#Constitution tableau

[rightnewshindi]

Republic Day: कर्तव्य पथ पर दिखी संविधान की झांकी, विपक्ष का नैरेटिव तोड़ने की कोशिश; हाथ हिलाते दिखे पीएम मोदी

Republic Day: कर्तव्य पथ पर दिखी संविधान की झांकी, विपक्ष का नैरेटिव तोड़ने की कोशिश; हाथ हिलाते दिखे पीएम मोदी #News

Republic Day News: पूरा देश 76वां गणतंत्र दिवस मना रहा है। राजधानी दिल्ली के ऐतिहासिक कर्तव्य पथ पर विभिन्न कार्यक्रम हुए। राष्ट्रपति द्रौपदी मुर्मू, पीएम नरेंद्र मोदी और मुख्य अतिथि के तौर पर इंडोनेशिया के राष्ट्रपति प्रबोवो सुबियांतो समेत कई सम्मानित लोगों ने कार्यक्रम में हिस्सा लिया। इस मौके पर 16 राज्यों तथा केंद्र शासित प्रदेश और केंद्र सरकार के 10 विभागों की झांकियां निकाली गई। विभिन्न…

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Frev Friendships — Robespierre and Couthon 

…Moreover, don’t forget to remind me of the memory of Lacoste and Couthon. Robespierre in a letter to Maurice Duplay, October 16 1791, while away on a leave in Arras.Couthon, Lacoste and Pétion are the only of his friends that he mentions in the letter. Considering Couthon came to Paris after being elected for the Legislative Assembly on September 9 1791, while Robespierre was away from the capital between October 14 and November 28, the two must have befriended each other quite rapidly. In a letter dated September 29 1791, Couthon reveals that he has moved into the house of one M. Girot on Rue Saint-Honoré (the same street where Robespierre lodged), and according to Robespierre (1935) by J.M Thompson, the Almanach royal for 1792 gives Couthon’s address as 343 Rue Saint-Honoré. So the proximity between their lodgings might have been a contributing factor.

My friend, I anxiously await news of your (votre) health. Here, we are closing in on the greatest events. Yesterday the Assembly absolved La Fayette; the indignant people pursued some deputies at the end of the session. Today is the day indicated by a decree for the discussion of the forfeiture of Louis XVI. It is believed that this matter will be further delayed by some incident. However, the fermentation is at its height, and everything seems to presage for this very night the greatest commotion in Paris. We have arrived at the outcome of the constitutional drama. The Revolution will take a faster course, if it does not sink into military and dictatorial despotism. In the situation we are in, it is impossible for the friends of liberty to foresee and direct events. The destiny of France seems to leave it to intrigue and chance. What can reassure us is the strength of the public spirit in Paris and in many departments, it is the justice of our cause. The sections of Paris show an energy and wisdom worthy of serving as models for the rest of the state. We miss you. May you soon return to your homeland and we await with equal impatience your return and your recovery.  Robespierre in a letter to Couthon, August 9 1792 (incorrectly dated July 20 1792 in the correspondence)

I saw [Couthon] towards the last days of the Legislative Assembly; he appeared to me to be in a mood similar to mine; enemy of the anarchists and of the authors of the massacres of the first days of September, enemy of Marat and Robespierre; he constantly declaimed against them. Supplément aux crimes des anciens comités de gouvernement, avec l'histoire des conspirations du 10 mars, des 31 mai et 2 juin 1793, et de celles qui les ont précédées, et tableau de la conduite politique d'un représentant du peuple mis hors la loi (1794) by Jacques-Antoine Dulaure.

Couthon, whose infirmities give a new value to his patriotism… […] Lettres de Maximilien Robespierre à ses commettans, number 1 (September-October 1792)

During the first three months of the session of the National Convention, the members of the Puy-de-Dome deputation fraternized and dined together once a week. Couthon then never ceased to pour out invectives against Robespierre. Once I told him that I thought Robespierre an intriguer. ”So you call him an intriguer,” he answered me with vivacity, ”You are too nice, I regard him as a great scroundel.” I heard him, in the presence of several of my colleagues, one day when the deputation was summoned to his house, say: ”I no longer want to live in the same house as Robespierre, I am not safe there; every day we see a dozen cutthroats coming up to his house to whom he gives dinner. I do not know how he managed to meet these expenses before being elected to the Convention, while my allowances are barely enough for me to live with my family.” He often applauded the fact that the entire deputation professed the same principles, and that, consequently, we would always be united in heart and mind. This was Couthon's opinion at the time, and he held to it until the constitutional committee was formed. He had the ambition to be a member; he becomes furious at not being inclined to it. This was the time when Couthon changed his opinion, abandoned his conscience to indulge in his passions. Supplément aux crimes des anciens comités de gouvernement, avec l'histoire des conspirations du 10 mars, des 31 mai et 2 juin 1793, et de celles qui les ont précédées, et tableau de la conduite politique d'un représentant du peuple mis hors la loi (1794) by Jacques-Antoine Dulaure. Dulaure’s claim that Couthon for a time lived in the same house as Robespierre is confirmed by l’Almanach national, an II (cited in Paris révolutionnaire: Vieilles maisons, vieux papiers (1906) by Georges Lênotre) as well as by a letter dated October 4 1792 Couthon wrote to Roland from Rue Saint-Honoré n. 366 (Robespierre’s address) asking for rooms in the Tuileries, saying that he must move out of the house within eight days (Roland responded with a negative answer four days later). When exactly he moved in is however harder to pinpoint. According to Robespierre (1935) by J.M Thompson, the Almanach royal for 1792 still gives Couthon’s address as 343, not 366, rue St. Honoré, and in the article The Evolution of a Terrorist: Georges Auguste Couthon (1930) Geoffrey Bruun writes that Couthon moved to Cour de Manège 97 in 1792. It can therefore be concluded that Couthon’s stay on Rue Saint-Honoré n. 366 was most likely rather short. Couthon’s motivation for moving out, aside from Dulaure’s claim that he disliked Robespierre, could also be related to the fact Robespierre’s brother and sister moved in with the Duplays shortly after he wrote the letter to Roland.

The Lamenths and Pétion in the early days, quite rarely Legendre, Merlin de Thionville and Fouché, often Taschereau, Desmoulins and Teault, always Lebas, Saint-Just, David, Couthon and Buonarotti. The elderly Élisabeth Le Bas on visitors to the Duplays during the revolution

Robespierre notes this expression: “for fear that Couthon’s speech will not be heard.” Couthon will be heard, he said, and I maintain that the representative assembly has no right to stifle his voice any more than that of anyone else, because the Convention is not a power above the rights of its constituents who have invested every deputy with the sacred right to express their wish, and one could only obstruct this by an attack against liberty, and by trampling on national sovereignty. Robespierre takes this opportunity to recall the maneuvers of a large party of the Convention, to violate this sacred right that each member has to make his voice heard; and we see, he says, this game of intrigue played out every day with incredible modesty. In the Constituent and Legislative Assemblies, which despite their perversity, at least knew how to respect the freedom of opinions, Couthon's patriotism, which his infirmities make more interesting, never served the most perverse men as a pretext to stifle his voice. Robespierre therefore invites us to come out strongly against this new system of villainy, and to never allow a deputy to ever be deprived of the ability to express his opinion. He ends by supporting the impression of Couthon's speech; it is put to the vote and adopted. Robespierre makes sure the Jacobins print one of Couthon’s speeches regarding the trial of the king, after protests that they ought to wait until it’s been pronounced at the Convention as well, January 6 1793

If you want, and it would be a crime to doubt it, to preserve the liberty, unity and indivisibility of the Republic, you cannot hesitate to adopt Couthon's proposal [to issue a proclamation that the Insurrection of May 31 saved liberty] at once. To begin a discussion on this question would be to allow the conspirators to come to this rostrum to make new declarations against Paris, with their ordinary perfidy. Robespierre at the Convention June 13 1793

The proposal [to have Robespierre enter the Committee of Public Safety] was made to the committee by Couthon and Saint-Just. To ask was to obtain, for a refusal would have been a sort of accusation, and it was necessary to avoid any split during that winter which was inaugurated in such a sinister manner. The committee agreed to his admission, and Robespierre was proposed. Memoirs Of Bertrand Barère (1896) volume 2, page 96-97. Couthon was elected to the Committee of Public Safety on June 10 1793, Robespierre on July 27 1793. In his memoirs, Barère pushes the thermidorian idea that the two plus Saint-Just formed a ”triumvirate” within the committee. On page 146 of the same volume he nevertheless also writes that Robespierre and Saint-Just rarely came to the committee, instead working together in a private office.

Robespierre, Saint-Just and Couthon were inseparable. The first two had a dark and duplicitous character; they pushed away with a kind of disdainful pride any familiarity or affectionate relationship with their colleagues. The third, a legless man with a pale appearance, affected good-nature, but was no less perfidious than the other two. All three of them had a cold heart, without pity, they interacted only with each other, holding mysterious meetings outside, having a large number of protégés and agents, impenetrable in their designs. Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (1830) by Prieur-Duvernois. Later in the revelations, Prieur nevertheless also writes that ”Couthon was never difficult on the Committee; there was no altercation until the day before 9 Thermidor, when the moment to throw away the mask had arrived.”

The National Convention, citizens colleagues, witnessed with pleasure your entry into Lyon. But its joy could not be complete when it saw that you at the first movements yielded to a sensibility way too unpolitical. You seemed to abandon themselves to a people who flatter the victors, and the manner in which you speak of such a large number of traitors, of the punishment of a very few and the departure of almost all, have alarmed the patriots who are indignant at seeing so many scoundrels escaping through a gap and going to Lozère and mainly Toulon. We therefore won’t congratulate you on your successes before you have fulfilled all that you owe to your country. Republics are demanding; there is national recognition only for those who fully deserve it. We send you the decree that the Convention issued this morning on the report of the Committee. It has proportioned the vigor of its measures to your first reports. It will never remain below what the Republic and liberty expect. Beware above all of the perfidious policy of the Muscadins and the hypocritical Federalists, who raise the standard of the Republic when it is ready to punish them, and who continue to conspire against it when the danger has passed. It was that of the Bordelais, of the Marseillais, of all the counter-revolutionaries of the South. This is the most dangerous stumbling block of our freedom. The first duty of the representatives of the people is to discover it and avoid it. We must unmask the traitors and strike them without pity. These principles alone, adopted by the National Convention, can save the country. These principals are also yours; follow them; listen only to your own energy, and carry out with inexorable severity the salutary decrees which we address to you.  Committee of Public Safety decree to the representatives in the newly entered Lyon, among them Couthon, written by Robespierre on October 12 1793. Couthon had left Paris for a mission to the army of the Alpes already on August 21 1793.

Send Bô. Montaut, recall the others, except Couthon and Maignet. Notebook note written by Robespierre sometime before October 19 1793, when a CPS decree tasked Bô with going to the army of Ardennes.

…Farewell, my friend, embrace Robespierre, Hérault and our other good friends for me. Couthon in a letter to Saint-Just, October 20 1793, while on mission in Lyon. Couthon was called back to Paris on November 23.

[Collot] has been strongly denounced for his conduct in Lyon, after the recapture of that city. But I was witness to the fact that he only accepted this mission with the greatest reluctance, and that Robespierre skillfully employed the strongest solicitations to persuade him to do so, alleging that he alone was capable of combining justice with the necessary firmness, that Couthon had become moved on the scene and cried like a woman; finally a host of reasons to highlight the importance of exemplary punishment against the rebels of this unfortunate city. Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (1830) by Prieur-Duvernois. While Prieur’s testimomy is written long after the fact and therefore deserves to get treated with some caution, the claims he makes here are to an extent collaborated by a letter from Collot to Robespierre dated November 23 1793, where he claims it was ”on your (ton) invitation” he went to Lyon.

Couthon proposes that the Society take care of "drafting the indictment of all kings", and that it for this purpose appoints commissioners responsible for collecting the particular crimes of tyrants. This proposal, warmly applauded, is adopted. On Momoro's motion, the Society appoints Robespierre, Billaud-Varennes, Couthon, Collot d'Herbois and Lavicomterie as commissioners. Jacobin club, January 21 1794

…Yesterday, Robespierre held a very eloquent speech on our political situation. As soon as this speech has been printed, I will send it to you, it deserves to get read. Couthon in a letter dated February 6 1794, regarding Robespierre’s speech On Political Morality, held the day before.

Couthon and Robespierre enter the hall; all the members and citizens in the tribunes demonstrate through their applause the satisfaction of seeing these two patriots again.  Journal de la Montagne describing a triumphant entrance to the Jacobin club made by Couthon and Robespierre on March 13 1794, after both had been ill for a few weeks.

“In the absence of my brother,” said Mlle Robespierre to Gaillard, would you like to try to see Couthon? He prides himself on being good for me, I will ask him to receive you, he will not refuse me, I will precede you by a quarter of an hour, he will give the order to let you in and we will exit together.” Gaillard gratefully accepts, takes the address of Couthon who lived at n. 97 of the Cour du Manège, today rue de Rivoli, near rue du 29 Juilliet, and the next morning arrives at the indicated time. Couthon, whose face was truly angelic, wore a white dressing gown. A child of five or six years old, beautiful as Love, was between his father's legs; he had a young white rabbit in his arms which he was feeding alfalfa. Mme Couthon and Mlle Robespierre stood in the embrasure of a window overlooking the Tuileries.

“You are,” said Couthon to Gaillard, a friend of Mlle Robespierre, you therefore have every kind of right to my interest, tell me, citizen, how can I be of use to you?” [Gaillard then goes on to explain his errand to Couthon] “Citizen,” continues Gaillard, with great emotion, you are convinced that the signatures of these addresses have not committed a crime, you are all-powerful in the Committee of Public Safety where your opinion always prevails. Today, seventy unfortunate people are being led to the scaffold, their condemnation based on nothing other than the signing of these addresses…”

Couthon's face changed, he suddenly takes on the tiger's mask, makes a movement to grab the bell pull... Mlle Robespierre rushes at him to stop him (he was paralyzed from the legs down), turns towards Gaillard and says to him: “Save yourself!” In the confusion into which all this throws him, Gaillard takes Couthon's hat, she notices it, warns him, he runs across the apartment and reaches the stairs. He had barely gone down eight or ten steps when he heard Mlle Robespierre shouting to him: “Go and wait for me at the Orangerie.” […] [Gaillard] has barely gone down into the courtyard of the Orangerie when he goes back up onto the terrace, looking anxiously to see if his good angel was arriving. As soon as he sees her, he runs towards her, loudly asking her five or six questions at the same time without paying attention to the crowd around them. Mlle Robespierre, calmer, tells him in a low voice that she will answer him when they have reached the Place de la Révolution.

“Explain to me, please,” said Gaillard to Mlle Robespierre as soon as they were offshore, ”your haste to tell me to take flight flee and why you held back Couthon in his chair?”

