Free Slut' and see who is desperate enough to screw you. If I said '$5 per hole', do you think anyone would leave some sort of payment?' She whimpered. Soon enough, I located her knife. Without warning, I slipped it past her waistband and began sawing/cutting her pants down past the crotch. She was wet alright. I loudly unzipped my pants. After slapping against her molten labia a few times, ‘What? You don't want to be used by every diseased homeless deviant and drunk rapist roaming the park?' Rhada shook her head rapidly in the negative. ‘Do you really think you can do a damn thing to make me want to keep you?' I egged her on. Rhada thrust her ass back. Rhada whined, repositioned and managed to capture on her second attempt. She wept with rapture as I began pushing. All I had to do was lean forward slightly and let Rhada do all the work. She hammered with a voracious yearning. I was rather concerned what she would have been like if it had been a whole month. Rhada was sobbing and shuddering as pleasure wracked her body. I almost missed the soft crunch of leaves right behind me. I snatched up Rhada's knife and rolled halfway over. Oneida, tears in her eyes and her face etched in horror, was poised to strike me. ‘No,' Oneida groaned in a small, devastated voice. Yeah, this was going to be hard to explain. Rhada, on hearing the noise, rolled on her side so that she was mostly shielded by me. Do not scream 'this is not what it looks like', or 'let me explain' to a traumatized girlfriend. Wait until they are not traumatized to escape the disaster. ‘What are you going to do?' I whispered. Suggest that she make a decision because, guess what, she needs to make decision, not stew in the madness of the moment. ‘How could you?' Oneida lowered her attack stance and took a half-step back. ‘There is no way I can explain this,' I sighed. My legs came up to shield my exposed crotch plus I dropped Rhada's knife. ‘Even if I could make this sound rational, I wouldn't put you in that spot. This is an impossible reality.' Okay, that last bit was bullshit. ‘Is Rhada okay?' Oneida began to focus on the immediate and relegated the past five minutes and the forthcoming repercussions to 'things to do later'. I freed Rhada's hands and then removed the tape. Rhada picked up her blade and readied it. ‘Ask her yourself,' I suggested. Sensing Rhada's insanity rising up. ‘No Rhada, you cannot stab her. I won't allow it.' Rhada glared pure, un-distilled hate at Oneida, something the poor girl couldn't understand. ‘Rhada, I came here to save you,' Oneida gasped. She also prepared to fight. ‘You came to take my Cáel for yourself,' Rhada spat. Oneida was back to not understanding anything. It would come soon enough. Women are women after all. ‘I need to; get something from my backpack,' I warned them both. No one attacked me so I pulled out a set of black jeans and black panties for Rhada. ‘You brought a change of clothes for her?' Oneida was still playing 'kinky games' catch up. ‘Of course he brought me clothes, you insipid fool,' Rhada seethed. ‘How could we bind our souls into one if I had to walk around; ?' Rhada stopped. The idea of walking around naked in my presence appealed to her. ‘None of this makes any sense,' Oneida protested. It didn't matter. ‘Oneida, are your guardians close by?' I asked. I knew the answer, but getting that information out to these to ladies was relevant. Oneida nodded. ‘Rhada, get dressed and go home. Oneida, go home. I'll try to have this make sense to you one day,' I said. ‘No!' Rhada yelped as if I'd stuck her. ‘I cannot wait any longer.' ‘Rhada, unless you want Madi to find out and then have ringside seats as starving dogs tear me to pieces, you have to go,' I insisted. I wasn't afraid of hungry dogs. The Amazons wouldn't waste the time when they could slit my throat and be done with it. We all three heard a rustle of footsteps maybe fifteen meters away. Rhada looked at me as if she'd witnessed the murder of every kitten on the planet, then shot venom Oneida's way and finally snuck off, new clothes in hand. Oneida gave me a different look, one etched in sadness and unspoken heartache. She went off to bump into her bodyguards. I holstered my 'junk' and sat back, wondering why I dated crazy women. The answer was always the same; the sex was fantastic. I'd pay the bill later. (Friday Morning) I was damn tired getting into work. I locked my bike, walked into the lobby and realized something was horribly wrong. A dozen pairs of eyes riveted me with their aggression. The security chicks were in their usual places and unsettling in their nervousness. The dozen sets of eyes; those were Full-Blooded killers, not the standard 'Runner' security types. Adding to my discomfort, there was no Constanza, or even Naomi. A few of the normal ladies from the Security Detail where there; sadly, I had never caught their names, but they didn't look like they were waiting for me specifically. I walked up to the security booth, took out my ID badge and offered it up. What followed was mere formality. Of all of the hundreds of males in biker clothes coming into this masculine version of the Sixth layer of Hell, they needed to be absolutely sure it was me. ‘Cáel Nyilas,' the women at the guard station intoned and in they swarmed. Armed with personal defense weapons (read: SMG's) with hair-triggers, I had a split second to decide who I really was. A few were clearly SD. The rest; House Guard for families I didn't recognize. ‘Have I just won Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes, or what?' I grinned foolishly. I'm sure you can be very cool, calm, collected and rational while you laugh at death. I'm not that guy. One of the brutes tried to run off with my valise, a quick tug of war developed and four gun barrels were pushed into me. ‘Let go,' one of them hissed. ‘Do I at least get a claim check?' I countered. What I got was a gun barrel slammed down on the back of my hand. My fingers automatically flexed and my carrying case was taken away. The remaining seven members of the Welcome Wagon hustled me to a stairwell; not an elevator and down I went. Two proceeded me into a moderately sized conference down two levels with the rest following behind. We were doing fine until the coffle chains came out. That was my 'screw it' moment. It took me two seconds to realize they were no longer going to shoot me. I came to this revelation when I smashed the face of the guard right behind me. She stumbled into guards four through seven behind her. Guards one and two, already in the room, holding my chains, rushed in. One came in with a low sweeping kick. I went even lower, caught her leg and whipped her into the wall. I was on my back as number two advanced. Our legs tangled up, we both grappled, but I had strength and leverage. I pounded her temple against the corner of the table twice; hard. Then came the pain. The rest flooded the room. Number two was down, number one was momentarily stunned and the other five were deadly serious and coming on fast. To all our credits, they didn't try to overwhelm me with numbers. They closed in from both sides of the table, backing me against a wall. I was pretty good at fighting. I had damaged three of them striking from surprise. Surprise was gone now, as was their sloppy arrogance. This was all business and there was no way I could take on even two of these skilled warriors at the same time. Any advantage I gained over one, I'd lose to the other one so down I went. I was chained up before I could stop seeing double. Collar, hands cuffed at the back, leg shackles and all linked by twin chains. I wasn't going anywhere fast. I wasn't done yet. I tried to squirm around to a sitting position. ‘Stop that,' one of the guards stated. ‘I'd like to sit up, please,' I requested. With barely a pause, two guards came up, put my back to a wall then went back to their positions. ‘Thank you,' I responded. Several guards looked at me and smirked. Huh? ‘They all said you would fight,' the leader grinned. ‘We were getting a little disappointed then you chose that chokepoint to make your stand. That was clever,' she informed me. ‘Actually it was the sight of the chains that set me off,' I said. ‘Against seven of you I had no realistic chance. If I let myself get chained up, I knew I was completely out of options.' Several of the women nodded. Were any of them pissed? Apparently not. Even the one I'd cold-conked rubbed her temple and smiled at