Podcasts about Romany

"Seeking Warmth," an art exhibit curated by artist Sharon Svec, held at Art At The Cave in Vancouver, WA running March 4-29, 2025, aims to explore humanity's need for emotional and physical warmth, especially during times of extreme circumstances such as those caused by genocide, war, oppression and neglect. Ceija Stojka (1933-2013) was a child survivor of the Romani Holocaust (Samudaripen) who began sharing her experiences in written and painted format in 1988 at age 55. She is recognized as a bold activist of Roma, who continue to face persecution today. Sam Marroquin works in collage and paint to expose current and historical trauma within society, emphasizing systems that mask the atrocities against humanity. Daniel Baker examines the role of artistic practice as a form of social agency with a focus on Roma aesthetics. Read The Memoirs of Ceija Stojka, Child Survivor of the Roma Holocaust, translated by Lorely FrenchFollow @sharonimous, @cave.gallery.vancouver, @ceijastojka_int_association, @danielbakerartsOur Romani crush is Susie. CN: from minute 42-44 we discuss a story involving suicide. Skip ahead if you don't want to listen. Reach out for support if you feel vulnerable. You are not alone. Here are Crisis Hotlines That Don't Call The CopsWelcome to Romanistan Festival March 28-30, 2025 in New Orleans! Visit our website for tickets and events!Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

Join Ruth, Harry and James as we discuss the world's highest resolution full frame sensor and the tragic case of the tiger blinded by photographer's flashes. We also find out what happened to the Californian drone pilot who grounded a firefighting aircraft during the recent fires. Plus Harry plays his first ever POP Quiz and we decide if the world is ready to pay extra for a garish new series of SanDisk products and look at some new product lines from ThinkTank bags. LINKS

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

Sejnur Memisi is a journalist & Roma activist from Germany. He is originally from Kosovo, and escaped 1999 with his family to Germany because of the Kosovo war. He studied Media Management and since April 2020 has produced Podcasts about Sinti & Roma. He began the podcast (Sinti Roma News, formerly RYMEcast) in the German language. 3 of his German speaking Podcast episodes were nominated for media prizes, CIVIS Media Prize & the German Podcast Prize. Since 2023 he is in the Commission Audio for the Civis Media prize, where he can use his vote to nominate other podcasts. In March 2024, he started a new English-language Podcast, “Amaro Voice” about European Roma.Watch Amaro voice on YouTube, and listen wherever you get podcasts. You can listen to part 1 of this crossover, when Sejnur interviews us, on Amaro Voice. Follow @amaro_voice on Instagram. The Romani crush this episode is everyone. Welcome to Romanistan Festival is March 28-30, 2025 in New Orleans!Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic.You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

Episode 175: Way Down Low, Playing The Bass. Leland Sklar Live Tribute January 29, 2025 Here we go with another Tales Vinyl Tells! It's our plunge into some of that great album rock especially from the 60s and 70s. The vinyl albums are classic, they're vintage, and today the upsurge in album sales is really wonderful to see and read about. A lot of artists today are putting out LPs and record pressing has become an art. Welcome along with me. These are the Tales Vinyl Tells. We're going to play a cut from a newer collection from David Gilmour and his daughter Romany. We're also going to salute Leland Sklar. He's still alive and this is a living tribute to him. He played bass on so many big albums of the 60s. And he hung around with some really outanding studio musicians like himself. And I'm gonna turn you onto a documentary if you haven't seen it yet. More on The Immediate Family here on tales Vinyl Tells. First up is Pete Townshend. If you want to hear a Tales Vinyl Tells when it streams live on RadioFreeNashville.org, we do that at 5 PM central time Wednesdays. The program can also be played and downloaded anytime at podbean.com, Apple podcasts, iHeart podcasts, player FM podcasts and many other podcast places. And of course you can count on hearing the Tales on studiomillswellness.com/tales-vinyl-tells anytime.