“You were fooled, my dear monsieur, by the profound hypocrisy of Couthon, I was completely fooled myself; I believed your judges saved and you forever at peace like all the signatories of these addresses to Louis XVI... Couthon only showed himself to be so good-natured in order to get to know the depths of your thoughts, you fell into his trap, I could not have avoided it more than you. Your bloody and so justly deserved reproach regarding the 63 victims of today struck in the hearth, my presence, even my confidence could not have stopped his vengeance. The members of the Committee of Public Safety each have five or six men at home who are resolute at their command, because they are constantly trembling. Had he reached the bell pull, this very afternoon you would have been placed in the tumbril alongside the 63 unfortunate people you wanted to save... Fortunately, I succeeded in making him ashamed of the crime he was going to commit by immolating a friend that I had brought to his house... Will he keep his word to me? I followed your conversation very attentively, you did not say a word from which Couthon could conclude that you do not live in Paris... Return home quickly, do not follow the ordinary route out of fear that, remembering the name of the city where your judges were to sit, he sends for men to follow you on the road to Melun.”  La Révolution, la Terreur, le Directoire 1791-1799: d’après les mémoires de Gaillard (1908) page 268-273. Anecdote described as taking place in May 1794. Evidence Couthon had contacts with not only Robespierre, but his sister as well. If the dynamics between the three changed after this incident is however something the anecdote leaves unknown…

Is it not known to all citizens since the sessions of 12 and 13 Fructidor, that the decree of 22 Prairial was the secret work of Robespierre and Couthon, that it never, in defiance of all customs and all rights, was discussed or communicated to the Committee of Public Safety? No, such a draft would never have been passed by the committee had it been brought before it. […] At the morning session of 22 floréal [sic, it clearly means prairial], Billaud-Varennes openly accused Robespierre, as soon as he entered the committee, and reproached him and Couthon for alone having brought to the Convention the abominable decree which frightened the patriots. It is contrary, he said, to all the principles and to the constant progress of the committee to present a draft of a decree without first communicating it to the committee. Robespierre replied coldly that, having trusted each other up to this point in the committee, he had thought he could act alone with Couthon. The members of the committee replied that we have never acted in isolation, especially for serious matters, and that this decree was too important to be passed in this way without the will of the committee. The day when a member of the committee, adds Billaud, allows himself to present a decree to the Convention alone, there is no longer any freedom, but the will of a single person to propose legislation.  Réponse des membres des deux anciens comités de salut public et de sûreté générale… (1795) by Bertrand Barère, Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois and Alexis Vadier. It is unclear if Robespierre and Couthon really were alone in having drafted and/or supported the Law of 22 Prairial. The idea that they were was also lifted by Prieur-Duvernois in his Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (he claims Saint-Just was also in on it), Fouquier-Tinville in his Requisitoires de Fouquier-Tinville (he claims that, in the days the law was being worked out, Billaud-Varenne, Collot d'Herbois, Barère, Carnot and Prieur told him it was Robespierre who had been charged with the project) and Laurent Lecointre in Robespierre peint par lui-même et condamné par ses propres principes (1794) (he claims Robespierre wrote the law and confided only Couthon with it). If all these sources are to be treated with caution given their authors and the time they were written, it can nevertheless be established that Couthon and Robespierre (the first one in particular) are the only ones where any direct involvement in the development of the law can be traced, and that they did fight side by side (and harder than any other committee member) against the Convention to get it passed on both June 10 and June 12.  I’ve written about this more in detail in this post.

Couthon: All patriots are brothers and friends, as for me, I want to share the daggers directed against Robespierre (here the entire hall rises with cries of: Me too!) […] Couthon at the jacobins July 11 1794

Couthon, all the patriots are proscribed, the entire people have risen up; It would be a betrayal not to join us to the Commune, where we are now. Signed: Robespierre the older, Robespierre the younger, Saint-Just. Letter urging Couthon to come to Hôtel de Ville. According to Hervé Leuwers’ Robespierre(2014) this letter is in Augustin Robespierre’s hand. According to 9-thermidor.com Robespierre and Couthon, alongside Augustin, Saint-Just, Le Bas were all declared under arrest by the Convention around 1:30 PM. Around 5 PM they were taken to the Committee of General Security and served dinner, before getting seperated and taken to different prisons between 6:30 and 7 PM. Couthon was the last to reunite with his friends at Hôtel de Ville at around 1 AM, less than an hour before the building was stormed.

The two Robespierres were [in the meeting room], one next to President Lescot-Fleuriot and the other next to Payan, national agent. Couthon was carried into the room a moment later; and what is noteworthy is that he was still followed by his gendarme. On arriving he was embraced by Robespierre, etc. and they passed into the next room, which I entered. The first word I heard from Couthon was: “We must write to the armies immediately”. Robespierre said: “In whose name?” Couthon replied: “But in the name of the Convention; is it not still where we are? The rest are only a handful of factions that the armed force we have will dissipate, and of whom it will bring justice.” Here Robespierre the elder seemed to think a little; he bent down to his brother's ear; then he said: “My opinion is that we write in the name of the French people.” He also, at that moment, took the hand of the gendarme who entered with Couthon and said to him: “Brave gendarme, I have always admired and esteemed your body; always be faithful to us; go to the door and ensure that you continue to embitter the people against the rebels.” Letter from H. G. Dulac to Courtois, July 25 1795, regarding the night at the Hôtel de Ville on 9 thermidor. 

As soon as Couthon entered [Hôtel de Ville], three or four members led him away, and two or three presented him with papers and ink. Robespierre and Couthon said: ”We cannot write to our armies in the name of the Convention or of the Commune, given that this would be stopped, but rather in the name of the French people, that would work much better,” and, instantly, Couthon began to write on his knees saying: ”The traitors will perish, there are still humans in France and virtue will triumph.” Robespierre took the hand of gendarme Muron and said to them both: “Go down to the square immediately and energize the people!” Testimony of gendarmes Muron and Javois, who escorted Couthon to Hôtel de Ville. Cited in Autour de Robespierre… (1925) by Albert Mathiez, page 224-225. The Hôtel de Ville was stormed somewhere before 2 AM. At 5 AM, the injured Couthon was brought to l’hospice d’humanité (Hôtel-Dieu de Paris), before joining Robespierre at the Committee of Public Safety. At 11 AM the two plus Gobeau were escorted to the Conciergerie prison and locked up in individual cells. According to number 675 of Suite de journal de Perlet, released two days after the execution, Robespierre and Couthon sat in different tumbrils when they around 6 PM got driven to the scaffold. Couthon was executed first, Robespierre second to last. 

—

Throughout his first year as a deputy, Couthon appears to have been closer to the ”girondins” than the ”montagnards.” In a letter dated January 3 1792 he calls Brissot and Condorcet ”two distinguished patriots with superior talent” apropos of their recent works calling for war. On January 19 1792 he expresses his own support of France going to war in another letter, and on April 20 1792 he was among the deputies that voted in favor of war with Austria (only seven did however vote no). In a letter dated September 1 1792 Couthon calls the Insurrectionary commune to which Robespierre belonged (and, according to some, dominated) ”[a] municipality led by a few dangerous men [that] seems to ignore decrees, and believes itself above the first power,” expressing his hopes that ”this distressing confusion will soon end and that the Municipality of Paris will cease to consider itself the Municipality of the whole Empire.” A week later, September 8 1792, he reports that ”the functions of the ardent chamber of the people have been broken since the evening before last, due to the care of the brave and virtuous Pétion.” In the letter to Roland dated October 4 1792 previously mentioned, Couthon still calls him “brave and estimable minister.” But just a week after said letter had gotten penned down, October 12, he more or less broke with the girondins, when he at the Jacobins said they were a group composed ”of gentlemen, subtle and intriguing, and above all ambitious” that ”wish a republic because popular opinion has demanded it, but they wish it aristocratic, they wish to maintain their control, and to have at their disposal the offices, the emoluments, and especially the finances of the state,” and ending by calling for all energies to be turned against ”this faction, which desires liberty only for itself.” (Bruun speculates this was due to him not having gained a place on the Committee of Constitution within the girondin dominated Convention the day earlier). This move surprised Madame Roland, who in a letter dated October 14 urged Bancal to ”go and see Couthon and reason with him; it is incredible that such a good mind allowed himself to speak out in a strange way against the best citizens.”

Throughout their time on the Committee of Public Safety, Robespierre and Couthon often rose up together at the Convention and the Jacobin club to speak for or against certain subjects. Besides the law of 22 prairial, the two also joined sides against petitioners talking with their hats on (December 20 1793), against Dufourny (March 18 1794), the establishment of a police bureau (April 16, April 18 1794). They helped contribute to the expulsion of both Rousselin (May 25) and Dubois-Crancé (July 11) from the Jacobins, and linked arms in speaking for arresting ”any individual that dares to insult the Convention” (July 24 1794). It was Couthon who asked for the printing of both Robespierre’s On Political Morality Speech on February 5 1794 as well as for his report on Religious and Moral Ideas on May 7 1794. As for Robespierre’s final speech on July 26 1794, Couthon proposed and got through ”that it be distributed throughout all of the Republic.” At the jacobins later the same day he proposed the immediate exclusion of all those who had voted against the printing of the speech, and once again he had his way.

On July 3 1794 we find a CPS decree signed by Collot, Carnot, Saint-Just, Barère, Billaud and C-A Prieur ordering Couthon to go to the army of the Midi, an order that he never followed through with. This could be interpreted as Couthon understanding Robespierre’s enemies were plotting againt him by trying to send him away, but choosing to stay at his side and share his fate.

[faerouzia]

𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚆 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴 | 𝙺𝙷𝙹

☦︎𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛!𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐

☦︎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏

☦︎ 𝚅𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚞

☦︎𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: [𝟸𝟷+!!!] 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 (𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚒 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛), 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜, 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 [ 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎], 𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚡 (𝚏.𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐), 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚑𝚢𝚙𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚜, 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚡 [𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎, 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚔] 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚝 [𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜]. 𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎����, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝟽𝟶 (𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐), 𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝟸𝟼.

☦︎𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚋, 𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛, 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚝. 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕. 𝙰𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗-𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟹𝙺

The ambrosial aroma of alfalfa, simmering languidly upon the stove, permeated the very essence of my being, each inhalation a testament to the verdant bounty bestowed upon me by nature's generous hand. My collection of jars, each a veritable cornucopia of nature's treasures, stood resplendent, their contents a vivid tapestry of the earth's offerings. The walls of my humble abode, adorned with cascading ivy leaves, bore witness to the legacy of my forebears—both matriarchs and patriarchs—whose precious gems and iridescent crystals shimmered with an ethereal luminescence, casting a kaleidoscope of colors that danced playfully in the silvery embrace of the moonlight. 

As the somber gloom of the night enveloped the landscape, the winds, with an almost mischievous spirit, rustled through the grass, which swayed and twirled in a harmonious ballet, choreographed by the unseen forces of nature. Above, the clouds, delicate and ephemeral, drifted languidly across the vast expanse of the star-studded sky, their presence barely discernible against the backdrop of twinkling celestial bodies.

In the midst of this tranquil tableau, he lay in a deep slumber—the one whom I had once held dear to my heart—while I busied myself with the preparations for supper. The copper pots, gleaming with a warm patina, bubbled contentedly as they cradled the maize, a humble yet nourishing staple, while a pot of honey, golden and viscous, awaited its turn to grace the evening's repast with its sweet embrace.

Alas, such was the extent of my modest means; maize and honey constituted the entirety of my culinary offerings, for the price of sheep had soared beyond my reach. Moreover, the whispered admonitions of the spectral souls that inhabited the very walls of my cottage echoed in my mind, cautioning me against the consumption of animal flesh. Thus, I found solace in the simplicity of my fare, a reflection of both my circumstances and the enduring wisdom of those who had come before me.

I delicately unfurled my fortune cards across the weathered surface of the table, seeking to occupy the fleeting moments until the maize reached its culinary zenith. My fingers, nimble and practiced, shuffled the deck with an almost reverent precision, when, quite unexpectedly, two cards leapt forth from the pack, as if propelled by some unseen force, eager to unveil the narrative of my anticipated destiny.

Before I could summon the courage to reveal their hidden truths, a sudden gust of frigid air caressed the nape of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver coursing through my spine. It was as though the very essence of the night had conspired to envelop me in its chilling embrace. With a heart that raced in trepidation, I turned the cards over, and a wave of goosebumps cascaded across my forearms, prickling my skin with an unsettling awareness of the supernatural.

The first card, the Tower, appeared in its reversed position, a harbinger of upheaval and chaos, while the second card bore the ominous inscription of Death—a symbol not merely of mortality, but of profound transformation and the inexorable passage of time. My breath caught in my throat, a palpable tension suffusing the air around me, as the whispers of restless souls began to swirl and intertwine, their ethereal murmurs dimming the flickering glow of the candlelight that had previously illuminated my modest surroundings.

The shattering of glass echoed ominously in the distance, accompanied by the harrowing screams of my fair maidens, their voices rising in a cacophony of terror. Rising abruptly from my stool, I approached the window with a heart laden with dread, peering into the encroaching darkness. What I beheld sent a chill coursing through my veins: a throng of men, brandishing pitchforks and flickering lanterns, advanced with a menacing fervor. Their faces, obscured by the shadows of the night, were mere silhouettes, yet the brutality of their actions was all too apparent as they hurled the maidens to the ground, their anguished cries mingling with the frustrated grunts of their captors.

“Where is the witch?!” they bellowed, their voices a discordant symphony of rage and accusation. Panic surged within me, and I dashed to my chambers, desperate to rouse my beloved from his slumber, but alas, I was far too late; the doors of my sanctuary splintered under the weight of their fury, crashing down with a resounding finality.

The Senate had arrived, clad in rough black cotton cloaks that billowed ominously around them, their expressions twisted with disdain and malevolence. “What is it you want?” I stammered, my voice trembling as it escaped my parched throat, the weight of their presence pressing heavily upon me.

A suffocating silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the crackling hum of the flames that danced upon their pitchforks. The eldest among them, Senator Kim, unleashed a guttural sound from the depths of his throat, spitting contemptuously onto the wooden floorboards of my humble abode. “Witch! Devil!” he proclaimed with a fervor that sent a jolt of terror through my very core. My breath caught in my throat, the titles hurled at me like daggers, leaving me utterly dumbfounded by the absurdity of their accusations. “I do not follow; I am no witch, nor am I a devil. You must be mistaken,” I implored, my voice quaking with the weight of my disbelief, the intrusion upon my sanctuary igniting a profound sense of agonizing discomfort.

“You have been the architect of a heinous crime of witchcraft,” he thundered, his voice resonating with the fury of the storm that raged outside, as the townspeople’s screams crescendoed in response to the sight of their homes engulfed in flames. Younger men surged forward, their hands grasping me with an iron grip, as I writhed in futile resistance, my arms flailing against their unyielding hold. My knees buckled beneath me, collapsing to the ground, while my beloved remained blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just beyond his door.

“What—”

“Witnessed by those whose testimonies have been heard,” Senator Kim interjected, his voice a relentless torrent.

“No, that is not true! I am but a herbalist. I only—”

“Herbalist with fire! You were communicating with the dead, the devil!” he accused, his words laced with venom.

“Lies! Damn those who have spoken ill upon my name!” I cried, desperation clawing at my throat.

“I shall not risk damnation upon these good people,” Senator Kim continued, his voice slicing through the air like a blade, commanding the men to drag me from the sanctuary of my humble residence.

My once-pristine white gown, now sullied and stained with the muddy earth, bore witness to my degradation as the townspeople swarmed around me, their faces contorted with rage and fear, fingers pointing accusatorily at my disheveled form. I had endured a brutal beating, three merciless blows to the head, as refuse and waste were hurled at me, each projectile a testament to the unfounded wrath that had been unleashed upon my innocent soul.

And then, in a cruel twist of fate, I found myself shackled, the cold metal biting into my skin as the senator delivered his final, damning declarations. Bruised and smeared with filth and blood, my heart raced with a primal fear as one of the men stepped ominously toward the threshold of my home, a flaming pitchfork clutched tightly in his hand.

The rusted brass collar encircled my neck, a cruel reminder of my captivity, while shackles bound my ankles and wrists, rendering me powerless.

“She did it!” a voice cried out, filled with venomous accusation.

“Agatha’s son died because of her!” another echoed, the whispers of the townspeople swirling around me like a tempest, their fervor feeding the flames of my impending doom as the senator prepared his words for my execution. The gentlemen at my doorstep stood poised, awaiting the final blow.

“Y/N Valerius, you have, by the decree of the senate and the will of the people, been found guilty, and it is passed upon you according to your gravest crimes…execution!”

A chorus of chants erupted, a cacophony of hatred and fervor, as the senator raised his hand, signaling the man to take charge. The pitchfork, now poised to grace the doorframe, sent my heart into a frantic triple beat, my eyes widening in horror as the realization of my fate dawned upon me.

“No—”

“Burn it all!” he commanded, his baritone voice resonating with an authority that brooked no dissent. I struggled against my bonds, writhing in a desperate attempt to save what little remained of my existence. My knees scraped against the unforgiving ground as they held me down, my screams erupting from the depths of my diaphragm, a primal cry as the flames began to engulf the walls of my home. I witnessed the fire ignite, a cruel paradox of speed and slowness, granting me a fleeting moment to save him. But then it was done; the scents of herbs and crystals exploded in a fiery conflagration as the flames grew ever higher.