me. I worked in an insane asylum. ‘Is there any way I could make a video message?' I inquired. ‘No,' was the reply. ‘Please. Aya of the Epona is at Summer Camp and I want her to know that I'm okay, but won't be able to see her for a while,' I pled my case. ‘You will never be able to see her again, so why bother?' another asked. ‘I love her. Better to give her the illusion I may one day return than the harsh reality that she is doomed to end up like the rest of you,' I explained. ‘Save some of that defiance for your relocation,' the leader snickered. ‘You'll need it.' ‘Thanks. I will,' I sighed. There was a pause. They were being rather gregarious. ‘You've accepted your fate?' the one I'd knocked out questioned. ‘The fate you want for me? No. That this will mean my death; yes,' I shrugged. ‘Bravado,' a different Amazon snorted. ‘You think so? Once I am relocated I have nothing left to live for. Every ounce of my being will be devoted to ending the hollow parody of an existence I'm left with,' I stared at her. ‘I've beaten your ilk enough times to know I'll escape that life before too long.' That earned me some silence. They began talking amongst themselves. The group was a mixed group of House Guard and Security Detail reinforcements from other facilities. They either knew each other, or knew someone in common. An hour in, this had become incredibly boring. ‘When is the meeting?' I asked a women temporarily not in a conversation. She didn't look surprised. She hid it well. ‘What meeting?' she countered. I lowered my chin to my chest. ‘Do you know where I work, what I did yesterday, or how easy it was to figure this out?' I looked up. ‘What do you know?' she prodded. The others were now watching. ‘I work for Executive Services, I spent much of yesterday making housing arrangements for a ton of emergency visitors, and since I've been doing so many stupid things, plus my reception this morning, I assume the New Directive is under attack,' I laid out my case. ‘If you figured all that out, why did you show up today?' the leader wondered. ‘I work here. I have a 6:00 am session on the firing range. Work starts at 7:00 and normally goes to 5:00 with a 3:00 pm break for knife training. Then I either bike home, or work out in the gym, or the pool. Barring being called back to work on a special order, I get a date, a meal and then sex until midnight,' I mused. ‘I came to work today for the same reason I came in yesterday and last week; I work for a bunch of homicidal lunatics, a few of whom I care for,' I answered. ‘Their friendship and affection is pointless. I'm good-looking and amusing, a passing distraction in their lives and none of that matters one iota to my survival. I face my condemnation alone and I am okay with that.' ‘You sound angrier than your words indicate,' an Amazon noted. ‘I am angry. I don't desire death,' I shrugged. ‘I don't think I deserve this fate yet here we are. Personally, I know I put my hope in karmic rewards for all of us.' ‘What would that be?' the leader said. She was making small talk to alleviate the boredom. ‘Today; today I think you deserve a lingering, 24 hour torturous death. Starting with the very youngest followed by the next youngest and the next youngest proceeding in quick succession so that the oldest of you watch your lineages waste away. I want you gripped with hopelessness and despair as you are rendered powerless to control your futures. That's a fitting ending for the Amazon race today,' I stated. ‘Does that fantasy make you feel better?' she pressed, somewhat amused. ‘Of course not,' I laughed. ‘That is surrendering to hate and that would make me as bad as all of you.' ‘You know nothing of us,' she said and the others laughed. ‘Yeah; right. So, how many of you have murdered your paternal unit? Did you herd them into gas chambers, shoot them in the head, or slit their throats?' I grinned. ‘Do you dump those men and your sons in a massed unmarked graves, or burn them like rubbish? Those poor bastards have gotten the last laugh,' I chuckled. ‘Sterile females, deformed babies; you taught those men a lesson alright.' ‘You are all such epic bad-asses, you've butchered your way to extinction. But, hey, you've got your racial superiority, right?' I chortled. ‘You should shut up now,' the leader's eyes narrowed. I shrugged. This time, I had killed the mood so we sat in silence. An undetermined time later, Constanza stormed in and threw my clothes at me; no sign of the rest of my gear, or valise. ‘Get dressed,' she ordered. ‘Why?' I asked. She kicked me. The kick was aimed at my ribs, but I able to set up a knee block up in time. ‘You will do it because you've been told to do it,' Constanza snapped. I stayed where I was. ‘Help me get him dressed,' she addressed the room. I lost the fight if there was any doubt. I looked like a re-dressed corpse. No one would think I'd dressed myself. A few minutes later, the whole troupe plus Constanza frog-marched me to the elevators. I was shackled up thus taking small steps. I ended up farther down that I'd ever been before. Along the way I was given several quick examinations before being taken to two massive wooden doors with two SD guards, one being Naomi. She looked at my chains speculatively. ‘He has been summoned,' Constanza informed the door guards. One of my initial capturers began unlocking my restraints. I debated putting a knee to her head. That seemed rude so I refrained from violence. Naomi took me by the elbow while the other guard opened one of the doors. She led me into the nearly empty, cavernous room. Eight SD troopers were along the walls and Elsa stood at attention close to what I reasoned was Hayden's chair. ‘Stand there,' Elsa pointed to a large piece of slate with a rune upon it. ‘Sure,' I did as I was instructed. ‘Why am I here?' ‘Your only real hope is to be quiet and well-behaved, Cáel,' Elsa told me, resuming her statuesque stance. I honestly figured this was it for me. My jacket came off. I threw it to the closest chair. The tie came off next, looping it through my belt; because it looked weird. I kicked off my shoes and removed my socks, stuffing the socks in the shoes and tossing them to the chair with my jacket. Then I started my morning warm up routine. Sure enough, groups of paired women began entering the room, giving me odd looks before taking their seats. I was doing some handstand push-up (thanks Yasmin) when Katrina walked in with a woman I didn't know. ‘Good morning Cáel Nyilas,' she said. ‘This is my cousin, Arwen.' The push-up, tuck, flip and finishing up with landing on your feet ain't easy. I added to the difficult by successfully landing on my designated piece of slate floor. ‘Did your clothing magically fall of, or did they fail to finish dressing you?' Katrina smirked. ‘Cut me some slack, Boss. I'm three insults away from slinging poo,' I grinned back. ‘Nice to meet you, Arwen,' I offered my hand. She looked at it, but didn't shake. ‘She's your apprentice?' I groaned to Katrina. She nodded. ‘That is so not good for me. What did I do wrong this time?' ‘She thinks I have invested too much of our House prestige in this New Directive and you in particular,' Katrina enlightened me. ‘What is her survival stratagem then?' I ignored Arwen while addressing Katrina. ‘Have her cake and eat it too,' Katrina mused. ‘She thinks we recruit males then kidnap them and make them our slaves; because that has worked so well for us until now. To be fair, she favors genetics while ignoring such things as spirit, courage and loyalty.' ‘I'm about to die so any insight I might provide is pointless,' I shrugged. ‘Take care Katrina.' ‘Male, we are not here to kill you. You will be taken to a facility for breeding,' Arwen 'clarified' things for me. Katrina and I both broke out in laughter. Arwen didn't get it. More and more women came in. With them arrived more House Guard. Soon the once vast room seemed to not be big enough. Among other fans of yours truly was Ursula, the woman who sent Leona to kill me with her bow. It didn't take me long to determine there were four distinct groups. The smallest group hated my heart for daring to beat. The largest group seemed uncertain that me having a functioning cerebral cortex was a good thing. The second largest group was worried; about their very existence, but weren't sure I was the answer. The final group, nearly as big as the next largest group, was Hayden's pro-New Directive faction. As a plus, they also weren't