Nancy Black is the alter ego of the journalist and activist Gilda-Nancy Horvath, a Romni from Vienna, Austria. She writes poems in Romanes, English and German which are sometimes translated to music, mainly rap music. Her rap-poem "Trushula" (Crosses) states clearly that the danger of dark history repeating is always present - and that even people from marginalized groups are not safe from being seduced by the very simple answers that far-rights give, which are rooted in fear, hate and anger. Beyond this, she is creator of many projects and consulting governments and politicians. A few of Gilda's many Romani crushes are Charlie Chaplin, Alina Serban, Kali Michaela, Niko G, all the Romani journalists, Dalibor Tanic and his reporting on the Balkans, and everyone in Gilda's portrait series "Glaso," Cat Jugravo, and the Roma Armee with Sandra Selimović and Simonida Selimović. Works sampled in this episode are as follows:"Presidenurija," Love Revolution, Nancy Black"Trushula," Love Revolution, Nancy Black"Überschein," unreleased track from a live jam with Nancy Black and the Prizreni Brothers"Dear Ancestors" by Nancy Black, initially written for a project by Cat JugravoFollow Gilda Horvath @nancyblack101Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

Welcome to season 5! This mini-episode starts with a tarot reading for the year ahead. There's personal growth and healing in 2025 with the Hermit and the Ace of Cups. Listeners are encouraged to embrace introspection, nurture emotional well-being, and prioritize love in their lives and communities. • Time for reflection and introspection inspired by the Hermit card • Healing journey through the lens of the Ace of Cups • Emphasizing the multifaceted nature of healing experience • Love as a guiding principle for personal growth • Gratitude as a practice in welcoming the new year • Inviting community participation for future episode ideas • Announcement of upcoming events and connection opportunitiesThank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

This episode explores the inclusion of the Romani language on Google Translate, featuring Rowena Marin's insights on the intersection of technology and culture. We discuss the journey from grassroots initiatives to digital recognition, the complexities of language preservation, and the opportunities technology can create for the Romani community.• The journey of Rowena Marin from Romania to Google• Discussion on the grassroots campaign for Romani language inclusion• Detailed process for adding the language to Google Translate• Concerns surrounding AI and authenticity in language translation• Evolution and representation of different Romani dialects in tech• Opportunities for promoting Romani literature through digital platformsResources: Roma Education Fund The Internet learns Romani Listen to our first interview with Rowena Marin about her book Who Am I in the World? Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. You can give our book a positive review too!Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

Politikár je satirická diskusná relácia o politike a o tom, čo kvári a prekvapuje spoločnosť. Všetky situácie, osoby, ale aj ľudia v tomto podcaste sú vymyslené a nič sa nezakladá na pravde. Podobnosť so slovenskou realitou je čisto náhodná.Dobrý deň vážení diváci a diváčky, milí poslucháči a poslucháčky a ctené divácstvo a poslucháčstvo. Zajtra sú tu Vianoce a to znamená len jediné: Pripomenieme si najbizardnejšie darčeky, ktoré nám po celý rok nadeľovali parlament a vláda.Hodnotiť túto komédiu budú tí najpovolanejší - Marián Psár, ktorý výnimočne prišiel a Jakub Gulík, ktorý si zase výnimočne našiel čas. Odkaz pre Sama Trnku. Moderuje Natália Jabůrková, ktorá je pri tejto kombinácii komikov krotiteľkou divej zveri.V relácii sa dozviete: O ministerskom Monetovi na hrade O klamstvách Roberta Fica O tom, koho vyhodili dverami, ale vrátil sa oknom O politickom idzem - nejdzem Kde je východ a ešte viac východ O zápase v ktorom Andrej Danko vyhral O „trabloch v ráji" O inom „Clash of Stars" O nevzdelaných kriminálnikoch V čom je výplet tenisovej rakety lepší, ako Romana Tabáková O parlamente bez dozoru Prečo je hymna aj náse, aj pre vás

We spoke with Ylva Mara Radziszewski about Water Always Wanders, a multimedia theatre production of queer and trans Romani artists at the Mudlark Theatre in New Orleans, Louisiana December 6th & 7th from 6:30-9:00 pm cst. Our book, Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling will be for sale along with Loly scarves, and other vendors. This performance will also be a fundraiser for our Welcome to Romanistan Festival in spring 2025, sponsored in part by Weiser Books, our publisher. We also interviewed Robin Badaire about the rest of season 1 of Agatha All Along, and discussed the whitewashing of Romani characters as well what remained of the Romani stereotypes, and what could have been if the characters had actually been written as Roma. Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

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..