Amidst the chaos, I could hear the subtle wails of his voice, the agony of the flames melting his skin away, charring him to his very marrow. The last vestiges of his being were consumed by the inferno, a tragic consequence of my sins. I wept, my eyes brimming with an emotion far more profound than mere anger or sadness; it was heartbreak incarnate. I wailed once more, my stomach churning with despair, for I had lost everything—my home, my love, and the very essence of my humanity. I was stripped bare of my dignity, left with nothing but the ashes of my former life.

“No evil shall reign, as long as I live,” the senator proclaimed, his voice a chilling decree as he strode toward the carriage that awaited him, a human-sized cage secured at the back. It was a cage reserved for the most notorious of criminals, and in their eyes, I was the embodiment of all that was vile—a murderer, a witch, a devil.

Prison was not a foreign concept to me; I had once been a mere cleaner, tasked with the eerie duties of maintaining the cells, distributing meals at the tender age of seventeen. That was until I had fled one fateful night, spurred on by a voice that whispered, “Take the leap, and beware of those who seek your downfall. Run, child, run.”

I had run as fast as my legs could carry me, the hound dogs barking furiously at my departure, yet hope propelled me forward. Had I known I would return to this wretched place, I would have never left. What had once been a gift had turned into a tragedy. I had never taken a life, and yet my love lay dead, taken from me in his sleep, deaf to the ruckus that had unfolded.

Now, my execution loomed just three days away, and I was left in a cell devoid of sustenance—no food, no water—merely a corner plastered with the remnants of humanity and the filth of rats. It was safe to say that I had begun to lose my sanity in the span of mere hours. The walls became my only companions, while the guards, alerted to my troubled illusions, dismissed my plight with indifference. Until one fateful night, a card slipped into my cell—the Tower card.

I could not reach for it, shackled as I was, far from its tantalizing proximity.

And then it appeared, a dark figure lurking in the corners, formless yet palpable. I felt no fear at its sight; rather, I was enveloped in an unexpected sense of comfort. “Your heart is weary, yet you grow insane by the hour,” it intoned, its voice imbued with an ancient power.

“I've lost much—much that cannot be replaced,” I replied, my voice trembling with the weight of my sorrow. It hummed in response, and then silence enveloped us. Its arm reached forward into the dim light, revealing wrinkled fingers adorned with long, black, sharp nails, and a mark upon its wrist—three pinnacles etched into its skin. “I know what you want, what you deeply desire.”

“Since you know so well, why don’t you enlighten me?” I challenged, my curiosity piqued.

“Revenge, I can feel it, I can see it,” it declared, the word resonating within me like a long-forgotten echo. Revenge? The thought had crossed my mind, the last words I had uttered before being hurled into the cage: “You will all be sorry.” It was a desire that paled in comparison to my longing for my love, yet I knew I had to make them pay for the atrocities they had committed against me.

“If you wish to receive, your right hand shall release you from such a fate,” it offered, its voice a seductive whisper.

“Will I be granted the opportunity to bring back life?” I inquired, hope igniting within me.

“For eight souls, it shall be your prize,” it replied, the weight of its words settling heavily upon my heart.

I pursed my lips at the thought—eight souls to bring him back. My heart raced not with fear, but with a grim determination. They had labeled me a witch, a devil, a murderer; I had nothing left to lose but my life. I extended my right hand slightly, and it stretched its arm to grasp mine, the contact sending shivers down my spine, as if it were desperate for this connection. Then, its nail pierced a vein on my wrist, blood curling in fine prints as it burned into my skin.

“Call upon my name, and you shall be free,” it instructed, pointing at the blood that now marked my wrist. And then it vanished, leaving behind a dark etching that formed a name upon my skin. Once red, it transformed to black, veins emanating from each letter.

“Damien.”

taglist (open): @ninjakitty15 @velvetdolor

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Speaker Mike Johnson raises white flag of surrender over House

February 12, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

It was a mixed day in the effort to defend the rule of law against the unfolding coup. It was also a bizarre day. Elon Musk stood next to the Resolute Desk and answered questions from journalists while Trump played second fiddle, seated and (mostly) mute. Dark memories of Rasputin hung over the tableau like a sinister presence. Musputin?

Here is the top line: The courts continue to hold the line, and Trump says he will obey court orders even though the evidence suggests otherwise. See The Hill, Trump says he'll abide by court orders that block parts of his agenda. (“The answer is I always abide by the courts, always abide by them. And we’ll appeal. But appeals take a long time.”)

As noted by Marc Elias of Democracy Docket in this excellent explainer video, federal judges seem to be collectively angry at Trump and Musk for playing “hide the ball,” “twenty questions,” and “the dog ate my homework” when faced with clear and direct orders. Elias’s explanation is helpful, reassuring, and provides insight into why Trump (and the DOJ) may realize that they must obey court orders. See Democracy Docket, Judge Says Trump Admin Violated Court Order, Threatens Contempt.

Despite Trump's answer that he will obey court orders, Musk continues to “cut” funds that have been appropriated by Congress under Article I. To say that Trump is abiding by court orders (and the Constitution) contains the significant implied qualifier, “But only to the extent that I get caught.” Cold comfort, indeed. Sadly, as discussed below, we cannot trust the assurances given in court by the DOJ. Caution and skepticism are warranted.

The most significant political development was in the House, where Speaker Mike Johnson said that Trump was welcome to trammel the constitutional authority of Congress. See HuffPo, Mike Johnson Says 'The Courts Should Take A Step Back'. (“The courts should take a step back and allow these processes to play out. What we’re doing is good and right for the American people. Judges aren’t allowed to control the executive’s legitimate power.”)

Mike Johnson knows full well that impounding funds appropriated by Congress violates Article I of the Constitution and the Impoundment Control Act of 1974. The court orders are narrowly tailored to restrain the illegitimate exercise of power by Trump. But Johnson’s comment was meant to signal that House Republicans would not object to their neutering by Trump. Indeed, the fact that Johnson used “we” (“What we’re doing”) shows that House Republicans are co-conspirators in the coup.

Which leaves us where we were yesterday: The courts are the first line of defense and American citizens are the second line of defense. Several readers expressed puzzlement about my call for us to serve as the “backstop” for the courts, saying they did not understand what actions I was encouraging.

So, to remove any ambiguity, let's try again: Trump's willingness to abide by court rulings will be informed by the degree to which his lawlessness provokes mass demonstrations, work stoppages, boycotts, tax strikes, and civil disobedience.

If Trump believes he can ignore court orders without provoking those reactions by the people, he is more likely to ignore the authority of the courts.

But if he believes that ignoring the courts will lead to mass demonstrations, work stoppages, boycotts, tax strikes, and civil disobedience, he will be incentivized to comply with court orders.

In other words, we are the backstop for the courts (a baseball reference), and also the reinforcements, the calvary, and the source of the “consent of the governed.” If we threaten to withdraw that consent, the courts have greater leverage over Trump, and he is more likely to abide by their rulings.

It is therefore vitally important that we belong to and participate in grassroots resistance organizations. Grassroots groups are stepping up to organize mass resistance. Join them. Support them. Show up. Encourage your friends to join. That is how we will backstop the courts.

Let’s look at some of the most important developments.

Trump's aluminum tariffs.

In the avalanche of news over the last few days, I failed to mention that Trump announced a 25% tariff on aluminum imports. Auto manufacturers and other businesses have said the tariff will lead to “chaos” in the supply chain. See Quartz News, Ford CEO says Trump tariffs are causing 'chaos' for automakers.

On the legal front

In a significant development, a judge on the First Circuit Court of Appeals refused to issue an emergency stay of a lower court ruling compelling Trump to “unfreeze” all federal loans and grants. See HuffPo, Appeals Court Won't Halt Judge’s Order Requiring Trump Administration To Unfreeze All Federal Cash.

In a second matter, the Department of Justice admitted that its prior representation that DOGE employees had only “read only” access to private data was false. See Politico, Treasury officials: Musk ally ‘mistakenly’ had power to alter payments system.

But some federal employees are disregarding the court order to “unfreeze” grants and loans. Some federal employees continued (as of late Monday evening) to refuse to comply with Judge McConnell’s order “unfreezing” federal grants and loans. See The New Republic, FEMA Tries to Appease Trump by Ignoring Court Order on Funding Freeze.

Per The New Republic,

In an email sent Monday, Stacey Street, FEMA’s director of the Office of Grant Administration, ordered her subordinates to “put financial holds on all of your awards—all open awards, all years (2021, 2022, 2023, 2024).” Earlier Monday, U.S. District Judge John J. McConnell had said that the Trump administration had continued to block federal grants, ignoring the judge’s previous directive restraining the disastrous executive order that would have stripped funding from an array of essential government services.

So, while Trump says that he is obeying court orders, people in his administration are not.

And Trump continues to authorize Musk to engage in actions that are likely violations of Article I. Just before the bizarre press conference, Trump authorized Musk to implement a massive layoff of federal employees—likely a violation of federal civil service protection, union contracts, and (depending on how the layoffs are implemented), a violation of the Impoundment Control Act of 1974 and Article I of the Constitution. See Scripps News, Trump signs executive order to reduce the overall size of government.

But in a potentially hopeful sign, the Office of Personnel Management has apparently withdrawn an order to terminate any employee within their “probationary employment” tenure. Instead, terminations will focus on “low performers” within that group. See The Hill, OPM directs federal agencies to address low performers. (“The Office of Personnel Management (OPM) is instructing agencies that they do not have to fire all federal employees still on probation but is encouraging them to remove any low performers.”)

A final note regarding another judicial victory, a judge has ordered the administration to restore website data for health agencies, including information regarding tracking and prevention of sexually transmitted diseases. See The Hill, Judge tells health agencies to restore website data. (The removal “violated a provision requiring federal agencies to provide “adequate notice or reasoned explanation.”)

Democratic Senators challenge Trump and Musk

Senator Dick Durbin demanded the GOP slow the confirmation process on Kash Patel because of allegations that he perjured himself in prior testimony before the Senate. See Talking Points Memo, Durbin Implores Senate GOP To ‘Pause’ On Patel Amid Claims He Covertly Managed FBI Purge. Durbin sent a letter detailing allegations from a whistleblower, who alleged that “Patel personally orchestrated a “purge” of senior law enforcement officials within the bureau.” Patel testified that he had no knowledge of the terminations.

And Senator Adam Schiff demanded that the White House investigate Musk’s conflicts of interests in his role on the DOGE committee. See The Hill, Schiff presses White House on Musk conflicts of interest, ethics. Schiff wrote to Susie Wiles, White House Chief of Staff,

[A]s a “special government employee,” Musk is subject to a federal criminal conflict of interest statute that bars government employees from participating in matters in which they have a financial interest.

Trump thereafter fired the chief ethics watchdog for the White House, who promptly obtained a court order suspending his termination. See Politico, Judge to Trump-terminated ethics watchdog: You’re un-fired.

The actions by Durbin and Schiff may not ultimately be successful, but they are the type of actions that all Democrats rightly expect from their congressional representatives.

Attacks on the press

The White House barred the Associated Press from an event in the Oval Office because the AP has made an editorial decision to continue to refer to the Gulf of Mexico as the Gulf of Mexico, rather than the “Gulf of America,” as Trump mandated in an executive order. The White House sent a memo to the AP saying that the AP would be barred from a White House event because the AP was failing to “align itself with Trump's executive order.” See The Bulwark (video), This is some dark sh*t.

Memo to the press: Trump is selectively picking you off, one at a time. The obvious solution is to stick together. If the White House bars the AP from press events, then the entire White House press corps should refuse to attend the event. If you don’t stick together, you will fall (and fail) alone. See, e.g., NYTimes, Trump and Musk Attack Journalists by Name in Social Media Posts.

Opportunities for Reader Engagement

Yesterday, I discussed the statement by the American Bar Association calling on lawyers to defend the rule of law. That statement is a very positive development. Today, the organization Lawyers Defending American Democracy (LDAD), published a document entitled, LDAD announcement re Foreign Corrupt Practice Act and Call to Action by the Bar and Law Schools.

After discussing the decision by the DOJ to not enforce the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act, LDAD writes,

We call on bar associations across the country, law school deans, law firms, and other legal organizations to recognize the urgency of this moment. These are the guardrails of democracy and the rule of law. Cautionary quiet only compounds the danger. Tomorrow will be more urgent, not less so.

LDAD is a great organization for attorneys looking for a place to make a difference. You can see LDAD in action when its co-founder and chair Scott Harshbarger, the former two-term Attorney General of Massachusetts, speaks at a program entitled: State of our Democracy and the Rule of Law - Sleepwalking into Autocracy. (Click on link for details of the program.)

Registration is free and open to the public. The program will take place on February 18, 2025 at 7:00 pm Eastern. Register here: Meeting Registration.

Concluding Thoughts

This is a rough time for everyone who values the rule of law. Almost everyone who fits that description wants to do the right thing, but it is difficult to know precisely what the most effective strategies are. And, most importantly, Democrats need to stick together. We are not the problem. Trump is the problem.

But the leaders of the Democratic Party—present and past—have failed to grasp the gravity of the moment. Rank-and-file Democrats and other concerned citizens are figuratively shaking their leaders by the shoulders and shouting, “Wake up! Don’t you get it?”

Although some leaders have made slow progress, others are still missing the moment. Incredibly, Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer sent a “Dear Colleagues” letter saying that Democrats are willing to work toward a “bipartisan funding bill.” What is he thinking?

Schumer needs to look beyond the Senate to the decimation occurring in the executive branch in violation of Article I of the Constitution. Better yet, Democrats need to replace Schumer with someone willing to fight and someone who doesn’t hurt the Democratic brand every time he steps up to the microphone. Giving away bargaining positions in advance is a weak move during a time that demands strength.

While it is true that Democrats are in the minority in Congress, the next Democrat who invokes that excuse should resign now. We know it is tough. That’s why we elected you. We don’t need to be reminded that it is tough. Take all the time you are devoting to self-pity and rationalizations and spend it on a local radio show or in a town hall or in front of cable news cameras. Stop with the excuses. Fight. Lead. Act like you understand we are in an emergency.

In a truly disturbing report that may not tell the whole story, Axios is reporting that members of the House Democratic caucus whined to Minority Leader Jeffries that grassroots organizations like Indivisible and MoveOn are encouraging their followers to flood phone lines of Democratic lawmakers with calls. See Axios, Democrats "pissed" at MoveOn, Indivisible over Trump approach.

Per the Axios article,

"People are pissed," a senior House Democrat who was at the meeting said of lawmakers' reaction to the calls. The Democrat said Jeffries himself is "very frustrated" at the groups, who are trying to stir up a more confrontational opposition to Trump. A Jeffries spokesperson disputed that characterization and noted to Axios that their office regularly engages with dozens of stakeholder groups, including MoveOn and Indivisible, including as recently as Monday.

I don’t know where the truth lies in the above story, but (frankly), it feels like the Axios reporting is true. The reluctance of Democrats in the House to be more aggressive and outspoken suggests that they want to “go along to get along” and wake up when the coup is over.

Bless Indivisible, MoveOn, SwingLeft, and other grassroots organizations for trying to rouse Democratic members of Congress during a crisis.

So, let’s be plain about what we need from congressional Democrats:

Leadership.

Not “leadership on a committee,” or “leadership in the caucus,” or “leadership on the House floor,” but leadership outside of the Capitol—where the coup is unfolding. The people who elected you are bewildered by the yawning silence coming from 95% of the Democrats in Congress. If you are not up to the task, let us know. We can fix that.

In the meantime, do not continue to disappoint us or resent our demands that you step outside your comfort zone. We are in a crisis. We are all being called to step outside our comfort zones. Your phone lines would not be melting if you were in front of the cameras, in town hall meetings, on social media, and in the street with your constituents. We are calling because we want you to lead us, not because we think you are the problem.