afraid to show me some affection personally. When there were only seven chairs left unfilled, Hayden rose for the opening prayer. The 'junior' members started the chorus as the last 'senior' joined the main intonation. When the chanting ended, everyone but Hayden sat back down. ‘A small number of issues necessitate this unheralded meeting,' Hayden began. ‘A male knows our language, our nature and the secret. I seek guidance.' And then the shit-storm began. The only people not involved were Hayden, Saint Marie on Hayden's right, and an unknown older Amazon I didn't know. My life was being debated and I was losing in a bad way. Beyoncé rallied support for me. She was sadly outnumbered but persistent. Among the oldest houses I saw Oneida sitting junior with house Arinniti. Her house was the only one silent, which seemed rather odd. A consensus was reached. I would get to live, but I would be imprisoned for the rest of my existence; not even a breeding male. That was my 'reward' for channeling the ancestors thus saving Oneida's life. Hayden rose once more, took a hand count and raised her hand for quiet. ‘I will consult with the ancestors on this matter,' Hayden announced. ‘Does anyone have other salient points to add?' That was perfunctory. Everyone had already spoken so when the head of House Arinniti stood up, everyone around her whispered in confusion. She lightly slapped her hand on the table for attention. ‘I do, High Priestess,' the woman stated. Even Oneida looked worried and confused. ‘I recognize Shawnee, Head of House Arinniti,' Hayden nodded then resumed seating. ‘My sisters, I seek your agreement that you refrain from comment before I have made my three key statements,' Shawnee requested. She looked around the room, getting nods; some reluctant. (1)'First, I must confess to a crime against the Host and the Council,' Shawnee began. There were hushed murmurs. ‘At the end of the Second Betrayal, my house argued tirelessly for the salvation of the males who remained loyal. The Council voted against us so the head of my house defied the council and spared three of our sons.' Murmurs became shouts of outrage. Hayden used a subtle voice of menace to restore order. (2) ‘Second, Two Ash Men arrived after the rest; a veteran fighter of three and a half decades and a young man of twenty years. Knowing there was no hope for our sons, we took these two aside and instructed them to take our sons south, to a dubious future. That was our crime and it might never have been revealed if it wasn't for the New Directive.' ‘As you now know, Oneida, my granddaughter and heir, gave her Death Pledge. Cáel Nyilas intervened and, acting as a vessel for the Ancestors, he showed Hayden that her pledge had been rejected; for the first time in 3000 years,' Shawnee looked around the table. ‘At first I was simply grateful for my granddaughter's life.' ‘As that euphoria faded, I began to ask why he acted as he had. I began wondering why, while in dire pain, Cáel refused water and comfort, instead asking for songs in our tongue? That made no sense; unless,' Shawnee's face deepened in thought as she let the implications of that thought hang in the air. ‘Thus I had Cáel's genetic identity tested, to see if; ‘ ‘To see if he was one of your bastard male offspring returned after all these centuries,' Ursula stood and seethed. Hayden slapped her palm on the table for order. ‘Oh Ursula,' Shawnee smirked, ‘the ancestors are wiser than you, or me. Had I received my heart-wish and had one of those boys return, they would be condemned by Arinniti's sins and the Council's decision.' ‘But;' Shawnee persisted. Several Amazon's looked my way, clearly bewildered. ‘We had to check the skulls of the ancestors for that,' Shawnee stated. ‘We took a tooth and it confirmed his lineage. He is the descendent of the young man. He never broke faith with the Host. He was unaware when ordered by the Arinniti what the Council had decided, thus he was guiltless.' ‘Who?' Hayden demanded. Shawnee looked down the table, but not far. (3)'Cáel Nyilas is of the blood of Ishara,' Shawnee stated. I waited to see which house leader freaked out. None did. Then I realized they were all staring at an empty chair and it just happened to be one of the chairs closest to Hayden. Not good. The screaming, shouting and yelling began. The house leaders were standing up, shaking fingers and launching threats at one another. Me? I was trying to recall who Ishara was. She eventually became Ishtar, Goddess of War. In the Old Kingdom Hittite she was also the Goddess of Oaths, Love and Medicine. The only three people at the table not going nuts where Saint Marie, Hayden and the woman at her side. That woman was looking at her tablet intently. Once more the group reached consensus and I was still boned. I was still a male, so my lineage meant nothing. I wasn't part of the Host. Hayden took another deep breath, acknowledging this second decision. ‘You are all incorrect,' the unknown tablet-reader spoke. Everyone looked at her and nobody was yelling. ‘Elsa, who is that?' I whispered. ‘Krasimira, Keeper of Records,' Elsa quietly informed me. ‘What; what do you mean?' Messina, Fabiola's Mom stammered. ‘Only nine males went unaccounted for at the end of the Second Betrayal. The rest are recorded meeting their deaths in battle, or death by our hand. Of those nine, only one was of House Ishara and he would have barely been of mating age,' Krasimira related. ‘So?' Ursula remarked. ‘He's still a male.' Krasimira looked at Ursula as if she was talking to a five year old. ‘He was a member of the Host. If Shawnee of Arinniti is to be believed, Vranus, Cáel's ancestor, lived and died in service to the Host. He was never removed from our records, so he died a member of the Host, so his descendants are also members of the Host.' ‘He married without permission of his house, thus he is illegitimate,' an old enemy from Egypt chimed in. ‘Perhaps,' Krasimira nodded. ‘That is a matter he must take up with the Head of House Ishara.' ‘There is no Head of House Ishara!' Ursula stated the obvious and pointed at the empty chair. ‘Again, you are incorrect,' Krasimira shook her head. She half turned in her chair. ‘There is a Head of House Ishara and he's standing right there.' Even Hayden had a problem with that. ‘But he's male,' Hayden declared. ‘That is Irrelevant,' Krasimira said. ‘To be the head of a house, one must either be elected by the peers of your house, succeed in accepted ritual combat, or, in extremis, it shall be the eldest surviving member of the Host of that house. Cáel Nyilas is clearly the oldest member of House Ishara currently in the Host,' she quoted Amazon law, ‘so he is House Ishara's head.' Silence reigned. ‘Gun,' I extended my hand to Elsa. She looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. ‘Don't make me repeat myself.' I growled. Elsa didn't look for guidance. She wasn't that type. She drew her 45 automatic and put in in my hand. ‘The safety is engaged,' she enlightened me. I left my spot and began rounding the table to 'my' seat. ‘One more step and I'll shoot you where you stand,' Ursula threatened. ‘No you won't,' Saint Marie stood. ‘I'll kill you first.' ‘Ursula of Marda, you have no justification to attack House Ishara,' Hayden explained. ‘I don't like this anymore than you do. We do not pick and choose which laws to follow. Accept the will of our ancestors.' There were between fifteen and twenty women close by aching to put bullets in me. I didn't stop because that wouldn't be me. I ended up by the chair and absorbed the essence of this tiny shard of reality. Was I the son of some lost 'First' House? Without a doubt, the placement of this chair was in the top ten on this side. The ones across from me were all clearly 'First' Houses as well. The chair was old; maybe two hundred years. It held a sadness to it; no one had ever sat in it. It had been built knowing no one would ever sit on it. I thought about Pamela. I thought about holding Oneida up and refusing to let her die. That effort was me, physically conditioned over years, but I had never discounted willpower. It was possible that man could indeed be found back somewhere in my ancestry. Few invaders wipe out all the indigenous inhabitants. Usually they intermarry with the invading culture overwhelming the previous one. I couldn't forget my present and future while examining my past. I put the gun down. Hostility washed over me in palatable waves. I