What if spirits could communicate through a simple hair comb? And what role do children play in spiritual practices? Join us as we uncover these mysteries and more, during our vibrant journey on the Good Morning Romanistan book tour. From Portland to Portsmouth, we've been embraced by amazing communities and experienced transformative events like our ancestral tarot workshop with Chagall PAC. Listen in as we recount our delightful stop at Cheese Louise and the heartwarming welcome from the queer community at the Sapphic Salon in Newmarket, New Hampshire.Throughout our travels, we've also faced the challenges of planning and funding a national tour. Yet, support from fans donating to our GoFundMe allows us to reach more destinations. Our journey isn't just about reaching new cities; it's about forging meaningful connections.We share the except of a poem “The Cursed Legend of Baba Yaga's Ravenous Spirit” by Shari X Insanity @sharixinsanity and a ghost story from listener Nina Huertas Kaur. Then we share our own ghost stories! In our last segment, Romani representation in mainstream media remains an important topic to us, and we dive into the portrayal of Lilia Calderu in Agatha All Along with our return guest Robin Badaire.Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

Andra Zlătescu is a musician, performer, and illustrator, who performs as part of the band Willow Switch, Spindle Collective, and as a solo performer. Andra plays the singing saw (a carpentry saw played with a violin bow that evokes the haunting wail of the wind in the trees), banjo, guitar, and sings. Andra is passionate about creation that serves to act as a spell to open the doorways- to honour the land, their ancestors and traditions, to celebrate the bodies' connection with the cycles of the seasons and death//life//death; To invoke the daemons of the crossroads- crossroads of paths meeting, of ancestry, of the past and future as they simultaneously exist within the present moment to weave our stories through time and sing us into the ancestors we are in the process of becoming. Andra premiered at TIFF as one of the main subjects in the documentary COVEN, a film exploring the relationship between Witchcraft and feminism. Willow Switch just released their first album on Samhain and completed two music and pagan Festival tours across Ontario. You can find them on Spotify and Apple Music. Andra is currently in the process of recording a solo album at Half Moon Studio in Toronto. The Romani crush this episode is Mariska Veres, lead singer of Shocking Blue. Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Join us for the Welcome to Romanistan Festival from December 3-8, 2024 in New Orleans! Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

Angeliska Polacheck (they/she) is an Austin, Texas based writer, healer, and professional tarot reader. Devoted to helping seekers find their path, they utilize the tarot in a compassionate and trauma-informed combination of visionary mystic counseling and energy work. Angeliska has been working with the tarot for over 30 years now, and has been reading for clients professionally since 1999. Their dedication and genuine passion for creating joyful and intriguing connections has led to acclaim and recognition from the Chronicle's Best of Austin Awards as Austin's Best Tarot Reader/Psychic for the past ten years running.Their writing has been published in NILVX I(II): A Book of Magic, The Folk Horror Revival: Corpse Roads, Arcana: The Tarot Poetry Anthology, Coilhouse Magazine, Tank Magazine, and Astrology.com.You can read their personal writing at: www.angeliska.com and learn more about their tarot divination services and healing work at Sister Temperance Tarot: www.sistertemperance.comFollow at @angeliska and @sistertemperancetarotRomani crushes this episode are Jennileen Joseph @sastimosholistichealth, Katelan Foisy @katelanfoisyThank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more. Please support our book tour fundraiser if you can. Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

April Wall is an author and international psychic medium with twenty years of experience helping clients sort through life's ups and downs. A proud Romany, she carries on the traditions started by the strong women in her family, especially her great-grandmother, great aunt, and granny, or as she refers to them, April's Angels. Find her online at namastemagical.com to book a reading and keep up to date through her social media accounts by following her on Instagram and TikTok at @namastemagical. All three of her books Reading Tarot, Reading Tea Leaves, and Deciphering Angel Numbers, can be found anywhere books are sold.Romani crushes this episode are Christine Ford of Romany Art, Lucy Doe Designs, Elijah Vardo, & Florian Tacorian.Thank you for listening to Romanistan podcast.You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. You can get our book Secrets of Romani Fortune Telling, online or wherever books are sold. Visit romanistanpodcast.com for events, educational resources, merch, and more.Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by Viktor PachasWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