But the problem extends beyond Democrats in Congress. Leigh McGowan, a.k.a. Politics Girl, has posted a video that demands to know “Where Are Our Leaders”—referring to former Democratic and Republican leaders like Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Bill Clinton, Kamala Harris, George Bush, General Milley, General Austin, Leon Panetta . . . . and more. See Politics Girl, Where Are Our Leaders? (Warning: Leigh drops the “F” bomb early and often.)

To the extent that anyone suggests that the “coup” is over because Trump claimed he would abide by court rulings on Tuesday, you are sorely mistaken. Despite dozens of losses in court, Musk and Trump announced $600 million in cuts to the Department of Education—a grotesque violation of Article I and the Impoundment Control Act. And let’s not forget that Musk is infecting our government’s computer system with spyware, backdoors, unauthorized servers, and code changes—all to assume control of the central nervous systems of the government. You are deeply mistaken if you think that is not a coup because it doesn’t involve tanks rolling down Pennsylvania Avenue.

So, elected Democrats—current and former—step up! Your country needs you. We need you. We want you to lead us. Are we mad at you? Yep! But we will get over it as soon as you show that you are willing to stand by our side in the fight to save democracy.

Or you could bitch about us in closed-door meetings and then leak your complaints to the press. Your choice.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[lemurious]

[sic semper]

how many words will it take to keep a republic?

[this one's for camille.]

[the old roman republic fixation blending into the new one of the french revolution. now on ao3 as well.]

“He should’ve stopped right then. Thus, always, to tyrants. That’s enough to make one’s name ring for eighteen hundred years and then some.”

Ever since they had struggled through their first sentences of Cicero together, they have turned it into a kind of a hideout, a refuge. The last bright spark of the Republic, all the sweeter for its brevity, all the more terrible for the inescapable light.

They are fighting not to turn their own land into a desolation and would not stoop to the hypocrisy of calling it peace, and quirites have been renamed citoyens, and the old blood on the cobblestones is the same as under the statue of Pompey, and so many hands are eager to proffer a knife that there is a brief illusion that the guilt might be shared as well.

Camille has not moved to light the candles, and the sky has blinked violet for a mere moment, so fast that one could’ve missed it if one weren’t paying attention, and settled into a comfortable dusk.

He rubs his eyes, straightens himself, sways minutely in the slight derangement brought by exhaustion.

It is a respite, to think about what choices he would’ve made, had he the death of only one Caesar to reckon with, to imagine himself in the interminable tableaus of artists who felt that only they could give an accurate rendition to the scene. At the head of the liberators - no, that’s the place in which he can only imagine Maxime, however reluctant.

Camille stops dead, halfway through another speech in his head, he can almost hear his own voice shaking, his finger pointing in accusation at the corpse of Caesar and letting the anger of the crowd carry him through the Forum.

He wouldn’t have made the deal with Octavian though, nor scuttled off to Egypt. He would’ve stayed in Paris – in Rome, that is, of course. In his city. His city, claimed and signed and sealed in word after word and pamphlet after pamphlet, and declarations and constitutions and decrees beyond count, and it still might not be enough.

“He didn’t have to call Cicero’s name," Maxime goes on. "I wouldn’t consider Brutus a coward…”

Camille wonders if Brutus – not if, how frequently Brutus had tried to reason with his conscience, how many times Cassius had strengthened him, by words or arms.

They seem to have acquired their own Cassius, not too long ago, another moth to the flame of revolution, except this one – this one is worth watching, and the entire Convention watches. This one seems to be bound for a glorious death, if one could be contrived.  

It might not take much, these days. Marat has recently managed without even trying.

“What’s wrong with Cicero?” Camille pushes his thoughts out of his head, imagines them flying through the open window and into the summer heat that is settling into the city for the night.

“He was like one of these overtrained dogs, always ready to attack the next enemy. I do not discount the elegance of his language, or the precision of his philosophy – “

“You are trying to discount the man. But we still memorize his speeches. Now -give me a speech from Brutus, one to make you want to follow his lead! See – you can’t. I know you can’t. All you have from Brutus is a sword. Cicero took that sword and adorned it with virtue, having an excess of it in his possession due to having left all vice to Antony, now, of course, I do object to it, on occasion being partial to Mark Antony myself, but wouldn’t you call it a force of its own, this ability that only words have, to turn a death into a martyrdom and a murder into an execution?”

Camille positively runs out of breath by the end of the sentence.

“Caesar wouldn’t have been killed by a pamphlet.” Maxime is curt, but there is a softness to his look.

“Just you wait.”

“You – well, you I could trust – to prove me wrong.”

“I tell you again – only consuls can be killed in the Curia Hostilia, while tyrants have to die in words, over and over, until they teach us how to treat the tyrants of our age – wait, I need to put this down –“

“You should be writing plays.”

“You should be carrying a knife, just in case a suitable Caesar passes by. Stop insulting me. We’re living a tale, we have to be able to tell it too – not that I, of course, am going to give all that many more speeches, I suppose –“

“You will, when the need arises.”

“I wish I had your certainty.”

“My certainty begs to differ. You do not wish for anything of the sort. And I am hardly ready to start stabbing kings, or anyone else for that matter. We have our laws.”

“I know you. At some point, you will be called to a Curia and you will make a choice, against an entire row of Caesars, lined up, unsuspecting, in front of you. And then, well, then, another republic will be saved again, I suppose, and then –“

“And then?”

There is a tinge of dust, in the light breeze rising. A taste of desert.

“And then, Philippi.”

“Such a morbid future.”

“There’s nothing morbid about immortality, at least not for you, at least not this kind, it’s the only kind that is worth pursuing anyway, there’s a kind of truth to it that is harder to stain, and, speaking of which, time for me to go, this needs to be printed by tomorrow, they’re already cursing me in the press for keeping them awake.”

“Camille.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember how we used to talk of them, as if we ran in their circles, as if we had to step aside to let their litters pass us by? Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, everyone? Do you think – they felt they had no other choice?”

The only answer is a cliché, and it sticks to Camille’s teeth like molasses.

Still, he supposes, it must be comforting. For a moment he is so exhausted that he feels that he will never find anything comforting, and then he looks at the desk, at the pen dripping ink because Maxime is holding it at a strange angle, and tells himself to stop being so fanciful.

It is easier to speak in clichés, in the dark. Sometimes, Camille wishes he could be turned off together with the lamps and blink right back into shape the following night.

He wonders what kind of a ghost he would make. And if Maxime would even want to stick around the living.

“One always has a choice.”

“Camille.”

“Yes, again?”

“…it's too hot, my words are trying to slip away from me – for all that I despise Cicero, that was something he was good for. Finding them.”

“You can just say something trite about surviving, taking care of myself, maybe even thinking, for once, of how my own words will be read before putting them down.”

“Is that what you expect of me?”

“No.”

Camille turns, steps closer, reaches out, velvet and lace and skin under his hands. Sometimes, even he chooses to be silent. So will Maxime, but not just yet.  

“Here’s your Cicero, then. Vince et vale.”

[delimeful]

mere monstrosity (4)

warnings: misunderstandings/assumptions, dehumanization, threats, janus being kind of a prick, fearplay, mentions of head injuries/brain damage, lmk if i forgot any

-

Roman reeled back as the hand slammed down in front of him.

Like a campfire doused by a bucket of icewater, his fury was entirely flattened by the bone-chilling realization that he was facing not one, but two humans, far away from the walls, any possible escape, or his brother.

Oh, god. Remus.

He might have still been alive back there, there might have been something that could have been done to help him, and Roman would never know because he’d let his anger overtake his sense. Now, dead or alive, he wouldn’t ever get to see his brother again.

A spark of his earlier fury rose from the ashes at the thought, and he raised his pin in the general direction of the two humans towering over him.

“I’d take on any number of opponents if it meant striking down that monster,” he spat, pretending that the tremble running down his arm was due to rage alone. “Willing or not, justice must be dealt!”

The humans exchanged a glance, neither looking remotely threatened, and then the one with the mismatched eyes leaned forward, still wearing that smile that looked more like a flashing of teeth.

“I think you and I must have very different ideas of what constitutes ‘justice’,” he said, and then moved, quick and sharp like a snake striking.

Roman jerked back, but the length of his pin remained held firmly in place by the human’s two pinched fingers.

“For one, most courts aren’t allowed to rule a defendant guilty and have them executed by needlepoint.”

Too occupied trying to wrest his only weapon free, he didn’t even see the human’s other hand sweeping in until gloved fingers were already wrapping around him.

He was plucked off the ground as easily as a hawk catching a mouse, and the instant his grasp loosened, his pin was pulled right out of his hands. “No!”

There wasn’t even time to mourn the loss of a blade that had been by his side for years. He had bigger problems. Literally.

“If you’re truly a proponent of vigilante justice performed by the powerful, though, I’m sure you won’t mind me stepping in,” one of the problems in question said. “After all, if you can pick and choose an opponent to murder at will, why can’t I?”

The words were accompanied by a slight, pointed tightening of the hand around him, and Roman’s gasping breaths started to sound a lot more like squeaks of alarm.

“Janus, cut it out. You’re gonna give him a heart attack,” a relatively small voice cut in.

He followed the sound to see it was the monster, now carefully cradled in the hand of the nerd-looking human. It was rubbing wearily at its eye in a surprisingly humanlike gesture.

“As opposed to the vital organ stabbing he tried to give you?” Janus replied, but his grip returned to firm instead of constricting. “What if we hadn’t been here? You’re lucky Logan is so predictable.”

Finding no success in his attempts to wriggle free, Roman paused and tried to wrap his head around the arrangement before him. The humans were listening to it, even chatting with it like a friend.

“What is all this supposed to be?” he asked incredulously, gesturing to the entire tableau. “That’s a spider monster! Humans don’t even like regular spiders in their homes!”

The spider-creature flattened itself slightly against the human’s hand, fiddling with the edges of its tiny cloak with a scowl on its face.

“To the contrary,” the human with glasses started, “most non-aggressive spider species are considered harmless and even beneficial to a household, due to the bugs they catch and their general avoidance of human contact.”

Roman stared pointedly at where the spider was literally being held by a human nerd at that very moment.

It shrugged, the motion barely visibly with how hunched its shoulders already were. “Extenuating circumstances. I wanted to not get stabbed more than I wanted to avoid contact.”

“Careful, Virgil. It almost sounds like you like us or something,” Janus teased, his smile softening into something less sharp and more wry when he was looking at the creature.

“You got me, I like you guys more than being stabbed,” it replied dryly, gaze still flickering over to Roman every few seconds. “Congrats.”

The nerd human cleared his throat, speaking over the smug, over-exaggerated ‘awww’ sound Janus was making.

“While I’m normally happy to take time to affirm our friendship, I feel like maybe we should focus on the matter at hand,” he said, turning the phrase literal by lifting the hand he was carrying the monster in and then inclining his head at the hand Janus had Roman trapped in.

“Ah, right,” Janus gave Roman a look normally reserved for gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. “What are we going to do about this one.”

He tilted his hand back and let his fingers go loose, giving Roman more breathing room but also leaving him feeling like a tipped over beetle with its legs flailing in the air.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Roman twisted and managed to flip himself over and get all the way to his hands and knees before a thumb was pressed against his back, pinning him back in place idly.

“He had a point earlier,” the words were accompanied by a slight increase of pressure along his spine, “we humans really don’t like household pests.”

“Janus, enough already.” Shockingly, the monster came to his defense again. “It’s not even his fault, it was just a stupid misunderstanding.”

“You were almost murdered over a misunderstanding?” Janus replied, disbelieving. “Okay, but that’s worse. You do see how that’s worse, right?”

Roman was almost with the human on this one, though his disagreement was far more furious than bewildered.

“There was no misunderstanding,” he hissed, his voice coming out slightly wheezing from all the air that had just gotten squashed out of his lungs. “You killed my brother, you monster! You were going to eat him!”

There was a long beat of silence after his accusation rang out. Then, all at once:

“I was under the impression that your diet primarily consisted of insects? Would you even be capable of envenomating a creature of this size?”

“If you killed a guy and went to Logan instead of me for help with hiding the body, I will literally never forgive you—,”

“Oh, that is so not true, I didn’t even touch him until he’d already knocked himself out! He’s not even dead, but if he was, it would not be on me, okay?!”

Even amidst the overlapping chatter, Roman’s mind locked on to the only statement that mattered.

“He’s alive?” he asked, his voice cracking painfully mid-word.

Everyone went quiet, and Janus’s grip pulled away, allowing him to push himself back up to a sitting position without a word. Roman didn’t try to flee, only watched the monster and waited for the rug to be yanked out from under his feet, for the cackling laughter and glee that he had fallen for it.

“Yeah, man, I’m pretty sure,” the monster— Virgil said, scuffing a hand through his hair exhaustedly. “He was still breathing okay when I pulled him up, at least, he’s just got an awful knot on the back of his head. Probably has a concussion or something?”

Above him, Logan frowned in concern. “In that case, he certainly shouldn’t be left alone out there. I’ll go get out the first aid kit, if you can retrieve him?”

Roman felt a brand new wave of fear wash through him, urgent and sharp after the dull ache of grief.

So, that was why the humans were so fond of the monster, so accommodating to him. A spider-sized monster was no match for a human, but if he got on their good side by bringing them gifts, the rare, valuable kind that they had no reliable way of getting themselves… That was a different story.

There weren’t any other borrowers here, despite the signs in the walls of some living there before. Roman thought he knew why, now.

And like an idiot, he’d walked himself and Remus right into the lion’s den.

Except Remus was out of reach, and there was only one being here who could change that.

Roman stared at Virgil imploringly, a silent plea for mercy for his brother.

Virgil swallowed and averted his gaze, hunching over in something like guilt or shame. “Yeah, I’ll, uh. Yeah. Be back in a few.”

He scurried over to the wall without looking back once, and Roman curled in on himself, despair heavy on his shoulders.

—

Virgil was trying really hard to hate the guy who had almost skewered him an hour ago, but it was turning out to be more difficult than expected.

The moment he’d learned that his brother was still alive, the borrower’s demeanor had taken a full heel-turn. He’d stopped struggling, looked somehow even paler than before, and kept casting these desperate, almost pained glances at Virgil.

Look, he got it, okay. Nobody liked being abruptly under the gaze of a couple of humans, especially not when those humans had been actively antagonistic to them for their entire first meeting. He wasn’t happy about the situation either!

Still, he wasn’t the one who had made the decision to follow someone out into the open and keep trying to stab them to death where anyone could see.

He’d groused about it to himself the entire way through the walls, where he found the guy’s brother exactly where he’d left him, thankfully still breathing.

It hadn’t taken him long to drag the borrower to an exit, and he’d entrusted the stranger to Logan’s exceedingly gentle care immediately.

Janus had raised an amused eyebrow at the sight of how much webbing was tangled around the guy’s body. “Suddenly, I see where the ‘eating him’ assumption must have come from.”

“Ha ha,” Virgil replied flatly. “He tripped.”

Still sitting in Janus’s hand, the borrower didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arms around himself miserably, eyes locked on Logan’s back.

He continued not to say anything until the two of them were left relatively alone— Logan was entirely preoccupied with crafting a sterile wound pad into tiny bandages, and after the excitement had died down, Janus had reluctantly returned to his room and the assignment he’d abandoned.

(He’d given Virgil a look that meant there would be questions later, as though Logan hadn’t already been all but buzzing with curiosity from the start. Virgil decided he’d stress about that bridge when he got to it.)

Both of them were on the counter, but where Virgil was pacing back and forth directly on the marble, the stranger had been set in a wide-brim glass bowl to prevent any further surprise murder attempts.

Virgil didn’t feel great about it, especially not with how the guy had folded in on himself mere moments after taking in his surroundings, but he felt worse about the very real possibility that he’d be attacked again.

The tense silence was growing to almost painful levels of awkward, though.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Virgil finally said, because Logan looked intent but not scary laser-focused, which meant the head injury wasn’t lethal.

The borrower shot him a truly scathing glare, and Virgil skittered back a few steps automatically before returning the look twofold.