pulled back the chair. The room was about to explode. I kept moving it back, farther and farther until it was clear I wouldn't be sitting in it. ‘I will stand for House Ishara,' I announced. ‘I will not vote though I will speak my thoughts on matters. I will hold this spot until I have a daughter of age.' ‘No man of House Ishara has ever voted in the Council of the Host and no man will now,' I kept going. ‘Outside of those concessions to my Mothers, I am House Ishara. I am right here. If you have a problem with me, I will be easy to find. I have never hidden from you bitches and I'm not going to start now.' ‘You insult us,' Messina stood up. Five other women joined her. ‘By all means,' Katrina stood, ‘we eagerly await your challenge.' Eight other women joined her. I hadn't suddenly become more popular. Between my refusal to vote, the bizarre revelation of Shawnee and the gravitas of the 'First' Houses, the more conservative women were retiring to regroup. Messina's backing down lasted only seconds. She immediately proposed that no male be allowed to be a member of the Host; disqualifying me by fiat. Krasimira wasn't going for that. Amazons could not legislate a member of the Host, or a House, out of existence. That's why they had killed the Ash Men in the first place. Technically, they had been Amazons. They couldn't make them 'not-Amazons' and there was no exile in this society. Eminently practical, they made them dead instead. That was coming back to bite them in the ass now, because they killed them; they'd never taken them off the rolls. Poor, young Vranus had loyally led his charges away on orders. Had he fled, they would have put him under a death sentence; which I would have to fulfill. No, my ancestor was unsurprisingly pig-headed. One senior warrior and three children; sure, let's walk off into the wilderness with hostile tribes all around. Why? They told him to and like a loyal little mutton-head he'd obeyed. If I believed in magic, or mysticism, I'd worry about how I ended up in that first board meeting speaking this screwed-up language. I'd re-examine how Leona had missed that crucial first shot because Aya had missed hers. Aya herself and the same spiritual twist that caused Oneida to hurl her life into my unsteady hands. I'd like to put that to accident and genetic abnormalities. Then there was Pamela. I'd like to think she was delusional, suffering from an acid flashback, or whatever. Shawnee slid a wooden box; a meter by 70 cm; to me. Whatever parliamentary etiquette Amazons followed was unknown to me. I opened the box. Inside was what looked like a lamb, or sheep, skin pressed in some kind of glass. The artifact looked horribly old and was faded to the stage where it was barely legible. I let the buzz die down around me as I squinted at the picture. There were five figures; from the left was a tall one with a shield and spear, three small figures, and another tall man; with two axes. That was; no I couldn't accept that, not right now. Along both sides and the top were prayers of some kind, though they were too faded to make out accurately. On the bottom were five names. The right-most was Vranus. Oneida hadn't been trapped by madness and pride. She'd been a slave to destiny. She had seen this skin, I was sure. She'd seen me with my two axes and when it turned out to be more than show, she'd had to save me and she couldn't tell anyone why because of the Arinniti sin. Perhaps she had some delusion we were distantly related. Now wasn't the time to ask. I closed the box and slid it back. In my absence, the verdict for House Arinniti was narrowed down. Some wanted Shawnee's head because she was the inheritor of those lies. Others wanted Oneida's head because it would be a more terrible lesson for her house. I didn't like those ideas. ‘Are you seriously arguing about the paint on the doghouse while your home is burning down?' I mocked them. ‘You don't; ,' a different, yet still hostile, Amazon choked out. ‘They didn't sell your sisters to the Roman coliseum,' I glared. ‘They valued bravery and loyalty over conformity. Did they defy the Council? Yes. I think we all agree with that. Put in context though, the rest of you screwed up.' Tons of 'how dare you' and descriptive insults to my family, gender, species and intelligence. ‘Answer me this; Ursula, can you turn around right now and slit your 'apprentice's' throat?' I posed. I could see the 'no' forming on her lips before the Great Wall of Implications fell on her head. ‘Everyone in this room that voted for the slaughter of the Ash Men broke your own laws,' I explained. ‘You had every right to kill your sons. They were legally and physically helpless. The Ash Men; they were members of the Host; and there is every indication you butchered them without trial, or attempt at redress. Correct me if I'm wrong, but those men did not break the law; you did.' ‘You are correct,' Krasimira said. ‘All members of the Host must be informed of their crimes and seek trial if they disagree. Any sentence of Death can be appealed to the High Priestess, who can commute the sentence, assign an ordeal of some kind, or have it carried out.' What doomed Leona was the obvious nature of her crime in front of the High Priestess. The only person who protested was Ursula, the Mistress of Leona's house. Looking back on things, Ursula had acted insanely sending Leona to kill me. Yes, she would have derailed the New Directive for a few years. She would also have alienated every neutral member of the Council. The vote for the New Directive was distasteful yet deemed necessary by enough houses for it to pass. The vote at the end of the Second Betrayal; that was the issue now. Miss Senior Egypt made one last end-run around the process. ‘What is to stop him from bringing more men into the Host?' she muddied the water. Me? I pulled out my shirt and looked down at my chest. ‘Is someone making fun of my A-cup sized breasts?' I appealed to Hayden. A tiny smile crossed her lips. ‘I am not sure Cáel,' Hayden responded. ‘Fatima, be precise with the nature of your worries.' ‘He should not be allowed to recruit into his house until his status is decided,' Fatima stated. ‘His status is not in question,' Hayden purred. That was the 'I'm about to lose patience with you' purr. ‘I would never recruit anyone into House Ishara who was not qualified. It is insulting to think otherwise. Is there a specific male you are worried about?' I inquired. ‘I don't know you, or your ways,' Fatima spat. ‘You need to think about what you just said, Fatima,' I snorted. ‘So, not knowing anything about me you are making assumptions about what I might do? As you said yourself, you don't know me.' ‘If you did, you would know that while I wish virtually every Amazon alive would drop dead, thus making the world a much better place, I would never embarrass Katrina, or betray her. Now, are you going to keep looking stupid, or are you going to accept that House Arinniti not only acted in accordance to Amazon law 2500 years ago, they continue acting so today,' I stated. ‘After all, they risked everyone's anger for the restoration of one of your eldest houses. When I turned out not to be one of Arinniti's long-lost sons, they could have kept quiet. They did not. Arinniti bravery means one day a daughter of Ishara will bring her voice to this council once more. They certainly didn't do this for themselves. Ask yourself if you would have the courage to bring such possible shame to your family prestige,' I challenged the Host. ‘You trained your monkey well,' Messina mocked Katrina. ‘Ah;' I mused as I picked up my pistol. ‘Safety.' I got a feel for the weapon. ‘Messina, what's the name of your 'apprentice'?' ‘You wouldn't dare,' Messina hissed. ‘You dare to insult me and my House, Whore-Bitch,' I smiled insanely. ‘Why do you think I'll let you get away with that? I'm not going to kill her; just gut-shoot her.' ‘Pull that trigger and you will die,' Messina spat. Her junior looked far less pleased with the turn of events. ‘Not relevant. My House Prestige is too great to suffer such an insult. You did call me, the choice of a hundred generations of House Ishara ancestors, a monkey,' I pointed out. ‘Cáel of Ishara, put the gun down; please,' Saint Marie sort of asked. I clicked the safety and put the gun back down on the table.   