L'acteur américain et star de la country Kris Kristofferson est mort samedi à l'âge de 88 ans, il avait notamment inspiré Bob Dylan et joué au cinéma aux côtés de Barbra Streisand. Le Global Citizen Festival s'est déroulé samedi à New York, avec un set acoustique marquant et imprévu réunissant Ed Sheeran et Chris Martin de Coldplay. Alanis Morissette a joué ce 29 septembre à Los Angeles lors d'une collecte de fonds pour Kamala Harris, candidate à la présidence, avant les élections américaines de cet automne, ainsi que Halle Bailey. David Gilmour a donné le coup d'envoi de sa tournée mondiale Luck and Strange vendredi soir au Circo Massimo à Rome, en Italie. Des centaines de clips musicaux ont été retirés du réseau YouTube aux États-Unis dans le cadre d'un litige en cours sur les droits d'auteur, avec la société de licence SESAC et touche plusieurs artistes, dont Nirvana, Adele, Green Day, Mariah Carey, Kendrick Lamar, R.E.M… Brian May, célèbre guitariste de Queen âgé de 77 ans, vient de démissionner de son poste de vice-président de la RSPCA, association prônant la prévention de la cruauté faite envers les animaux, après n'avoir eu "aucune autre option" de se désolidariser de l'infrastructure. Mots-Clés : Hawaï, proches, page Facebook, Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down, 1969, Me and Bobby McGee, 1970, Janis Joplin, auteur-compositeur-interprète, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, The Highwaymen, leader, orateur, monde, duo, succès respectifs, campagne, candidate, officiel, Parti démocrate, recettes, événement, Harris Victory Fund, Comité national, parti, État, billets, dollars, concert, chansons, nouvel album, fille, Romany, Rattle That Lock, classiques, Pink Floyd, occasion, officiel, Brighton, Angleterre, détails, images, blocage, productions, vidéo, disponible, pays, accord, objet, plaintes, normes, bien-être animal, exploitation, membre, programme, RSPCA Assured, cause. --- Classic 21 vous informe des dernières actualités du rock, en Belgique et partout ailleurs. Le Journal du Rock, en direct chaque jour à 7h30 et 18h30 sur votre radio rock'n'pop. Merci pour votre écoute Plus de contenus de Classic 21 sur www.rtbf.be/classic21 Ecoutez-nous en live ici: https://www.rtbf.be/radio/liveradio/classic21 ou sur l'app Radioplayer BelgiqueRetrouvez l'ensemble des contenus de la RTBF sur notre plateforme Auvio.be Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement. Découvrez nos autres podcasts : Le journal du Rock : https://audmns.com/VCRYfsPComic Street (BD) https://audmns.com/oIcpwibLa chronique économique : https://audmns.com/NXWNCrAHey Teacher : https://audmns.com/CIeSInQHistoires sombres du rock : https://audmns.com/ebcGgvkCollection 21 : https://audmns.com/AUdgDqHMystères et Rock'n Roll : https://audmns.com/pCrZihuLa mauvaise oreille de Freddy Tougaux : https://audmns.com/PlXQOEJRock&Sciences : https://audmns.com/lQLdKWRCook as You Are: https://audmns.com/MrmqALPNobody Knows : https://audmns.com/pnuJUlDPlein Ecran : https://audmns.com/gEmXiKzRadio Caroline : https://audmns.com/WccemSkAinsi que nos séries :Rock Icons : https://audmns.com/pcmKXZHRock'n Roll Heroes: https://audmns.com/bXtHJucFever (Erotique) : https://audmns.com/MEWEOLpEt découvrez nos animateurs dans cette série Close to You : https://audmns.com/QfFankx