“What?” he snapped, keeping his voice low. “I told you I’m not the one who hurt him, okay?! I had no part in his quest for brain damage!”

“I know that! You’re just the one who brought him here,” the stranger whispered back viciously. “To humans.”

It was probably a reasonable reaction, especially given that Janus had been giving him the cat-who-just-caught-the-canary treatment, but it still wasn’t fair to blame Virgil. He hadn’t orchestrated the nightmarish situation, for goodness’s sake!

“It’s not like I meant for this to happen!” He dragged his hood up, trying to hide the agitated flush of his ears. “I thought it was just your brother, okay? I didn’t know there were two of you.”

If he’d known, he would have at least consulted with the guy before dragging his concussed brother out of the walls to get treatment from someone who was, by all appearances, a borrower’s worst nightmare. Even if it made his stomach twist to imagine them rejecting any help when it was partially thanks to him that the idiot had been so distracted in the first place, that was still their right to refuse.

Hell, he could have even feigned a minor head injury and asked Logan for supplies or advice! The three of them could have treated the injury without exposing the brothers to inquisitive, overprotective humans at all.

“Two of us?” the borrower echoed, his scowl abruptly lessening. “You thought it was just Remus?”

“Yeah, and you gave me basically zero time to explain before getting all stabby, so.” Virgil shrugged once. “It’s not like I wanted to bring him here, but he’s injured. I wasn’t going to just leave him to croak in the walls.”

The borrower was just staring at him now, his face creased with a complicated expression.

“You being here is your own fault,” he said, a tad defensively.

He got another dirty look for that, but it quickly faded into something almost contemplative.

There was another long stretch of silence, before Logan stepped over to let them know he was going to check the closet for more supplies. He looked to Virgil in silent question: will you be okay, left unattended?

The stranger shuffled back in the bowl, apprehensive, but Virgil only nodded.

It was hard to feel afraid of the guy when Virgil was 80% sure he was currently trying to work out the logistics of a tiny icepack for Remus.

A few seconds later, they were alone. The stranger turned to Virgil immediately, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally speaking.

“Remus is injured,” he started, speaking slowly as though carefully choosing each word. “He probably won’t be able to endure for long if he’s under a lot of stress.”

That… wasn’t really the impression Virgil had gotten from the few minutes of interaction they’d had, but whatever.

“Logan’s really good with boundaries,” he offered. “I can make sure he doesn’t overstep. I know I’m… me, but your brother seemed surprisingly willing to give me a chance, so.”

“Of course he did,” the stranger muttered under his breath. “Look, if you only meant to bring one, you’re going to want the one that will… will last longer, right? That’s me.”

Virgil blinked several times, trying to connect the dots of that particular statement. “...What?”

The borrower turned to face him fully, scooting as close as the curved glass would allow, his gaze locked on Virgil.

“Get Remus out of here. I’ll stay, and the humans can do whatever they want to me, okay? Just let Remus go.” The stranger pressed a hand against the glass of the bowl. “I’m begging you. On my honor, I’ll do whatever you want, just–!”

“They’re not keeping you,” Virgil interrupted, feeling a little nauseated as the full implications of the plea sunk in. “Do you really think I’d be willing to stay here if they did that? Did you really think I would have brought you both here if they did that?!”

“I– I don’t know!” the stranger spluttered, recoiling slightly. “I don’t know you, maybe! You said you only meant to bring one borrower, what else would that mean if not–,”

“I meant if I’d known you were there, I would have dragged your idiot brother to you first, instead of going and getting help from the humans because I know literally nothing about medicine!” Virgil was clutching at his hair, now, astounded at the turn this had taken.

“Just waltzing out of the walls to hang out with humans goes against like every borrower rule ever, how was I supposed to know–,” the stranger cut off sharply as Logan walked back into the room, body going stiff as the human’s eyes flicked over to them briefly. Virgil released his hair and stuck his hands back in his pocket with faux casualness.

He took a few deeps breaths, and waited until Logan had returned to his tinkering to resume their conversation, now in a mutter.

“The humans do actually want to help, and I personally don’t want to watch your concussed brother fall off another beam and actually die this time, so would you at least give it a chance?” He studied the stranger’s unconvinced face and sighed. “If you really don’t feel safe after a day or two, I’ll help you and Remus sneak out myself, okay? On my honor, or whatever.”

“... Fine.”

[misfitwashere]

January 6, 2025 

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JAN 7

In less than 40 minutes today in snow-covered Washington, D.C., a joint session of Congress counted the certified electoral votes that will make Republican Donald Trump president of the United States at noon on January 20. Vice President Kamala Harris presided over the session in her role as president of the Senate, announcing to Congress the ballot totals. The ceremony went smoothly, without challenges to any of the certified state ballots. Trump won 312 electoral votes; Harris, who was the Democratic nominee for president, won 226.

The Democrats emphasized routine process and acceptance of election results to reinforce that the key element of democracy is the peaceful transfer of power. Before the session, Harris released a video on social media reminding people that “[t]he peaceful transfer of power is one of the most fundamental principles of American democracy. As much as any other principle, it is what distinguishes our system of government from monarchy or tyranny.”

But at the session, the tableau on the dais itself illustrated that Republicans have elevated lawmakers who reject that principle. Behind the vice president sat the newly reelected speaker of the House of Representatives, Mike Johnson (R-LA), who was a key player in the attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election: he lied about fraud; recruited colleagues to join a lawsuit challenging the election results from the key states of Georgia, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Georgia; and, after the January 6 riot, challenged the counting of certified votes from Arizona and Pennsylvania.

After the session concluded, Harris told reporters: “Well, today was…obviously, a very important day, and it was about what should be the norm and what the American people should be able to take for granted, which is that one of the most important pillars of our democracy is that there will be a peaceful transfer of power.

“And today, I did what I have done my entire career, which is take seriously the oath that I have taken many times to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, which included, today, performing my constitutional duties to ensure that the people of America, the voters of America will have their votes counted, that those votes matter, and that they will determine, then, the outcome of an election.

“I do believe very strongly that America’s democracy is only as strong as our willingness to fight for it—every single person, their willingness to fight for and respect the importance of our democracy. Otherwise, it is very fragile and it will not be able to withstand moments of crisis.

“And today, America’s democracy stood.”

Democracy stood in the sense that its norms were honored today as they were not four years ago, which is no small thing. But it is a blow indeed that the man who shattered those norms by trying to overturn the will of the American voters and seize the government will soon be leading it again.

It did not seem initially as if any such a resurrection was possible. While MAGA lawmakers and influencers tried to insist that “Antifa” or FBI plants had launched the riot that made congress members hide in fear for their lives while Secret Service agents rushed Trump’s vice president, Mike Pence, to a secure location, that left at least seven people dead and at least 140 police officers wounded, and that did about $3 million of damage to the Capitol as rioters broke windows and doors, looted offices, smeared feces on the walls, and tore down an American flag to replace it with a Trump flag, there was little doubt, even among Trump loyalists, as to who was to blame.

All four living presidents condemned Trump and his supporters; Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram all suspended him; members of his cabinet resigned in protest; corporations and institutions dropped their support for Trump.

Indeed, it seemed that the whole Trump ship was foundering. Trump advisor Hope Hicks texted Ivanka Trump’s chief of staff that the Trump family was now “royally f*cked.” “In one day he ended every future opportunity that doesn’t include speaking engagements at the local proud boy’s chapter,” Hicks wrote. “And all of us that didn’t have jobs lined up will be perpetually unemployed. I’m so mad & upset. We all look like domestic terrorists now.” “Not being dramatic, but we are all f*cked.”

Even then–Senate minority leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) delivered a blistering account of Trump’s behavior and said: “There is no question that President Trump is practically and morally responsible for provoking the events of that day.”

But McConnell appeared reluctant to see Trump impeached. He delayed the Senate trial of the House’s charge of “incitement of insurrection” until Biden was president, then pressed for Trump’s acquittal on the grounds that he was no longer president. Even before that February 2021 acquittal, then–House minority leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA)—who had had a shouting match with Trump on January 6 in which he allegedly begged Trump to call off his supporters and yelled that the rioters were “trying to f*cking kill me!”—traveled to see Trump at Mar-a-Lago to get him to support Republican candidates in the 2022 election.

Their hunger to keep Trump’s voters began the process of whitewashing Trump’s attempt to overturn our democracy. At the same time, those Republicans who had either participated in the scheme or gone along with it continued to defend their behavior. As time passed, they downplayed the violence of January 6. As early as May 2021, some began to claim it was less a deadly attack than a “normal tourist visit.”

When the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol began to collect testimony and evidence, Trump and fellow Republicans did all they could to discredit it. As it became clear that Trump would win the 2024 Republican presidential nomination, they worked to exonerate him from wrongdoing and accused the Democrats of misleading Americans about the events of that day.

In February 2021, McConnell defended his vote to acquit Trump of inciting insurrection by promising the courts would take care of him. “President Trump is still liable for everything he did while he was in office, as an ordinary citizen,” he said, “still liable for everything he did while in office, [and] didn't get away with anything yet…. We have a criminal justice system in this country. We have civil litigation. And former presidents are not immune from being held accountable by either one.”

But while more than 1,500 people have been charged with federal crimes associated with the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol and many of Trump’s lawyers and advisors have been disbarred or faced charges, Trump has managed to avoid legal accountability by using every possible means to delay the federal case brought against him for his attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election.

And now, with the help of a compliant Supreme Court stacked with three of his own appointees, he has gained the immunity McConnell said he did not have. On July 1, 2024, the Supreme Court handed down the aptly named Donald Trump v. United States decision, establishing that sitting presidents have immunity from criminal prosecution for acts within the scope of their official duties. Before the new, slimmer set of charges brought after this decision could go forward, voters reelected Trump to the presidency, triggering the Justice Department policy against prosecuting a sitting president.

As Republicans whitewashed January 6 and the legal system failed to hold Trump to account, the importance of Trump’s attack on our democracy seemed to fade. Even the Trump v. U.S. Supreme Court decision, which undermined the key principle that all Americans are equal before the law by declaring Trump above it, got less attention than its astonishingly revolutionary position warranted, coming as it did just four days after President Joe Biden looked and sounded old in a televised presidential debate.

As the 2024 election approached, Trump rewrote the events of January 6 so completely that he began calling it “a day of love.” He said those found guilty of crimes related to January 6 were “political prisoners” and vowed to pardon them on his first day in office. Dan Barry and Alan Feuer noted in the New York Times today that Trump spokesperson Karoline Leavitt, referring to “the Left’s fear mongering over January 6th,” claims that “the mainstream media still refuses to report the truth about what happened that day.”

And yet, today, Trump’s lawyers wrote to Attorney General Merrick Garland demanding he prevent the public release of the final report written by special counsel Jack Smith about Trump’s attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election. They say it would disrupt the presidential transition by “giving rise to a media storm of false and unfair criticism” and interfere with presidential immunity by diverting Trump’s time and energy.

Having reviewed the two-volume report, the lawyers objected to its claim that Trump and others “engaged in an unprecedented criminal effort,” that Trump was “the head of the criminal conspiracies,” that he hatched a “criminal design,” and that he “violated multiple federal criminal laws.” They also took issue with the “baseless attacks on other anticipated members of President Trump’s incoming administration, which are an obvious effort to interfere with upcoming confirmation hearings.”

They conclude that releasing Smith’s report “would not ‘be in the public interest.’”

—

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THE HEIRESS OF LONGBOURN: A Pride and Prejudice Variations

By Jillian Atkinson

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Legacy

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Longbourn’s drawing room, casting golden threads across the faded damask upholstery and illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. The estate, a sturdy relic of Hertfordshire’s pastoral charm, stood resolute against the passage of time, its ivy-clad walls and sloping lawns a testament to generations of Bennet stewardship. Yet today, an undercurrent of unease pulsed through the house, as if the very beams sensed the momentous shift about to unfold within its heart.

Mr. Thomas Bennet, master of Longbourn, had summoned his family to this room with an urgency that was as rare as it was disquieting. A man of scholarly bent, he typically preferred the solitude of his library, where he could lose himself in the pages of Montaigne or jest at the absurdities of his neighbors through a veil of irony. But this morning, his usual air of detached amusement had vanished, replaced by a gravitas that seemed to age him beyond his fifty years. His silver-flecked hair was neatly combed, his coat pressed, and his spectacles perched low on his nose, glinting as he surveyed the assembly before him.

Mrs. Fanny Bennet, his wife of nearly a quarter-century, sat on a cushioned settee, her posture rigid with anticipation. Her round face, still comely despite the lines etched by years of fretting, was flushed with a nervous energy that set her hands to fidgeting with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. Her bonnet, adorned with an extravagant plume, tilted precariously as she darted glances between her husband and their five daughters, her mind already spinning with possibilities—none of them, she hoped, dire.

The daughters, ranged about the room in a tableau of youthful diversity, were a study in contrasts. Jane, the eldest at twenty-two, occupied a high-backed chair near the hearth, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Her golden hair, pinned in soft curls, caught the sunlight, lending her an ethereal glow, while her blue eyes, clear and tranquil, betrayed a flicker of apprehension. Known for her gentleness and beauty, Jane was the family’s lodestar, a beacon of calm amid the tempests of her mother’s schemes and her sisters’ caprices.

Elizabeth, two years her junior, leaned against the window frame, her dark curls framing a face alight with curiosity and wit. Her hazel eyes sparkled with a sharpness that missed little, and her lips curved in a faint, knowing smile as she watched her father, sensing the weight of his impending words. Mary, the middle daughter, sat primly at a small table, her plain features obscured by a book of moral essays, her fingers tracing the pages as if seeking solace in their rigidity. Kitty and Lydia, the youngest at seventeen and fifteen, sprawled together on a chaise longue, their giggles and whispers a jarring counterpoint to the room’s tension, their ribbons and muslin gowns a riot of color against the sober backdrop.

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, a sound that sliced through the chatter like a blade, commanding silence. He stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, and when he spoke, his voice carried a resonance that stilled even Lydia’s restless fidgeting.

“My dear family,” he began, his tone measured yet firm, “I have called you here to share tidings that will alter the course of our lives in ways I scarcely imagined possible.”

Mrs. Bennet gasped, her handkerchief fluttering to her lips. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, do not tell me you are ill! My nerves could not bear such a calamity! What would become of us, cast out with nowhere to go?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Mr. Bennet’s face, though it vanished swiftly. “Fear not, my dear. My constitution remains as robust as ever. But the matter at hand is of equal consequence, and I beg your undivided attention.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on Jane with a warmth that softened his angular features. “As you all know, Longbourn has been shackled by an entail since the days of my great-grandfather, a legal contrivance that decrees the estate pass to the male line. With no son to inherit, it has long been destined for my cousin, Mr. William Collins, leaving you, my wife and daughters, at the mercy of his goodwill—or lack thereof—upon my death.”

Mrs. Bennet let out a plaintive moan, her hands clutching her chest as if to ward off the specter of destitution. “That odious man! To think of him lording over Longbourn, turning us out to starve in the hedgerows! Oh, my poor girls!”

Mr. Bennet raised a hand, silencing her with a look that brooked no interruption. “However,” he continued, his voice dropping to a tone of quiet intensity, “a recent discovery has changed everything. With the aid of a most diligent lawyer, I have unearthed a clause in the original entailment, buried in the archives of a London solicitor’s office, so obscure it might have been penned by a ghost.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the crackle of the fire the only sound as every eye fixed on him. Jane’s heart quickened, a strange premonition stirring within her, though she could not yet grasp its shape. Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, her mind already racing to unravel the mystery, while Kitty and Lydia exchanged wide-eyed glances, their curiosity piqued.

Mr. Bennet stepped closer to Jane, his expression softening with a tenderness that was rare for a man so prone to jest. “This clause,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “stipulates that should the heir to Longbourn demonstrate ‘exceptional stewardship and virtue,’ the entail may be broken, allowing the estate to pass to a female descendant of the Bennet line.”