Messina was looking terribly pleased with herself, ignoring 'The Golden Mare' coming around her side of the table. The hair-yank Saint Marie inflicted made me recoil in shock and I was some distance away Messina. Slap-backhand-slap-backhand. Saint Marie released Messina's hair. Messina stumbled back, fearful and furious at the same time. ‘Are you going to exert some common courtesy, or shall we continue?' the Marshal of the Amazon Host glared at Messina. ‘I don't like him, or where he stands, but I am far more embarrassed by your behavior. At least the male exerts some restraint. The rest of you are acting like he is a weakling-idiot. He is not. Know your opponent dammit.' ‘Wait! Hayden, now that I'm;' I got all excited. ‘No, Cáel, you still may not refer to the Marshal of the Amazon Host as 'Pony-Lady',' Hayden scolded me. I snapped my finger over the lost opportunity. A pregnant pause was suddenly vacated by a snicker and then several more until half the table had to hold their hands over their mouths. ‘Did you really call (dead word spoken) Saint Marie, 'Pony-Lady'?' this unknown House Leader asked. She wasn't one of my fans. ‘Only after she kicked my ass, totally humiliating me,' I revealed. ‘I got one punch in. Next thing I knew I was wondering how regularly they changed the fluorescent lighting in the Firing Range while I was on my back, soaking up the cold comfort of the concrete floor.' It took them a second to figure out what I meant. Saint Marie was already marching back to her chair. ‘You are very poetic,' another commented. ‘That is how I learned your tongue; I was taught Old Kingdom Hittite erotic and love poetry. I know the same in nine other forgotten languages, as well as four current languages,' I informed them. ‘Hayden, you would not dare chastise any other Head of House the way you treated; him,' Ursula griped. ‘In what possible universe would Cáel Nyilas be considered normal?' Hayden countered. ‘He is not like any other Head of House. He forgoes voting because He values our traditions.' ‘He does not sit in his designated seat at our table because he takes into consideration our sensibilities. This from a man we all decided to imprison forever not five minutes ago. If any of you think he does this out of fear, you are sorely mistaken. He is a person of many failings without question yet he is courageous to a fault,' Hayden lectured the room. ‘Saint Marie, what was the first thing he said to you after you crushed him?' ‘He said 'What. Had enough already?'‘ she snorted. ‘Those were his exact words, lying on his back, looking up at me. I thought I had concussed him.' ‘This is not a humorous matter,' Egypt Senior was still cranky. ‘I don't know about that,' Saint Marie reposed. ‘I found it to be fun actually.' ‘Even the part where he had the gun pointed at me was interesting. I was certain he was about to shoot me,' Saint Marie continued. ‘Pity he missed you,' Messina glared. ‘He didn't miss me, Messina,' Saint Marie sneered. ‘I told him to give me the gun and he gave it to me. He's not disloyal, just pugnacious.' ‘What of Arinniti's crime?' Beyoncé prodded. She wasn't feeling self-righteous. Quite the opposite; the mood had shifted away from bloodlust to uncertainty. Amazons liked decisiveness. They also liked only having to do something once and being done with it. That was the riptide of the New Directive; some houses couldn't let go of the fact they'd lost. That constant pecking away at the plan were the half-measures Katrina was complaining to Hayden about. From my experience, the Ash Men was Katrina's goal all along. Had she been open and honest with this desire, there was no way any aspect of the New Directive would be implemented. If you believed in conspiracy theories, Katrina had groomed me for some time. If you believed in luck, Katrina was cosmically lucky our paths collided. If you believed in mysticism, I was screwed. Let's not forget that there were three millennia of bad ass bitches on the other side of the spiritual divide who thought nothing of guiding me into a life full of fear, heartache and pain. A lengthy debate ended in a classic Amazon compromise; they forgot about it. Literally, they erased the crime against the Ash Men and Arinniti's 'omission' of sparing three of their sons. What had happened to all my 'Ash' brethren? Whoops; they were misplaced. They weren't erased from the rolls; that would make my existence inexplicable, so we remained honorary Amazons. I was sure their angry ghosts were totally mollified. I was sure me and the first female Pope would get it on too. As the meeting was breaking up, one of the 'unfriendly' Amazons shot me a remark. ‘I supposed you are elated,' she grumbled. ‘Really? You think so? Here, let me sell all your underage daughters to Romany gypsies so that you never see them again and you'll have an inkling of how I feel,' I smiled serenely. ‘You should be happy you are allowed to stand in our presence,' she got truly pissy. ‘Lady, I won't be happy until I get to hunt hate-filled monsters like you for sport,' I kept smiling. ‘Until then, I'm afraid we are both going to have to live unsatisfying lives,' I added. ‘Perhaps we should handle this with a blood feud?' she salivated at the prospect. ‘Sure. I'll get the Neutron Bomb we have in the Armory. You chose whatever you like. I'll meet you downtown at noon,' I proposed. It is much better to make a nuclear weapon joke and not have every authority figure in the room glance at you nervously. Did we really have a nuclear warhead in the basement? Fuck if I knew. They'd have never told me if there was. I felt a hand on my shoulder and recalled the touch. "Cáel Nyilas, you are forbidden from engaging in blood feuds - in your case, feuds of any kind until one lunar cycle is completed," Hayden instructed. "Thank you. I appreciate that," my honesty, heartfelt reply slipped forth. "My judgment wasn't for you, Cáel. You've caused catastrophic trauma to our society as an outsider. I tremble to think what you can do now that you are one of us," Hayden gave me a truly serene response. "Give me a little time to prepare." "Oh! Great idea," I exclaimed. "Gotta go!" and I raced for the door, tossing Elsa her gun. "Should I shoot him?" Elsa suggested. "Only to slow him down a bit." I made it to the elevator carrying my jacket and shoes. With me were four sets of Amazons that wanted me dead and one set who were rather ambivalent about the whole matter. I caught one of the 'hater' juniors looking at me. I turned my head enough so we could make prolonged eye contact. I smiled. Reluctantly she smiled back. I leaned in slightly. "Can I borrow your phone? SD beat me up earlier and stole all my stuff," I innocently requested. I was pretty sure she was as surprised as every other man-hater in the box that she handed it over. Like shooting fish in a barrel. I began making a few quick texts to the three crucial people in my scheme. "What did you do that for?" her senior hissed. With my brand new Stinky Pooh-Bah status, she couldn't knock the device out of my hands. "I don't know," she pleaded to her superior. I finished up then handed it back. "Your 'apprentice' has rendered House Ishara an important service that shall be entered into our records of boons and debts," I nodded gravely. "What is your name?" "Gale," she batted her eyelashes. "What did I do?" "What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?" I magically conjured up her hand in mine with my fingertips coursing over her palm and wrist. "I'll explain it then." "You may not spend time with this...person," Senior insisted. "We should not overlook an opportunity to make an alliance with a First House," Gale countered. Bang! Looking like trout for lunch. Gale won, I won and we were meeting at my place so we could figure out where to eat - yummy. Somewhere in the episode, I'd introduce Odette into the mix. It was only fair. I was asking her to hide in Timothy's room until I got Gale warmed up after all. I was the first one of the 'team' to arrive. I was nervously pacing Katrina's office when Desiree and Paula showed up. Desiree took a casual seat on the sofa while Paula hovered around my desk. "Is this going to be really bad, or really good?" Desiree mused. "Why should you have to choose?" I laughed. "Besides, we are aiming for epic status today." "Why are we here?" Paula worried. I stopped. I had a 'Eureka!' moment. There probably was a Bible for what I was planning to do, but they hadn't given it to me. I ran to the bathroom and came back with a glass. "Desiree, I need two things. I need your sharp, pointy thing