#Journals of information

[kentnaturaltribrid]

Not much else to write, it’s complicated in enough ways. However, finished at least over 4 pages and about half of the pages still have some half to go on the sense of logic but got the most of the smaller pages and increased some of The pages to more than one page of information so that by design they’d still be useful but also included pages earlier on with longer pages and more information and details on some pieces. However, still got at least 8-15 or so pages left of information and also about 13-17 useful pieces depending upon the type of page that should need more than enough on the information category and for purposes of reading or writing at the fullest extent and at least then there’s still very much so fewer bits that will help.

Managed to figure out that even with as little as possible therefore the pages needed a chance of being skillful despite the lack of some of the lengthy bits and pieces.

[lilybug-02]

highly doubt they would ever meet but I'm curious what The Hunter would write about Dewi

Dewi

A human child, the largest living creature in Hallownest. His skin is soft, but strength lurks behind his stride.

༻━━━━━━━━━━༻✧༺━━━━━━━━━━༺

Legends tell of immense godly creatures who strode through clouds and walked across the plane in times of old. Perhaps such fantastical stories are not as unthinkable as they once were...

....

A strange mountainous creature. Though he seeks the thrill of the hunt, he does not close in for the kill. Us mere bugs seem to be easy prey. To be truly hunted by a creature so vast is a bewitching thought.

༻━━━━━━━━━━༻✧༺━━━━━━━━━━༺

I absolutely love The Hunter, so of course he'd make a visit to see the beast everyone in Hallownest has been whispering about (and when I say everyone I mean like 10 people).

[probablyasocialecologist]

More than 40 leading scientists have resigned en masse from the editorial board of a top science journal in protest at what they describe as the “greed” of publishing giant Elsevier.

The entire academic board of the journal Neuroimage, including professors from Oxford University, King’s College London and Cardiff University resigned after Elsevier refused to reduce publication charges.

Academics around the world have applauded what many hope is the start of a rebellion against the huge profit margins in academic publishing, which outstrip those made by Apple, Google and Amazon.

Neuroimage, the leading publication globally for brain-imaging research, is one of many journals that are now “open access” rather than sitting behind a subscription paywall. But its charges to authors reflect its prestige, and academics now pay over £2,700 for a research paper to be published. The former editors say this is “unethical” and bears no relation to the costs involved.

Professor Chris Chambers, head of brain stimulation at Cardiff University and one of the resigning team, said: “Elsevier preys on the academic community, claiming huge profits while adding little value to science.”

He has urged fellow scientists to turn their backs on the Elsevier journal and submit papers to a nonprofit open-access journal which the team is setting up instead.

He told the Observer: “All Elsevier cares about is money and this will cost them a lot of money. They just got too greedy. The academic community can withdraw our consent to be exploited at any time. That time is now.”

Elsevier, a Dutch company that claims to publish 25% of the world’s scientific papers, reported a 10% increase in its revenue to £2.9bn last year. But it’s the profit margins, nearing 40%, according to its 2019 accounts, which anger academics most. The big scientific publishers keep costs low because academics write up their research – typically funded by charities and the public purse – for free. They “peer review” each other’s work to verify it is worth publishing for free, and academic editors collate it for free or for a small stipend. Academics are then often charged thousands of pounds to have their work published in open-access journals, or universities will pay very high subscription charges.

[essayisms]

This is one part of The Duke Humfrey's Library which was added by Sir Thomas Bodley (who the Bodleian is now named after) who offered to restore it in 1598. When he was attending Oxford University, the library did not even have a ceiling as it had been stripped and abandoned during the Reformation.

[breathedreamscream]

[merakiui]

Absolutely love the possessive ex Scaramouche ramble in tags, please feed us more of that.

Gladly!! :D

(cw: yandere, extremely toxic ex scara, modern au, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, coercion, obsession, forced marriage, violent/suicidal threats, manipulation, mentions of intoxication/alcohol, implied self-harm)

The two of you were what everyone calls ‘high school sweethearts.’ You met him in the cafeteria when the both of you were first years. Despite the scowl etched on his face, he looked lonely sitting all by himself while everyone was finding tables, old and new friends gathering in groups. He’d ignored you, even scooting further away when you’d attempt to move closer. Even though he seemed so averse to you, you remained, silently eating your lunch. Neither of you said anything, but you did introduce yourself. He scoffed under his breath.

You started to sit next to him for every lunch, and he continued to give you the silent treatment. You never pressed him for conversation, instead choosing to enjoy silence while you ate and admired him from the sidelines. He never looked at you, always facing forwards and toying with his chopsticks, bending them so far until they were ready to snap. Eventually, he seemed to grow accustomed to this routine because many weeks into the semester he turned to address you.

“Why do you always sit by me? Don��t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Maybe. But I don’t think anyone’s as mysterious as you are.”

“‘Mysterious…’ Yeah, whatever.”

That seemed to be the catalyst because, as sardonic as he was, he’d begun talking to you. And it wasn’t long until he started to warm up to you every lunch until the both of you were exchanging lighthearted banter. Your friendship would only grow from this point onwards until, at the end of your first year during a study session to prepare for finals, where you were both pulling an all-nighter at your house, he’d asked you out. And you said yes, and the both of you had gone from best friends to lovers within the span of a year. The both of you were each other’s first partner, so it made doing things as a couple even more exciting because neither of you had any experience with dates or holding hands or kissing.

Kuni wasn’t a bad boyfriend. In fact, he was very loyal and sweet. He’d stand up for you if anyone was being rude to you or scrutinizing your relationship with hateful eyes. The two of you were nearly inseparable. When you weren’t spending time together in school, you were out doing things together. And when you couldn’t meet up in person, you’d text or call, sometimes talking late into the evening about all sorts of things. You were so immersed in him that you failed to notice the red flags slowly raising over time. But looking back there were a few notable ones.