Jane’s breath caught, her fingers tightening in her lap as the words sank in. A female descendant? Her mind reeled, struggling to bridge the chasm between her father’s pronouncement and its implications. She was no scholar of law, no mistress of estates—how could such a mantle fall to her?

“Papa,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “what does this mean?”

Mr. Bennet knelt before her, an act so unexpected it drew a gasp from Mrs. Bennet. He took Jane’s hands in his, his grip steady and warm, his eyes shining with a pride that pierced her heart. “It means, my dearest Jane, that I have petitioned the courts, presenting evidence of your character and capability. After much deliberation, they have granted my request. The entail is dissolved. You are now the heiress of Longbourn.”

The words struck like a thunderclap, reverberating through the room with a force that left Jane dizzy. Silence enveloped them, thick and profound, as if time itself had paused to mark the moment. Jane felt the world shift beneath her, her thoughts fragmenting like shards of glass. She, the eldest, the one who had always sought to soothe rather than command, was now the mistress of Longbourn? The fields, the tenants, the very stones of the house—all hers to govern?

Mrs. Bennet shattered the stillness with a cry of exultation, leaping from her seat with a vigor that belied her frequent complaints of frailty. “Jane! My darling girl! The heiress of Longbourn! Oh, we are saved! No more dread of that wretched Mr. Collins! What a glorious day!”

She swept Jane into a fervent embrace, her bonnet tumbling to the floor as she squeezed her daughter with unrestrained joy. Kitty and Lydia erupted into cheers, clapping their hands and bouncing on the chaise, their voices a chorus of delight. Mary closed her book with a decisive snap, offering a nod of approval, while Elizabeth reached for Jane’s hand, her touch a quiet anchor in the storm of emotion.

But Jane could not share their jubilation. Her heart pounded unevenly, her mind a tumult of doubt and disbelief. She had never craved prominence or power; her pleasures had been simple—tending to her sisters, coaxing smiles from her father, finding solace in the gardens where the roses bloomed in defiance of neglect. Now, the weight of Longbourn pressed upon her, a responsibility so vast it threatened to engulf her.

“Papa,” she said, her voice trembling, “are you certain? I fear I am not suited to this task.”

Mr. Bennet’s expression softened, and he squeezed her hands gently. “Jane, you have always been the soul of this family, guiding us with your compassion and grace. If anyone can bear this burden, it is you. The courts agree, and so do I.”

Tears welled in Jane’s eyes, and she nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at her core. Elizabeth leaned closer, her voice a warm murmur. “You are not alone, Jane. We will stand by you, always.”

Jane managed a faint smile, clinging to her sister’s words like a lifeline. Yet as the family dispersed, their voices filling the house with plans and dreams, she lingered by the hearth, staring into the flickering flames. Could she rise to this challenge, or would it break her?

---

The news of Jane’s elevation spread through Meryton with the swiftness of a spring breeze, igniting a firestorm of gossip that warmed parlors and fueled market-day exchanges. By noon, the lane to Longbourn was alive with the clatter of hooves and the crunch of carriage wheels, as neighbors and distant kin descended to offer congratulations—or to sate their curiosity.

Mrs. Bennet reveled in the attention, her voice ringing through the halls as she recounted Jane’s virtues to every visitor. “My Jane is the finest creature in all of Hertfordshire,” she declared to Lady Lucas, her hands gesturing expansively. “And now, with Longbourn hers, she’ll have suitors from here to London! Why, a duke would not be too grand!”

Jane endured the onslaught with her customary poise, her smiles courteous, her responses gentle. Yet the ceaseless parade of callers drained her, their praise a cacophony that drowned out her need for solitude. She longed to escape to the gardens, to lose herself among the lavender and let the earth steady her reeling thoughts, but duty bound her to the drawing room, a gracious hostess to all who came.

It was amidst this flurry that Mr. Percival Hawthorne arrived, his carriage halting with a soft creak before the front steps. A tall, lean man of perhaps forty, he cut a striking figure in his dark coat, his angular features softened by a warm smile. His gray eyes, sharp with intellect, scanned the bustling hall as he entered, bowing deeply to Jane.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice smooth and resonant, “it is a privilege to meet the heiress of Longbourn. Your father has spoken highly of you, and I see his words were no exaggeration.”

Jane rose, curtsying with a faint blush. “Mr. Hawthorne, I am deeply grateful for your efforts on our behalf. Without you, this change would not have been possible.”

He waved a hand dismissively, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. “The law is a labyrinth, Miss Bennet, but it is a rare joy to see it yield to justice. I am honored to have played a part.”

They settled into conversation, Hawthorne explaining the intricate process that had freed Longbourn from the entail’s grasp. He spoke of dusty ledgers in London’s legal archives, of arguments waged in chambers lined with ancient oak, and Jane listened with rapt attention, her mind grappling with the complexities of “precedent” and “petition.” Each term was a stepping stone into her new reality, and she clung to them, determined to understand.

Yet his tone grew grave as he leaned forward, his hands steepled. “I must caution you, Miss Bennet, that this victory may face challenges. Mr. Collins, your father’s cousin, is not likely to accept defeat gracefully. He may contest the ruling in court.”

Jane’s stomach tightened, a shadow falling over her fragile hope. “What must we do, Mr. Hawthorne?”

“We prepare,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I am gathering further evidence to strengthen your position. Your father mentioned a journal kept by your great-grandmother, Abigail Bennet. It may hold clues to solidify your claim.”

Jane tilted her head, intrigued yet puzzled. She had heard whispers of the journal, a relic of a woman whose name lingered in family lore, but its contents were a mystery. “I will search for it,” she promised, resolve hardening her voice. “Whatever it takes.”

Hawthorne’s smile returned, tinged with respect. “I have no doubt, Miss Bennet. You have the makings of a true guardian of Longbourn.”

---

As the days unfolded, Jane began to navigate her new role, each step a lesson in the art of stewardship. She ventured into her father’s study, a sanctuary of leather-bound tomes and scattered papers, where she pored over ledgers that chronicled the estate’s pulse. Mr. Bennet guided her, though his patience often waned, his explanations drifting into tangents on philosophy or poetry.

“Papa,” Jane said one evening, her eyes bleary from deciphering a scrawled entry, “this note—‘Funds for the eastern meadow drainage’—where is the yield it should bring?”

Mr. Bennet adjusted his spectacles, squinting at the page. “That’s for improving the soil. The returns will show in next year’s harvest—better drainage means stronger crops.”

Jane nodded, scribbling a note, though the figures blurred before her eyes. She felt like a novice sailor adrift on a vast sea, grasping for landmarks in an unfamiliar realm. She needed more than her father’s sporadic guidance—she needed a mentor.

Elizabeth, ever her confidante, proposed a solution as they sat in the parlor one twilight, the glow of candles casting soft shadows on the walls. “Jane,” she said, her eyes gleaming with purpose, “what if we found you a teacher? Someone versed in the ways of estates?”

Jane blinked, startled. “A teacher? But who would instruct a woman in such matters?”

Elizabeth’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Mr. Darcy.”

Jane’s breath hitched. Mr. Darcy, the reserved gentleman who had recently arrived at Netherfield with Mr. Bingley, was a figure of quiet authority, his tall frame and piercing gaze as formidable as they were intriguing. She had sensed a depth in him, a mind honed by experience, but the idea of him as her guide felt bold.

“Do you think he would agree?” Jane asked, doubt threading her words.

Elizabeth’s grin widened. “If I ask him, I wager he will. He respects Papa, and he’d not stand idly by while Longbourn falters.”

Jane hesitated, then nodded. “If you believe it wise, Lizzy, I trust you.”

---

The next morning, Elizabeth set out for Netherfield, her boots crunching on the frost-kissed path, her resolve as firm as the earth beneath her. She found Mr. Darcy in the library, a towering figure amid shelves of books, his dark eyes lifting from a volume as she entered.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, standing with a grace that belied his sternness, “what brings you here?”

She curtsied, her pulse quickening under his scrutiny. “Mr. Darcy, I come with a request—for my sister Jane.”

His brow lifted, curiosity flickering. “Speak on.”

Drawing a breath, Elizabeth pressed forward. “Jane has inherited Longbourn, as you may know, but she is untrained in its management. She wishes to learn, to honor her duty, yet lacks a guide. I hoped you might lend your expertise.”

Darcy studied her, his silence stretching until she feared refusal. Then, to her astonishment, he inclined his head. “A worthy request. I will assist Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth exhaled, relief flooding her. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. This means more than you know.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “I am pleased to serve.”

---

Thus began Jane’s education under Mr. Darcy’s steady hand. Their meetings unfolded in Longbourn’s study or Netherfield’s airy parlors, hours slipping by as he unraveled the intricacies of estate management. He taught her the cycles of planting and harvest, the delicate balance of tenant needs, the arithmetic of profit and loss. His voice was calm, his explanations precise, and Jane absorbed every word, her confidence budding like a seedling in spring.

She began to see Longbourn anew—not merely a house, but a tapestry of lives and labor, its fields pulsing with purpose. She walked the grounds with Darcy, learning the soil’s secrets, the wind’s whispers, and she felt a quiet pride in the tenants who greeted her with shy smiles.

Mr. Bingley often joined them, his cheerful presence a balm to Darcy’s reserve. One golden afternoon, as they surveyed the ripening wheat, he turned to Jane, his hazel eyes alight. “You’ve a gift for this, Miss Bennet. I’d wager you could teach me a thing or two.”

Jane laughed, warmth blooming in her cheeks. “I’m only a novice, Mr. Bingley, but I’m thankful to learn.”

His grin widened. “And I’m thankful to see it. You’re a marvel.”

Her heart fluttered, and she looked away, the stirrings of affection mingling with her duties. Could she dare hope for more with him?

---

Yet even as Jane grew into her role, a shadow loomed. Mr. Collins, enraged by the loss of his inheritance, vowed to challenge the ruling, his letters bristling with indignation. The specter of a legal battle hung over Longbourn, a reminder that Jane’s triumph was not yet secure.

In the quiet of her chamber, she gazed out at the starlit fields, her thoughts a tangle of hope and fear. Longbourn was hers, but at what cost? She was no longer merely Jane Bennet, the gentle eldest daughter—she was the heiress, the guardian of a legacy. And she would fight to prove herself worthy.

TAP LINK TO CONTINUE READING

[salvationofsouls]

Describing him as deranged would be a mild understatement; however, he had never claimed to possess a sound mind. His entire existence was constructed around themes of death and suffering. To mortals, he represented a formidable concern—the demon with whom humanity frequently associated its own fears. He served as a cautionary figure for those who dared to engage with Ouija boards and legends of the horrors he had wrought circulated through the ages. Some of these accounts were factual, while others had taken on a more entertaining character. He derived a certain enjoyment from causing humans to question their own sanity, driving them into states of madness. His sadistic tendencies were in alignment with his identity as a demon from Hell; thus, preying on the insecurities and fears of individuals constituted his primary modus operandi. In the absence of Lucifer, he had found himself compelled to focus on those ensnared in perpetual cycles of torment.

Yet the time was approaching when the entirety of demonic kind was growing increasingly restless, an electric tension buzzing in the air. He had listened long enough to Dromos’s incessant whining, every drawn-out complaint echoing through the shadowy corners of his mind like a haunting refrain. Whispers skittered along the walls, laden with rumours of Dromos’s soon-to-happen foray into the mortal realm, where he would confront their king. But what was the purpose of such a venture? Lucifer would inevitably send him scuttling back to the infernal depths, so it seemed a dire waste of time and effort. 

To truly capture Lucifer’s attention, one needed to think beyond the conventional confines of rebellion. Who better to achieve this than the demon of death itself? While the other demons engaged in trivial acts of defiance, clawing at the edges of their constraints in petty displays, he embarked on a path unthinkable. His inaugural possession of a human had been approached with care, every movement laced with caution; he half-expected Lucifer to sense the disturbance he was instigating and intervene in a blaze of fury. But when no such reprimand came, he felt emboldened, the hunger for chaos quickening within him. With each passing moment, he escalated his attacks, reveling in the thrill of the forbidden.

The flickering candles cast dancing shadows across the dimly lit room, their flames wavering as if caught in an unseen draft. A lifeless hand fell heavily to the floor with a dull thud, the final punctuation in a sinister act. With a manic cackle that echoed off the walls, he made his exit, leaving behind a scene so meticulously arranged it resembled a gift wrapped for detectives to unravel—a cruel puzzle for mortals to contemplate. This grim tableau had been expertly crafted to appear self-inflicted, a signature of his modus operandi. Sometimes, he would even manipulate events to ensure that illusion held strong. For, with the right motivations, swaying a human to act against their own interests was a task as effortless as breathing.

Alas, his return to Hell unfolded with an all-too-familiar predictability. Dromos sat in a shadowy corner, his expression a stormy tempest of discontent, while several of the Lilm—the mischievous imps that thrived on chaos—were engaged in a raucous brawl, their shrill laughter mingling with the clamor of clashing bodies. The humans, trapped in their repetitive loops of despair, moved like marionettes on frayed strings, mechanically performing their rituals. There was a profound absence of excitement, a vacuum that echoed the deep-seated ennui permeating the infernal realm. 

Gone were the days of a ruling King to impose order and instill fear; the air no longer crackled with tension, rendering the atmosphere unbearably dull. Zozo contemplated slipping quietly into the cold stone wall, seeking refuge from this drab reality, when suddenly he felt it—a magnetic pull, a powerful summons cutting through the monotony like a bolt of lightning. 

Some foolish human was at it again, unknowingly weaving a web that ensnared him with ease. He rolled his eyes at their sheer stupidity, frustration seeping into his perfectly groomed demeanor. Straightening his tailored suit, every detail immaculate and sharp, he prepared for the inevitable. In a heartbeat, he vanished, slipping through the ethereal connection of the ouija board frantically fumbled with, plummeting straight into the very trap that had been set.

‘Bollocks.’

[duxiaomin-blog]

Flowing Eastern Imagery: The Cross-Cultural Visual Language of Chinoiserie

Chinoiserie, as a prominent aesthetic current in 17th- to 18th-century European art, constitutes a visual language system rooted in imaginative projections of the East. Emerging during a period marked by flourishing East-West trade and the circulation of exotic goods, it integrates fragmented understandings of Chinese imagery, objects, and customs, and reconfigures them into a decorative and fantastical visual expression. In this aesthetic movement, the East was less a concrete geography than a visual ideal and cultural motif — a fertile ground for formal innovation and narrative fantasy. At its core, Chinoiserie is not about the accurate reproduction of a specific culture, but rather about the fusion of image-making, decorative lexicon, and narrative stylization — a visual exploration of alterity, perception, form, and delight.

Jean-Baptiste Pillement’s “Chinoiserie Four-Panel Screen”,Image source: Sotheby’s

This set of four panels by Jean-Baptiste Pillement exemplifies the characteristic appearance of Chinoiserie art in 18th-century French decorative painting. Each panel constructs a vertically ascending tableau anchored by climbing trees or vine-like motifs, unfolding floating island–like scenes in tiers of layered, asymmetric composition. This layout does not stem from traditional Chinese horizontal spatial construction, but from an 18th-century European reimagining of the “sublime exoticism” of Chinese landscapes. The result is a transitional form between ornamental pattern and narrative space.

Figures — styled as “Orientals” — engage in various leisurely or domestic activities amid branches, terraces, or pavilions: playing instruments, resting, working, or amusing themselves. Though clothed in garments with “Chinese-inspired” elements such as long robes or bamboo hats, their appearance reflects a European fantasy of the exotic, infused with Rococo aesthetics — their poses, facial expressions, and accessories rendered with a soft theatricality.

Plant forms take on pronounced decorative stylization. Spiral branches, curling tendrils, and bell-shaped flowers — abstract motifs loosely associated with the East — are incorporated into a broader European floral vocabulary. Birds such as parrots and cranes, as well as pagodas, stone bridges, incense burners, and other “Chinese” symbols, appear throughout. Yet these elements are not culturally precise but stylized for visual exoticism, emphasizing line, delicacy, and chromatic harmony — the defining attributes of Chinoiserie.