and for you to slap me until I cry," I looked at her expectantly. "My pleasure," Desiree rocked up from her seat. "Slapping then knife?" I nodded. I was still in the painful smacking process when Buffy and Violet entered. "Can anyone join?" Buffy asked Paula. "I...I don't think so," Paula shook her head. "He's got a plan. I don't know what for." I dodged Desiree's final swing. I had gathered enough tears - I hoped. "That was truly therapeutic, Cáel," Desiree stated. "Let me know if you need a repeat performance." She handed me her small knife. Helena and Daphne finally strolled in. I wove past them, retrieved a piece of paper which I tore in two and two pens. "Helena and Buffy, please write your names down on these pages," I requested. "What the hell?" Buffy growled. "What is this about?" "Trust me," I met her gaze. "Buffy, Cáel is an ass, but he's not crazy. He's up to something," Desiree intervened. Helena stepped up and wrote her name. Buffy followed suit. I took the pages to Katrina's desk. "Come forth and kneel before me," I commanded. This was the point in the ritual when I figured my death was most likely. Buffy shot an evil look at Desiree then very reluctantly complied. Helena followed. Hmmm...Amazons kneel with both knees on the ground. That puts their mouths almost...I had to keep with the program. I burned the two autographs and scattered the ashes. "There is no Buffy DuBois. There is no Helena Shultz," I began. I dipped a finger into the shallow pool of my tears. I ran one down under the left eye of each lady. "With this, I open your eyes to the joys and sorrows of our ancestors." That brought on a hush and the anger in Buffy's eyes evaporated. I cut my left forefinger then motioned them to do the same. First Buffy: I linked our bloody digits. "With this, our blood is mixed. You are Buffy of House Ishara from this moment forth. You are the first of this House. You are our spear and shield," I met her gaze. She started crying. "You are Helena of House Ishara from this moment forth," I continued on. "You are the second of this House. You keep the records of our Host, keep track of our deeds, sins and accounts." Helena began weeping too. Had I said 'just joking', the cleaning team would have been finding torn pieces of me weeks later. "House Ishara is dead," Daphne stated the obvious. "Suffice it to say, long ago, House Ishara brought a male into their ranks as a member of the House," I started. I motioned for my two House-mates...members to rise. "The Second Betrayal," Violet interrupted. "Yes. During the Second Betrayal, some males remained loyal. My descendent was sent on a mission for the Host. The mission took him past his lifespan. His offspring continued on until you end up with me - being here - today. Suffice it to say, he was never removed from the rosters of the Host, thus every offspring was a member too," I recalled recent edited events. "By Amazon law, House Leaders are selected by their peers, victors in a challenge for leadership, or..." I continued. "The eldest of the house," Daphne gasped. "Since Ishara is...since all the female members of the Host are dead, you are the eldest member of the Host." "You don't have to be a female?" Desiree muttered. "That's insane. We are Amazons." "There hasn't been a male in the host for over 2500 years," I explained. "It never came up. Back when they had them, there simply weren't enough men to worry about. Afterwards, there were NO men to worry about. Apparently your ancestors thought writing down 'eldest female' was redundant." "That had to have gone down like a mouse passing an elephant turd," Paula muttered. We all looked at her. "What? Since I met Cáel, I've been writing down little phrases to use in situations like now. This was the first one I could recall." "Actually, they wept tears of joy, lifted me up on their shoulders and sung paeans to my glory," I lied. "So, when do you think the first assassination attempt will be?" Desiree shook her head. This was a lot for her to take in. Not only was my tale fantastic, Buffy was her friend and Desiree knew that Buffy bled for a chance to join the Host and had done so for years. "Why do you think I called Buffy first?" I snickered. "I won't let you down," Buffy declared with grim determination. "Calm down, Buffy," I assured her. "I don't think me being casually snuffed out is on their agenda. They've already gone through a torturous compromise to end up with this screwed up situation." "So why did you pick me...and Helena?" Buffy studied me. "Buffy, you are the most amazon-Amazon I know," I told her. "You like Helena and she said nice stuff about Daphne which showed her character, so I chose her next." "Hey, this means I can finally slap Fabiola around," Buffy's eyes grew bright. "Which reminds me - can I get any volunteers for Old Kingdom Hittite lessons for these two," I begged my 'new hire' companions. "I'll take two nights a week," Daphne offered. "I'll take one night," Paula added. "I'll take a fourth," Violet completed the set. "Damn it," Desiree cursed. "This means Buffy must be taught the Prayer of the Ancestors." "You are right," Buffy gasped. "I accompany Cáel to Council meetings now." "One note - I don't vote," I informed them. "I made that decision. House Ishara has never had a male vote for it and I'm keeping that tradition. I can speak, but not vote. When my daughter comes of age, she will have full rights." Desiree, Buffy and Helena were confused. Daphne, Violet and Paula, on the other hand, were enraptured. This was the only life - only traditions - they had ever known and I had sacrificed something of importance to them out of respect to their sensibilities. "Cáel's decision makes it easier for you, Buffy and Helena," Daphne explained. "This allows the other Heads of House to get used to him being there - less of a culture shock," she continued. "In a few years he may end up getting a vote anyway as they learn to respect him and House Ishara. You are one of the First Houses - reborn, I imagine." Buffy's eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped open. "Yeah Buff," Desiree shook her head. "One of the first twenty war leaders of the Host. You have the blood of Mycenaean warriors on your hands." "Cáel, I..." Buffy began. "I gave you nothing, Buffy. If you think there is someone more deserving than you, please point them out," I touched her tear-drenched cheek. "I do want something from you," I said compassionately. Buffy was attentive. "I want you to undergo a sex change operation and become a real woman." Ow! Buffy punched me. "Buffy, you might not want to damage your House Head in public. It is bad for his prestige," Paula pointed out. "Good point," Buffy frowned. "Cáel - bathroom - now." "Uh-oh, no way, no how," I back-pedaled. "Today has been painful enough. I had a run in with some Security Detail and House Guard on the way to the podium." "What did they do to you?" Helena inquired. "For starters, they haven't given me back my valise," I complained. "Also, who do I report these additions to House Ishara to? Finally, Buffy promised me she'd wear a thong and those little, circular Band-Aids if I got her into the Full-blooded gym again." "Decorum, Buffy," Desiree stopped Buffy from punishing me. "Decorum." "Why don't you have to behave?" Buffy glared at me. "I'm the ghost of a man dead for over 2500 years," I winked. "I'm allowed to be eccentric." "I'll start calling around to find out who gets told what and where your stuff is Cáel," Helena grinned. She was full-blooded now; the goal of every Runner who joined. "What is next for you now?" Daphne questioned. "I imagine I have a job to do," I replied. "I mean, Katrina works and she's head of House Epona. I'm an intern, just like I was yesterday. That hasn't changed." "Oh goodie," Buffy smacked her hands together, "you can still work for me." "Oh - yay," I groaned sarcastically. "What's wrong now?" Katrina said as she waltzed into the room. I caught sight of a few SD chicks hanging around outside. "There are for your protection if you feel you need it." "Nah," I shook my head. "I have that taken care of. I brought Buffy and Helena into House Ishara." Katrina stopped and looked at me. There was definitely some tension between us. "You might want to consult with - others before you do something like that again," Katrina cautioned me. "I'll definitely consider your offer. For now, I chose the best for the future of Ishara," I said, "as is my duty