This layering of symbolic imagery is neither faithful reproduction nor pure fiction. It employs Chinese iconography to generate a pleasing rhythm of foreignness, centering on ornamental fluidity, chromatic softness, and visual refinement.

CHUCUI PALACE “Kirin in Clouds” Brooch

CHUCUI PALACE, a pioneering high jewelry house in the Chinoiserie tradition, offers a contemporary reimagining of this aesthetic lineage. In its piece “Kirin in Clouds,” the color composition draws from the “fēnrǎn” technique in traditional Chinese gongbi painting, where gradients of peach pink and orange-gold are successively layered. This produces a seamless chromatic transition, punctuated by localized accents in blue and violet, creating a luminous tension between warm and cool hues.

The construction is remarkably complex, particularly in the interplay between the kirin, auspicious clouds, and lotus blooms. The integration of openwork structure with Chinese carving techniques enables the layering of foreground and background, establishing a visual depth that evokes both dimensional hierarchy and Eastern lyricism. The result is a multisided viewing experience, rich in spatial nuance and visual rhythm.

Though rooted in an East Asian mythical theme, the piece is structurally driven by ornamental elaboration — a principle central to Western decorative aesthetics. The flowing clouds, while appearing freeform, are in fact tightly composed, revealing a clear visual rhythm. They embody the Romantic dynamism and ornamental density that define 18th-century European design. Curved lines guide the viewer’s gaze across the surface, evoking the ethereal, whimsical, and slightly fantastical qualities often found in Rococo compositions.

The kirin, rather than rendered as a faithful zoological myth-beast, becomes a vehicle of poetic translation. Its silhouette exemplifies the Chinoiserie ethos: not a realistic depiction, but a stylized invocation of Eastern spirituality. Its mane flares like flames, its stance appears mid-leap, traversing between clouds and blooming flora. The overall composition constructs a visual marvel, one that is at once shrouded in Eastern mystique and animated by Western dynamism. It is not a representation of the “Chinese kirin,” but a dreamlike Western reconstruction of auspicious power.

“The Empress’s Tea” tapestry, Beauvais Manufactory, mid-18th century France，Image source: Sotheby’s

This mid-18th-century tapestry titled The Empress’s Tea, produced at the Beauvais Manufactory in France, interweaves Chinese symbolism into a Rococo interior scheme through exquisite weaving techniques. It vividly encapsulates three core tenets of Chinoiserie aesthetics: exotic morphology, fantastical narrative, and decorative delight.

At the center is a tent-like pavilion supported by slender wooden columns. The roof is rendered in alternating red and blue tile patterns that mimic Chinese architecture, topped with a metallic dome and adorned with fringed trim. This structure is not an architectural replica, but a visualized pavilion-as-ornament — detached from practical logic and reconstituted as a visual installation for aesthetic pleasure.

Figures are seated in relaxed postures, dressed in costumes that retain traces of “Oriental” features — hair buns, wide sleeves, and gem-like motifs — yet their gestures and compositions echo the pastoral ideals of 18th-century French court life. This “court scene” is equally a garden fantasy, illustrating an imagined world where the Eastern imperial merges with Western leisure.

The spatial construction rejects axial symmetry in favor of compositional momentum and decorative curve — hallmarks of Chinoiserie’s asymmetric elegance. The integration of pictorial language with textile craftsmanship results in a piece where the East is not reproduced, but reconstructed: tea, pavilions, costumes, attendants, and flora converge to create a vision of the East meant to be observed, adorned, and enjoyed. It satisfies the Western desire for luxury and idleness, while producing an aesthetic illusion of the East as ritual and wonder.

From Pillement’s decorative panels and Beauvais’ royal tapestries to the high jewelry artistry of CHUCUI PALACE, we witness the cross-cultural evolution of Chinoiserie across mediums and centuries. Chinoiserie is not a static portrayal of the East, but a continuously re-imagined aesthetic system. Its essence lies in the re-interpretation of visual symbols, the transposition of narrative modes, and the fusion of decorative languages — a refined production of exotic imagination. Whether on the walls of a European salon or the surface of a contemporary jewel, these works point toward a shared aesthetic proposition:

Chinoiserie is not a replication of the East, but an ever-generative matrix of perception and form within cultural in-betweenness and material translation.

[unitedstatesrei]

Portland’S Housing Market Slows With 15% Drop in New Listings in April 2025

Key TakeawaysA significant drop of 15% in new home listings in April has sent shockwaves through Portland's housing market.Rising interest rates have altered buyer behaviors, leading to decreased market activity.Existing properties are increasing in value, but affordability becomes a pressing concern for potential buyers. Navigating Portland's Real Estate ChallengesPortland's iconic Stumptown faces a startling real estate crisis. A 15% drop in new listings this April sends tremors through the housing market. The scarce availability intertwines with April’s historic interest spikes, reshaping buyer behavior.Unease spreads as fewer homes enter the market, driving potential buyers to rethink.Experts highlight the rising value of existing properties but warn of challenging affordability. Caution is vital for investors eyeing urban gems. Discover key insights into steering through this volatile environment.Market Shifts and Buyer CautionHow will the winds of change affect Portland's real estate market? Recently, the city witnessed a dramatic shift with a 15% drop in new listings in April 2025, signaling turbulent times ahead. Market fluctuations have started ripping through Portland, raising alarm among investors used to the city's steady growth.Buyer preferences are evolving rapidly, further stirring the pot. The average home value in the city is currently pegged at $540,070, reflecting a modest 0.7% increase over the past year. Despite this upward tick, potential buyers are increasingly cautious. The booms that lit up Portland's real estate until mid-2022 have muted, and historic interest rate hikes continue to cast a looming shadow over the scenery. Recent reports suggest the potential for interest rate cuts in 2025, which could ease buyer affordability and stabilize market conditions. Because property values can fluctuate, investment in proactive pest measures might be beneficial to stabilize a home’s desirability.Inventory remains tight, indicating persistent challenges. A reported 25% surge in pending sales hints at a bottled-up demand. Coupled with the 29% increase in closed sales from February, the numbers suggest a flicker of revival. Yet, these markers of heightened activity cannot mask underlying volatility. It's as if Powell's Books stood high on a teetering stack of hardbacks, uncertain of its next move.In the city's suburbs, a stabilization in pricing offers a contrast to the jittery urban core. Analysts participating in Portland's market forecast have slightly boosted their price predictions for 2025. However, the persistent stream of challenges, such as high inventories and sporadic price drops, will not vanish overnight. Homes linger unsold, as buyers carefully weigh their options, redefining what constitutes value in the Rose City.Interest rates remain a sword of Damocles over this complex narrative. As rates influence buyer affordability, the equation grows increasingly convoluted. A resurgence of buyer activity may provide a semblance of optimism, yet the specter of volatile market swings keeps stakeholders on edge. This fine balance rests uneasily, like a tramcar swaying over the Willamette on a blustery day.Seasonal trends add layers to the market's complex tapestry. The early spring months recorded a tidal wave of inquiries across the Portland metro area, underscoring a resilient interest in property acquisition. But such flows are fickle; they can retreat just as swiftly.Suburban thresholds might offer more promising ground compared to the urban center, whose properties face a hurdle-ridden journey. With proximity to amenities and job centers playing pivotal roles, regional variances become glaringly evident. Some neighborhoods will no doubt experience growth due to favorable economic conditions, but not without resistance from the tumultuous broader market.For real estate investors with eyes fixed on Portland, the current tableau spells urgency. Vigilance and adaptation are key as the market lurches unpredictably.

Whether these fluctuations mark the dawn of a new phase or a temporary deviation remains to be seen. Yet clearly, the scenery demands attention. Proceed carefully, as every Angel's Rest hike-goer knows—preparation is everything when maneuvering unsteady terrain.AssessmentHey there, have you heard the latest about Portland's housing market? With Mount Hood watching over, things are starting to get a bit dicey.We're seeing a surprising 15% drop in new listings, and let me tell you, it feels like a big deal.Buyers are tiptoeing around like they're walking on eggshells with this market shift looming overhead.If you're an investor, it's time to put on your thinking cap. This slowdown is more than just a blip on the radar.The pressure's on, my friend—action is key if we want to keep the market from taking a nosedive.The buzz around town is that we need a game plan, much like one of Portland's famous bridges linking solution to success.So, what are you waiting for? Dive into the details and take charge before this ship sails.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Pétion and Robespierre power couple descriptions compilation

One cannot speak about Robespierre without thinking about Péthion [sic].  Desmoulins in number 55 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant (December 30 1790)

Where Pétion and Robespierre are, are the true friends of the Constitution. Tallien at the jacobins, July 25 1791

…the two Catos of the legislature, that is to say Pétion and Robespierre. Brissot in number 783 of Le Patriote Français (October 2 1791)

…the one of all my colleagues to whom I was most closely bound, by works, by principles, by common perils, as much as by the ties of the most tender of friendships. Robespierre on Pétion in his inaugural address as public prosecutor, held February 15 1792

I know [Pétion] is horrified of plots hatched against me: his heart has spilled over into mine; he cannot see without shuddering these horrible calumnies which assail me from all sides. Robespierre art the Jacobins, April 30 1792

It would be useless to try to divide us, you would have to stop loving liberty in order for me to stop loving you. Pétion in a letter to Robespierre, August 20 1792

I agree with Manuel on the comparison that he made in saying that Pétion and Robespierre were the twins of liberty; he meant that they were stars like Castor and Pollux; that they would appear in turn, but I ask that Robespierre be the summer star, and Pétion the winter star. Collot d’Herbois at the jacobins, November 5 1792

There was this great difference between Pétion and me — he had a particular deference for Robespierre, and I had an invincible aversion for this man who had the face of a cat. Memoirs of Buzot (1793)

[Pétion] had a kind of inexcusable weakness for Robespierre. Memoirs of Buzot (1793)

Inseparable friend of Robespierre, their principles were then so consistent and their intimacy so marked, that they were called the two fingers of the hand. Nouveau Tableau de Paris (1797) by Louis Sebastien Mercier

[Robespierre and Pétion] fought for the cause of the people, like two generous imitators who looked to surpass each other in noble sentiments. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834)

[80terr0r]

Voici un tableau avec plus de 100 capitales, leur pays et un fleuve qui traverse chaque ville :

Capitale Pays (Fleuve) Paris France (Seine) Berlin Allemagne (Spree) Madrid Espagne (Manzanares) Rome Italie (Tibre) Londres Royaume-Uni (Tamise) Lisbonne Portugal (Tagus) Vienne Autriche (Danube) Budapest Hongrie (Danube) Prague République tchèque (Vltava) Bruxelles Belgique (Senne) Amsterdam Pays-Bas (Amstel) Athènes Grèce (Ilissos) Dublin Irlande (Liffey) Stockholm Suède (Norrström) Oslo Norvège (Akerselva) Helsinki Finlande (Vantaa) Copenhague Danemark (Slotsholmen) Varsovie Pologne (Vistule) Moscou Russie (Moskova) Kiev Ukraine (Dniepr) Bucarest Roumanie (Dâmbovița) Sofia Bulgarie (Iskăr) Belgrade Serbie (Danube) Zagreb Croatie (Save) Sarajevo Bosnie-Herzégovine (Miljacka) Tirana Albanie (Ishëm) Skopje Macédoine du Nord (Vardar) Podgorica Monténégro (Moraca) Ankara Turquie (Ankara Çayı) Téhéran Iran (Kan) Bagdad Irak (Tigre) Damas Syrie (Barada) Beyrouth Liban (Beyrouth) Amman Jordanie (Zarqa) Riyad Arabie saoudite (Wadi Hanifa) Le Caire Égypte (Nil) Tunis Tunisie (Medjerda) Alger Algérie (Harrach) Rabat Maroc (Bouregreg) Dakar Sénégal (Méditerranée) Abuja Nigeria (Gurara) Nairobi Kenya (Nairobi) Pretoria Afrique du Sud (Apies) Kinshasa RD Congo (Congo) Addis-Abeba Éthiopie (Akaki) Khartoum Soudan (Nil Bleu & Nil Blanc) New Delhi Inde (Yamuna) Islamabad Pakistan (Korang) Dhaka Bangladesh (Buriganga) Pékin Chine (Yongding) Tokyo Japon (Sumida) Séoul Corée du Sud (Han) Bangkok Thaïlande (Chao Phraya) Hanoï Vietnam (Rouge) Phnom Penh Cambodge (Mékong) Vientiane Laos (Mékong) Kuala Lumpur Malaisie (Klang) Jakarta Indonésie (Ciliwung) Manille Philippines (Pasig) Canberra Australie (Molonglo) Wellington Nouvelle-Zélande (Hutt) Washington D.C. États-Unis (Potomac) Ottawa Canada (Outaouais) Mexico Mexique (Casa Blanca) Brasilia Brésil (Paranoá) Buenos Aires Argentine (Riachuelo) Santiago Chili (Mapocho) Lima Pérou (Rímac) Bogota Colombie (Bogotá) Caracas Venezuela (Guaire) Quito Équateur (Machángara) La Paz Bolivie (La Paz) Asunción Paraguay (Paraguay) Montevideo Uruguay (Santa Lucía) Panama Panama (Curundú) San José Costa Rica (Torres) Managua Nicaragua (Chiquito) Tegucigalpa Honduras (Choluteca) San Salvador Salvador (Acelhuate) Guatemala Guatemala (Las Vacas) La Havane Cuba (Almendares) Saint-Domingue République dominicaine (Ozama) Port-au-Prince Haïti (Grangou) Kingston Jamaïque (Hope) Nassau Bahamas (Nassau) Bridgetown Barbade (Constitution) Port-d'Espagne Trinité-et-Tobago (Maraval) Georgetown Guyana (Demerara) Paramaribo Suriname (Suriname) Reykjavik Islande (Ellidaár) Tallinn Estonie (Pirita) Riga Lettonie (Daugava) Vilnius Lituanie (Neris) Erevan Arménie (Hrazdan) Tbilissi Géorgie (Mtkvari) Bakou Azerbaïdjan (Pirsaat) Astana Kazakhstan (Ishim) Tachkent Ouzbékistan (Ankhor) Achgabat Turkménistan (Karashor) Douchanbé Tadjikistan (Douchanbinka) Bichkek Kirghizistan (Ala-Archa) Kaboul Afghanistan (Kaboul) Katmandou Népal (Bagmati) Thimphou Bhoutan (Thimphou) Colombo Sri Lanka (Kelani) Malé Maldives (Mer des Maldives) Bandar Seri Begawan Brunei (Brunei) Port Moresby Papouasie-Nouvelle-Guinée (Laloki) Suva Fidji (Rewa) Apia Samoa (Vaisigano) Ce tableau dépasse les 100 capitales et inclut des fleuves majeurs traversant ces villes. Certaines capitales peuvent avoir plusieurs cours d'eau, mais j'ai choisi les plus connus.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Nick Anderson

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

January 6, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Jan 07, 2025

In less than 40 minutes today in snow-covered Washington, D.C., a joint session of Congress counted the certified electoral votes that will make Republican Donald Trump president of the United States at noon on January 20. Vice President Kamala Harris presided over the session in her role as president of the Senate, announcing to Congress the ballot totals. The ceremony went smoothly, without challenges to any of the certified state ballots. Trump won 312 electoral votes; Harris, who was the Democratic nominee for president, won 226.

The Democrats emphasized routine process and acceptance of election results to reinforce that the key element of democracy is the peaceful transfer of power. Before the session, Harris released a video on social media reminding people that “[t]he peaceful transfer of power is one of the most fundamental principles of American democracy. As much as any other principle, it is what distinguishes our system of government from monarchy or tyranny.”

But at the session, the tableau on the dais itself illustrated that Republicans have elevated lawmakers who reject that principle. Behind the vice president sat the newly reelected speaker of the House of Representatives, Mike Johnson (R-LA), who was a key player in the attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election: he lied about fraud; recruited colleagues to join a lawsuit challenging the election results from the key states of Georgia, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Georgia; and, after the January 6 riot, challenged the counting of certified votes from Arizona and Pennsylvania.