and responsibility." We locked gazes once more. Things had changed between us. They had to have. "I seem to have missed my Firing Range practice today as well as the morning meeting," I reminded Katrina. She'd known what fate awaited me when I walked in the door and not warned me. I didn't blame her. That was what she was looking for - the anger. Before, I couldn't have acted on it. "Cáel, get dressed. I saw Helena running off on some sort of errand which I imagine is your fault, so you are working with Daphne for the rest of the day," Katrina resumed her pace to her desk. She examined the nearly empty glass. "My tears," I answered. "It is part of my ritual for induction into House Ishara." In case you missed it, I never said 'my house'. This was on purpose. As long as I made no open claim to such a lofty spot, they could ignore me hanging around a bit better. "You may want to talk with House Arinniti, or Šauška about such rites," Katrina advised. "He burned their old names to ash, scored their left cheeks with his tears to remind them of his ancestors and mixed his blood with theirs so they would be known to all as members of House Ishara from this day forth," Daphne related. "It was very touching - simple and to the point." "That's Cáel for you, simple and straight to the cultural jugular," Katrina shook her head. "He did nothing wrong," Buffy protested. I was getting dressed. "Buffy, I have wanted to initiate you into House Epona for years. Family politics have prevented that. Sixty years after the First Initiative, fewer than a fifty 'Runners' have been brought into the Host. Mutual condemnation has kept each house in check - restrained from recruiting new blood into the Host." "And now we have Cáel," Desiree groaned. "Who does care not one bit about social ramifications of bringing a hundred runners into one of the oldest houses of the Host," Daphne sighed. "But, we deserve this," Buffy proclaimed. "That, Buffy, is the point and the problem - you and others like you do deserve it," Katrina fondly regarded her 'now-Full-blooded' friend. "Most of the other houses would disagree though, but they won't be able to convince Cáel of this - thus begins the next quagmire of Cáel's creation." It was the prejudice laid bare. The 'Runners' knew they had very little chance of being accepted into a House. They had a long history of neglect to look back on. The few who had graduated had been virtually superhuman to be accepted. Then I came along. Suddenly, for some of the best and brightest of the 'Runners' there was a serious likelihood they could be brought into a highly prestigious House, because its leader was a nutjob. This morning, when the meeting adjourned, House Ishara had been a tiny blip on the Council's radars. Those women so disregarded the 'Runners' they hadn't even thought about my reaction to the dilemma of the miniscule size of my house, despite the answer being all around them (though safely contained upstairs in their minds). House Ishara with a lone member, a male at that, wasn't a threat - not really. The specter that Katrina foresaw was something different. She saw a House Ishara with a thousand members, and all hardened, dedicated and trained Amazons - formerly 'Runners'. Loyal to me?

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

Exploring Minute 17 of Fast 5! - Support us on Patreon to watch the recording livestreams, Discord server access and other amazing benefits! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠www.Patreon.com/grannyshiftpod⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ - And remember.... Winning's winning *This podcast is a production of Ryit Media and is hosted by Ryan Lehman (@sortastarwars) and Jason Garber (@wasthatawesome) **To hear other podcasts hosted by Ryan Lehman, search "Ryit Media" on any podcast player or find the links here: Sorta Star Wars: https://link.chtbl.com/xg19Ebx1 Dad Reads Books: https://link.chtbl.com/q_7bYUCz AND NOW Silver Screen and Television Dreams: https://link.chtbl.com/

Presenting a replay of Beyond Midnight "The Locked Room" , and Bradbury 13 "The Ravine" aired on Apr 02, 1984. Enjoy your Halloween. Please support these shows with your donation today, thank you. https://mpir-otr.com/sponsors-donations

Send us a textFeels like a flashback to 2022. Pads v Dodgers in NLDS. Split a game a piece. Who advances to the NLCS? Tune in to find out.Support the show#Padres #SanDiegoPadres #ForTheFaithFul

XXX. ft Kendrick Lamar (Uptown A Remix) [Bootleg] Uptown A The Complex Collective Original Track: XXX. (DAMN, Kendrick Lamar, 2017) “The Rescue” This hearty soup uses tumeric, garlic, and beetroot to help boost the immune system and ward off oncoming attacks. This is not a simple soup to throw together once you've already come down with a full-on cold or flu, as you may not have the energy to gather the ingredients and for preparation, however— this soup is more meant for helping to boost the immune system in the beginning stages of coming down with a seasonal bug, or as a preventative booster. This recipe's complex blend of vitamins and minerals from greens and root vegetables keeps its ingredients' wholesome nutritional value high by first oven roasting the vegetables in a medley before adding them to the pot rather than boiling them; the prep time for this recipe is about 2 hours, with an additional 1-2 hours of cook time to simmer for flavor and for the raw chickpeas to reach the ideal texture before serving— the blend of herbs and root vegetables will add a layer of immunity and protection against any oncoming disruption to your normal level of health, and is hearty enough to be served alone, or with a side dish of salad or even a half sandwich, if you're feeling up to it. You will need: ½ medium size had of cauliflower ½ medium to large yellow onion ½ red onion of the same size ½ white onion, per reference 1 whole celery heart One fresh turmeric root 1-3 beets worth of beet root and leafy greens— you will only use the root for this recipe and can save the beets for later 1 stalk baby boo choy 3-4 medium sized carrots ¼ green bell pepper ⅓ pasilla or Anaheim pepper, per preference (one is milder than the other, but for heavy sinus congestion I suggest the Pasilla pepper, which is a bit spicier and will decongest easily, especially when including some of the seeds into the medley) ⅓ red bell pepper ⅓ yellow bell pepper ⅓ orange bell pepper ½ can stewed tomatoes with onion ½ can stewed tomatoes with garlic (This is for broth flavor) One whole vine ripened tomato 5-8 cloves of garlic (per preference) About 3 tablespoons of fresh ginger root (a thumb tip's worth) 3 cups chickpeas, pre rinsed and soaked overnight ½ cup finely chopped fresh dill ½ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro ¼ cup finely chopped freshoregano ½ lime ½ lemon Crushed red pepper Sea salt Thyme Black pepper Part II Spirit says music was first, then words, and after actions—and then all of time is just acting out the stories that were told in the beginning as art and… Something tells me Something's not all the way right with my head I'm Lost in my mind, I'm All the way here, But I'm still Somewhere off a bit Velvet, the skin, I'm just as sick in my head as I ever, Recovered sex addict, and by definition of nutrition —this handsome nigga smells like red licorice. (It's actually cherry ludens with pectin.) Zeroing in and away, heroing hard For your heroine, Heroin veins, Pigs on the wing, Singing your song Hearing your cry out Fly out my miles, my son Come into my arms, mine oath The love, some trouble Heavy was her heart, Lied to cover Still shattered, Ravine ions, cosmos farm And Wanda's black eye Timmy's wishes and SpongeBob's shallow grave, Oh, how high I got That Arnold's lost love Was actually Strangely enough Also his narcissist, Probably also practicing witchcraft And exorcisms of him. Scissorman, Scissorman— Get a load of this one; Frog and toad, a couple laughs Behind the masks, For this world. Would you honor? Give your blessing, butter Different wages paying, Listen, shallow author: You would write but then not follow up About the actors? The actors! The actors have had it. I'm Just As Badly Damaged As I ever was And listen, Awesome told me Your story I chuckled All the way Up until The literal punchline Now, Go home; Go hike Runyon. For a few hours, we can pretend. That old haunts Don't boil up They always have, of course But you know Nothing quite as pungent as What's become of yours [I love my son.] There it is again, As if something had called her, There, more words But less of them than the tongue could offer Swear you, listener, Past this message sits the wilted thumbs of wilderness, and weary travelers, Song pigeons and mismatched audience appearances For pleasantries And of course, Dessert trays. Cause I wear— —We all know. If anything happens these days, It's because I'm a comic. (At some point) Sunglasses before the sun's up; Eat candies before it all melts Warm something as download comes To fight or fold, To win or die To live or lose Whatever then First time flying And I've got My mind blinding me out Deciding for once That I'm not the whole world Just to have the experience If being surrounded by others In some way. The runway lights up all blue, and I'm in love with you. The subway cars opposite collide, I wish I died already. I should give some time between myself and my writing, I think. I really shouldn't end things the way I'm thinking of ending things— But I'm thinking of ending things. How selfish of me. First time flying Sunglasses before the sun comes up Halls on my tongue And vitamins in my pocket, I shuffle over and over in my mind, The millions of dollars And all that I go through Just to skip post, And go home to no one. But—hello there No one's looking over your shoulder quite so hard as This poster is, So aware of what's there, and near you You've begun to fear it Well, then, Hands in my pocket and down Dawn to dusk, Shaking my head, Drunkenly, but stone sober Really no one told me about the poetry, But a whole world opened, Inside of your notebook— Which I stand holding. Pleasentries, sick dissent, Indecent exposure. And body odor this early in the morning; Gotta love country folk Supposedly no judgements, but as I grow I older, The slower toad I become, and discover my bird eye— Here's to hopes The Hellicopter is all I know From here to Hell and back Westward bound, The Sun rise behind us Sunglasses and no sun yet My eyes reminders of times I remember Sure you did, sir I been there Suffered the whole coast And I'm still not sure You realize you're face down, ass up at an international airport right now. They say this airport is known for its art installations. You don't say. Grandiose to escape the algorithm, Tapped in with the captains hats Fit six of my guieapigs in the business 1 transsexual, And 6 women 3 biracial non-bianaries Some accused extra terrestrials You left me home, but — Nobody washes the whites without me. It's OWSLA again. [The Festival Project ™] It's mid week in midtown I fell asleep at a business meeting, Thinking in sequences, Drinking in increments, Sweet, sweet music, Death and television Television Celebritism, star power And no wonder Early October vacations From power fortunes tied to us We want Redbones, Resonated chambers, Thankless sacraments of disaster Are you archived? Damaged and the flatline Comes at such a heavy decibel Your arms grow numb and Start to stiffen; No wonder you're not paranoid Inside of our religion The Eye See i, Excuse me miss— Did I miss it ? Plea, I Give thanks, Again for —this is our tradition Me, I, Seek I —-meaning to make sense of it but, The might, She died, I guess The center of my kitchen Distressed from attention deficit disorder Sure, Marsh —Whatever doctor . He was just the type I like Milky silky white Sunglasses Slicked back hair Thick round thighs High fashion—( l) Sun baked Pose to take a selfie, right? Just the type I like; Milky silky white There's the girl that'll do anything for ya But she's no body With nobody No good, I In fact So ugly l you could choke on just the thought of her Even with beer goggles on But she'll do anything you want And like it—and it doesn't cost She'll fall in love with you (For not even a single dollar.) [The Festival Project ™] Now that we — {Enter The Multiverse} Ahem. Part III Day trip Take a nap Change the map. Pet the cat Let the dog out Run a lap Pitty Pat Pitty Pat Pitty Pat Pitty Pat I Pitty Pat I Pitty Pat Broh what up with these Dillon Francis clones tho. How do you know they're clones? They can't all be multi dimentionals. They could! You never know; they really could. I run these robots Into dark corners Just to honor me They come scurrying and ugly to annoy and ponder upon me, all the while praying l, my mind on Don't mind those, they're broke bots I haven't l l stopped my work to finish Work on [The Festival Project ™] I'm sure by now you've noticed The only people in Champion sportswear and Jansport backpacks Are ugly, slow, And weak L E G E N D S (I have noticed.) If attention deficit is forsure your destination I'm you're designated courier, or carrier pigeon This isn't ingidgenous reparations or explicit subliminal messages, But if it is, this is suggestive your direction is correct and attentive Listen to this shit: Case dismissed; Next time I'll fly direct Hit my line if your eyes are dilated I'm miles high, So if it rejects, Just leave a message (Eject!) All of a sudden, I'm somewhere else (With him) He pulls on the rings On the back of my —what was I wearing again? I should have stayed home in the first place (You don't listen) I should have stayed home in the first place (You don't—) I should have stayed home for awhile Cause before hand, and I'm wild Random foreplay, Orgasm, Desire you, You're right, I don't listen. All of a sudden, I'm gone with you. Those women in Santa Monica, All perfect and in hoards and by the handfuls The type celebrities get Celebrities need, Celebrities want— A shrill reminder Or what I am, And can often lose focus, Drawing back on icons, Sifting through the skin I feel, Entrapped by circumstance And perhaps, even Some terrible curse, or A shield of protection. —the deathly hollows. It almost felt as if I'd never write again, but here I was Nearer somehow to a strange fame, The end of famine And feast of none— Doubling back upon Something I had recorded In this experience, Alone and awakened, Moving in automatic, Chaos and charismatic, felt, but never intertwined In the awesome circumstance Of wanting, no— Needing to be loved, And never having been; Needing to be touched, and never having felt The grip of sorts, The higher bar taste of something I had become famished, The sense of a calling so sacred, It beconed to my sea, The only one, A diamond in starry skies A night of dawn, But dark, the thought The ever present one, Never loved, And shallow kind Shallow breath, And putrid thoughts, Reckoning the wilted flower, The springing seed, The calling of another and yet, Here I was, Tolerance, At her mercy— Fearing none but knowing, By the handfuls they come, And drawn like magnets Into my being, A focus, Nonesuch art none otherwise known as My hell The bodies of women Perfect and priveleged, Sunbathed and worthy Of everything I wanted and needed Without working at all. I wondered harder, fasting. Soft lips upon his Adam's Apple, I drift away in his chest, Dreft, the smell of michielf managed, Then, the music of songs loved And garnished with sprouts of June In the coming of spring, Does form another, Again, my love I call for mercy The pain of yours needing born And my heart estranged Mercy Her eyes were darkened circles And body brittle; As I admired her courtesy, charm And delicate stature, Arose to connect this, A tune— So sung to tell a story Of Rocky Racoon Irish spring to lather his back, In bar form; His burgundy Mercedes Benz has had parked in my garage, And I, not able to trust his drunken judgements, Captured his keys, as my mother and I Had worried for him, Dissappeared again into the night, and yet— At least the keys and the car Were safe with me, at home As was his, Whenever he wished to return My strange and far love Nearly since almost nothing Screen doors and Fischer Price Office calls and casting agents, Honey bees and biopics Telephoto lenses and Semi autobiographical pornography Marriages and suits to match A name for Vegas wedded lie, A love bloomed from birth, Cherished insights in the water Reservations and yamakas, Simple and sacred, The undone village, The thought of nothing but one Until another does pull the string To which I had once known as harness, But had since cut, Only watching to strive, Seeing the dance one makes for one to distance, But only dangling, seeing not that I Had come free and was wary of All love, by now. All men, indeed. [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©