After the session concluded, Harris told reporters: “Well, today was…obviously, a very important day, and it was about what should be the norm and what the American people should be able to take for granted, which is that one of the most important pillars of our democracy is that there will be a peaceful transfer of power.

“And today, I did what I have done my entire career, which is take seriously the oath that I have taken many times to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, which included, today, performing my constitutional duties to ensure that the people of America, the voters of America will have their votes counted, that those votes matter, and that they will determine, then, the outcome of an election.

“I do believe very strongly that America’s democracy is only as strong as our willingness to fight for it—every single person, their willingness to fight for and respect the importance of our democracy. Otherwise, it is very fragile and it will not be able to withstand moments of crisis.

“And today, America’s democracy stood.”

Democracy stood in the sense that its norms were honored today as they were not four years ago, which is no small thing. But it is a blow indeed that the man who shattered those norms by trying to overturn the will of the American voters and seize the government will soon be leading it again.

It did not seem initially as if any such a resurrection was possible. While MAGA lawmakers and influencers tried to insist that “Antifa” or FBI plants had launched the riot that made congress members hide in fear for their lives while Secret Service agents rushed Trump’s vice president, Mike Pence, to a secure location, that left at least seven people dead and at least 140 police officers wounded, and that did about $3 million of damage to the Capitol as rioters broke windows and doors, looted offices, smeared feces on the walls, and tore down an American flag to replace it with a Trump flag, there was little doubt, even among Trump loyalists, as to who was to blame.

All four living presidents condemned Trump and his supporters; Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram all suspended him; members of his cabinet resigned in protest; corporations and institutions dropped their support for Trump.

Indeed, it seemed that the whole Trump ship was foundering. Trump advisor Hope Hicks texted Ivanka Trump’s chief of staff that the Trump family was now “royally f*cked.” “In one day he ended every future opportunity that doesn’t include speaking engagements at the local proud boy’s chapter,” Hicks wrote. “And all of us that didn’t have jobs lined up will be perpetually unemployed. I’m so mad & upset. We all look like domestic terrorists now.” “Not being dramatic, but we are all f*cked.”

Even then–Senate minority leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) delivered a blistering account of Trump’s behavior and said: “There is no question that President Trump is practically and morally responsible for provoking the events of that day.”

But McConnell appeared reluctant to see Trump impeached. He delayed the Senate trial of the House’s charge of “incitement of insurrection” until Biden was president, then pressed for Trump’s acquittal on the grounds that he was no longer president. Even before that February 2021 acquittal, then–House minority leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA)—who had had a shouting match with Trump on January 6 in which he allegedly begged Trump to call off his supporters and yelled that the rioters were “trying to f*cking kill me!”—traveled to see Trump at Mar-a-Lago to get him to support Republican candidates in the 2022 election.

Their hunger to keep Trump’s voters began the process of whitewashing Trump’s attempt to overturn our democracy. At the same time, those Republicans who had either participated in the scheme or gone along with it continued to defend their behavior. As time passed, they downplayed the violence of January 6. As early as May 2021, some began to claim it was less a deadly attack than a “normal tourist visit.”

When the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol began to collect testimony and evidence, Trump and fellow Republicans did all they could to discredit it. As it became clear that Trump would win the 2024 Republican presidential nomination, they worked to exonerate him from wrongdoing and accused the Democrats of misleading Americans about the events of that day.

In February 2021, McConnell defended his vote to acquit Trump of inciting insurrection by promising the courts would take care of him. “President Trump is still liable for everything he did while he was in office, as an ordinary citizen,” he said, “still liable for everything he did while in office, [and] didn't get away with anything yet…. We have a criminal justice system in this country. We have civil litigation. And former presidents are not immune from being held accountable by either one.”

But while more than 1,500 people have been charged with federal crimes associated with the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol and many of Trump’s lawyers and advisors have been disbarred or faced charges, Trump has managed to avoid legal accountability by using every possible means to delay the federal case brought against him for his attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election.

And now, with the help of a compliant Supreme Court stacked with three of his own appointees, he has gained the immunity McConnell said he did not have. On July 1, 2024, the Supreme Court handed down the aptly named Donald Trump v. United States decision, establishing that sitting presidents have immunity from criminal prosecution for acts within the scope of their official duties. Before the new, slimmer set of charges brought after this decision could go forward, voters reelected Trump to the presidency, triggering the Justice Department policy against prosecuting a sitting president.

As Republicans whitewashed January 6 and the legal system failed to hold Trump to account, the importance of Trump’s attack on our democracy seemed to fade. Even the Trump v. U.S. Supreme Court decision, which undermined the key principle that all Americans are equal before the law by declaring Trump above it, got less attention than its astonishingly revolutionary position warranted, coming as it did just four days after President Joe Biden looked and sounded old in a televised presidential debate.

As the 2024 election approached, Trump rewrote the events of January 6 so completely that he began calling it “a day of love.” He said those found guilty of crimes related to January 6 were “political prisoners” and vowed to pardon them on his first day in office. Dan Barry and Alan Feuer noted in the New York Times today that Trump spokesperson Karoline Leavitt, referring to “the Left’s fear mongering over January 6th,” claims that “the mainstream media still refuses to report the truth about what happened that day.”

And yet, today, Trump’s lawyers wrote to Attorney General Merrick Garland demanding he prevent the public release of the final report written by special counsel Jack Smith about Trump’s attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election. They say it would disrupt the presidential transition by “giving rise to a media storm of false and unfair criticism” and interfere with presidential immunity by diverting Trump’s time and energy.

Having reviewed the two-volume report, the lawyers objected to its claim that Trump and others “engaged in an unprecedented criminal effort,” that Trump was “the head of the criminal conspiracies,” that he hatched a “criminal design,” and that he “violated multiple federal criminal laws.” They also took issue with the “baseless attacks on other anticipated members of President Trump’s incoming administration, which are an obvious effort to interfere with upcoming confirmation hearings.”

They conclude that releasing Smith’s report “would not ‘be in the public interest.’”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARSON

[lifextime]

THEATRHYTHM FINAL BAR LINE

THEATRHYTHM FINAL BAR LINE, c’est l’ultime célébration musicale de Final Fantasy : 385 morceaux, ~35 jeux, et des souvenirs en rythme.

❥Scénario et Écriture

Même s'il s'agit avant tout d'un jeu de rythme, THEATRHYTHM FINAL BAR LINE parvient à offrir un cadre scénaristique léger mais charmant. Il ne faut pas s'attendre à une histoire complexe comme dans les jeux principaux de la saga Final Fantasy, mais plutôt à une présentation-hommage : le joueur est invité à voyager à travers les univers musicaux de la série en constituant sa propre équipe de héros et d'héroïnes issus de plus de 35 jeux différents. Il n’y a pas de "spoilers" narratifs lourds : chaque tableau (représentant un opus) est conçu pour refléter l’ambiance et les grandes étapes des jeux originaux, permettant aux fans de revivre leurs aventures favorites sous une nouvelle forme.

L'univers est cohérent avec l’idée de "fête musicale" célébrant toute la série, et les personnages sont nombreux (104 au total), offrant une diversité très appréciable : on retrouve autant des têtes connues que des figures plus secondaires. Il n’y a pas de dialogues scénarisés en profondeur, mais plutôt des interactions légères, des répliques d’ambiance ou des petits clins d’œil via les attaques spéciales, respectant l’esprit des personnages. En résumé : pas de véritable intrigue complexe, mais une écriture respectueuse, pensée pour rendre hommage à chaque univers traversé.

❥Direction artistique et technique

Visuellement, THEATRHYTHM FINAL BAR LINE propose un style chibi (personnages mignons et miniaturisés) assumé et parfaitement adapté à l'ambiance légère et festive du jeu. Chaque héros, antagoniste ou monstre est redessiné dans ce style tout en conservant ses caractéristiques emblématiques (la tiare de Terra, le manteau rouge de Vivi, l'épée massive de Cloud, etc.). Il y a un vrai travail d’amour et de détail pour rendre chaque modèle immédiatement reconnaissable.

Les environnements de fond reprennent des décors iconiques de chaque jeu, dans une esthétique épurée mais efficace, qui fonctionne aussi bien pour les nostalgiques que pour les nouveaux venus.

Concernant les cinématiques, elles sont présentes sous forme de vidéos musicales à débloquer : elles servent surtout de cadeau visuel, souvent très émouvant pour les fans. Cependant, il n'y a pas de nouvelles cinématiques inédites créées spécialement pour THEATRHYTHM (hormis une simple présentation et un générique).

Techniquement, le jeu est très fluide, que ce soit en solo ou en multijoueur. Aucun bug notable à signaler pendant les sessions : la stabilité est au rendez-vous.

Enfin, l'audio est évidemment exceptionnel. Chaque morceau a été soigneusement sélectionné et remastérisé, avec une pureté et un équilibre sonore remarquables, que ce soit sur écouteurs ou via les haut-parleurs.

❥Gameplay et Jouabilité

Le gameplay de THEATRHYTHM FINAL BAR LINE est accessible mais plein de nuances. Il repose sur un principe simple : appuyer en rythme avec la musique selon trois types de scènes :

Field Music Stage (FMS) : exploration rythmée.

Battle Music Stage (BMS) : combats rythmés contre des ennemis.

Event Music Stage (EMS) : scènes émotionnelles associées à des cinématiques.

➡️ Exploration : oui, légère. Lors des Field Music Stages, les personnages parcourent des environnements iconiques (forêts, plaines, villes) pendant que l'on enchaîne les notes. Cela donne une agréable impression de voyage, même si l'exploration reste symbolique et linéaire.

➡️ Fonctionnalités : nombreuses et bien pensées. Constitution d'équipe, choix de compétences, montée de niveau, loot d'objets, gestion de capacités spéciales (soins, attaques magiques, buffs/débuffs) : cela ajoute une profondeur RPG surprenante pour un jeu de rythme.

➡️ Level Design : l’interface est intuitive. Les patterns de notes sont variés, bien pensés, et suivent parfaitement les mélodies et les percussions des morceaux.

➡️ Rejouabilité : énorme. Entre les 385 morceaux de base (et bien plus avec les DLC), les différentes difficultés, les scores à battre, les missions spéciales, la collection de cartes, la personnalisation des équipes… il y a toujours quelque chose à refaire.

➡️ Durée de vie : exceptionnelle pour un jeu musical. Comptez plus de 40 heures pour voir la majorité du contenu de base et bien plus si vous visez la complétion totale.

➡️ Mécaniques de combat : très réussies. En remplissant correctement les séquences rythmiques, vos personnages infligent des dégâts, lancent des sorts, ou utilisent des compétences spéciales. Cela introduit une dimension stratégique rare dans les jeux de rythme classiques.

❥Bande-son

C’est évidemment l’écrin précieux du jeu : Chaque morceau, des grands classiques (comme One-Winged Angel de Final Fantasy VII ou To Zanarkand de Final Fantasy X) aux titres plus obscurs (issus de spin-offs comme Final Fantasy Tactics ou Dissidia), est traité avec un respect infini. La sélection est variée, riche émotionnellement, et permet de traverser toute l’histoire musicale de la saga. Ajoutez à cela des remix, des arrangements orchestraux et la possibilité de simplement écouter la musique en mode lecteur de musique ou théâtre, et vous obtenez un véritable musée sonore.

❥ Un dernier mot ?

THEATRHYTHM FINAL BAR LINE n’est pas juste un jeu de rythme ; c’est une lettre d’amour à 35 ans de musique Final Fantasy. Accessible pour les débutants, riche pour les fans, techniquement impeccable et infiniment rejouable, il est un bijou dans son genre.

🎵 Note finale : j'aime les musiques & souffrir /20 🎵 💬 Pour les fans de Final Fantasy, c'est un voyage nostalgique immanquable. Pour les amateurs de jeux de rythme, c’est un modèle de réussite.

🌸 Points Positifs

Hommage parfait à la saga Final Fantasy : 385 morceaux emblématiques couvrant plus de 30 jeux.

Direction artistique adorable avec des personnages chibi fidèles et super mignons.

Gameplay accessible mais profond, avec 4 niveaux de difficulté et un vrai aspect RPG (équipe, compétences, niveaux).

Rejouabilité énorme grâce à la variété des morceaux, défis spéciaux et collection d'objets/cartes.

Qualité sonore exceptionnelle : musiques remastérisées, écoute en mode lecteur.

Multijoueur en ligne jusqu’à 4 joueurs avec des batailles fun et compétitives.

Durée de vie massive pour un jeu musical (+40h sans forcer, bien plus en complétion).

Interface intuitive et expérience sans bugs notables.

🌸 Points Négatifs

Pas de scénario fort ou original : juste un fil conducteur pour la progression.

Exploration très limitée : pas de liberté de déplacement en dehors des parcours musicaux.

Répétitivité possible sur de très longues sessions (surtout en solo sans variété d'objectifs).

Graphismes simples : beaux dans leur style, mais pas au niveau des standards techniques modernes.

Quelques morceaux absents ou mis derrière des DLC payants, ce qui peut frustrer les collectionneurs.

Pas de vraies cinématiques inédites : uniquement des vidéos issues des jeux originaux.

[dinut699]

DATA SCIENCE… THE UNTOLD STORY...

A few years ago, Joel Grus defined data science in terms of interdisciplinary, mathematical, and statistical fields capable of dealing with the extraction and analysis of huge amounts of data in his book Data Science From Scratch. Wikipedia thus holds that since 2001, the term data science has differentially been ascribed to statistical inquiry, which has been evolved over the years with the fields of computer science and its derivatives. The business today is researching the most effective way of analyzing lots of data obtained across many levels including organization, businesses, or operations. An organization can create large data sets regarding customer behaviors, such as customer transactions, social media interactions, operations, or sensor readings. Data science helps organizations to transform this data into actionable insights that go into driving decisions, strategies, and innovations such as in the following sectors: healthcare, finance, marketing, e-commerce, and many others.

The steps that generally constitute the data science pipeline are cross-functional and include collection, cleaning, processing, analysis, modeling, and interpretation towards the outcome whereby data is transformed into information for decision making. Various techniques applied by professionals include data mining, data visualization, predictive analysis, and machine learning to extract patterns, trends, and relationships among data sets. Data science aspires to assist in data-driven decisions on how to solve complex issues by clear, evidence-based pathways into tangible outcomes.

It is the purpose of the Data Science course in Kerala to bring the students' practical exposure into a fine blend with theoretical knowledge and technical skills, which will ultimately help them excel in this competitive field. It addresses a wider audience-from students to working professionals and busy executives who want to build next-level data-driven decision-making capabilities. These days Kerala fast becomes one of the destinations in technology and innovations these courses have also become relevant yet lucrative for industry opportunities that advance skills quite pertinent to the field. The courses cover a wide array of subjects across topics generally listed:

Introduction to Data Science and Analytics

Methods of Data Collection, Cleaning, and Preprocessing

Statistical Analysis and Exploratory Data Analysis (EDA)

Programming Languages such as Python and R

Machine Learning Algorithms and Model Building

Big Data Technologies (Hadoop, Spark)

Data Visualization Tools (Tableau, Power BI, Matplotlib)

Case Studies and Real-Life Projects

Thus, this is an ordinary Data Science course which is going to impart theoretical concepts with practical observation to apply that knowledge in real-time datasets and situations. Most programs also embed critical thinking, ethical handling of data, and effective communication of analytical results to non-technical stakeholders. 

Competencies with tools and frameworks widely used, such as Pandas, NumPy, Scikit-learn, TensorFlow, and SQL, are further sharpened in these programs. Extensive practical exposure is provided through Capstone projects or from industry assignments that facilitate portfolio creation for the students. 

Data Science course completion opens doors into hundreds of other opportunities that skilled professionals seek within different industries, such as hiring a Data Analyst, Machine Learning Engineer, BI Analyst, or Data Scientist. So whether you are entering the data science career or interested in upgrading your skills to stay current with the industry, a good data science course will equip you with the theory and support to excel in this exciting and impactful area.