He never invited you to his house. In fact, you’d never even met his parents, whereas he’d been to your home so often that your family practically became his own. He hadn’t mentioned anything about his family, and if you tried to suggest going to his house for dinner so that he could introduce you to them he was quick to change the subject. For a while you’d push this, more curious than concerned, but eventually you’d drop it when it became clear that he wasn’t going to divulge anything on the matter. That had stung, but you snuffed those feelings in favor of focusing on other aspects of your relationship.

The second red flag was just how clingy he became when the both of you were in your third year, having been together for two solid years. You never noticed it before because you loved him, but when friends had pointed out how attached he seemed—and it was to rather unhealthy levels, according to their observations—to the point where you were the only person he’d ever formed a bond with while at school you started to see the cracks in what felt like the perfect relationship. He’d text you every single day, at every single hour, all the time. He’d call you nonstop, even more so when you didn’t immediately pick up.

The third red flag coincided with the second. When you couldn’t make it to your phone, he was quick to blame himself and those around him for being responsible for your deteriorating relationship. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Did those guys bother you again? They probably told you some stupid shit about me, right? Don’t listen to them. Hey, you’re not mad, right? Call me back. I need to talk to you. Just text me when you can, okay? (Name), please don’t leave me. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong. Just promise you’ll stay. Messages of these kinds were what you could expect to receive from him. He’d fluctuate between self-loathing to loathing those around him within seconds, shoving blame onto classmates who’d bully him for being that “weird emo kid with too many piercings” and anyone else who tried to, in his words, “come between you and me.”

By the end of your third year, you started to fall out of love. He was so very dedicated to this relationship, evidenced by how much effort and care he’d put into it, but his clingy behavior was stifling. You’d lost some of your own friends because he chased them away, and it felt like you couldn’t do anything without him breathing down your neck. If you wanted to go anywhere with a friend or two, Kuni had to be there to accompany you. If you looked at another for too long, he’d think you were cheating. If you didn’t text or call him at certain times, if you failed to pick up, or—Archons forbid—you left him on seen, he’d spiral.

Kuni had this habit of sounding dangerously self-destructive when he feared you were being unfaithful or he thought you were going to break up with him, which meant you’d have to sit on the phone for hours convincing him that you loved him, that you’d never leave him, that you’d always be here for him, that you were sorry for not responding, that he needs to calm down and please, please, please don’t do anything rash. Those phone calls were always so stressful. You cried a lot; you’d beg him to put the knife away when he’d threaten to use it on himself, on you, on anyone who might try to take you from him. And, after a few hours of this, he’d be back to his usual self, as if a switch had been flipped. You could hear his adoring smile in his voice when he spoke, when he’d lovingly whisper into the phone, “I’m happy you’re mine. I love you so much.” And you’d shakily parrot the affirmation, too frazzled to say or do anything else.

One of your best friends Rosalyne, who you’d befriended in the midst of all of this, had been so supportive the minute you spilled the truth to her. Kuni hated her the most because she wasn’t afraid of him. Because she’d shut him down when he tried to pull you away from her. Because she wouldn’t approve of any of his toxicity. Rosalyne would take you on shopping sprees, brunch dates, and jogs at the local park. She was plenty of good to outshine Kuni’s bad, and the more time you spent with her the clearer your head would become. The both of you had plenty of sleepovers together, and she let you rant your heart out while she listened. She’d tell you to break up with him, but you’d agonized over how terrifying that would be. You couldn’t bear to tell Kuni the truth—that you wanted to separate because things had turned so rotten—because you were so scared. Scared of him and what he might do.

Scared that if he really did take a blade to himself it would be your fault. He told you that a lot. That it would be your fault if he did anything. That his blood would be on your hands. You believed him every time.

By your final year, you’d already had a plan for university outlined and you’d started applying to a few in advance. You never told Kuni about any of them because you worried he might apply to each one in hopes of going to the same school as you. And when there was the dance for the graduating class and Kuni had asked you to it, you’d told him you were going with Rosalyne and a few other friends as a group. He didn’t like this, as expected, but you’d been so sick of him and his behaviors that you snapped and spilled everything to him. You’ll never forget the look on his face when you told him that you were done with the relationship and that you never wanted to see him again.

He looked as if he could lunge at you and tear you to bloody ribbons at any moment.

You graduated single and so very refreshed, and your summer had been filled with friends. Kuni didn’t message you at all, which was surprising considering you were certain he’d spam you relentlessly after the break-up. But he never did. In fact, you never saw him again. Graduation had come and gone, and now that you could recover from such a terrible relationship he was becoming less of a burden for you. For a while you were anxious. You kept expecting to receive a phone call or to see some news about Kuni, but neither ever came. Rosalyne told you to stop thinking about him. It would only make you even more paranoid and that wouldn’t do your mental health any good. You were so grateful to have her in your life, but most importantly you were glad Kuni failed to scare her away.

Now you’re a second year in college and things have only gotten so much better for you. You and Rosalyne still keep in touch despite going to different schools. She’d gone to a university in Snezhnaya, while you enrolled in one in Sumeru, and you’ve blotted Kuni from your mind. You’ve made a fresh group of friends while attending classes: criminal justice major Shikanoin Heizou, creative writing major Kaedehara Kazuha, musical therapy major Venti, botany major Tighnari, and so many more wonderful people who have all welcomed you into their circles.

So when Venti drags a familiar face to your usual weekend outing, which is really just a retreat to the forest for drinking and smoking, creeping cold settles into your bones. He looks awkward with Venti’s arm slung around him as the more bubbly of the two drags him towards the bonfire, where you sit with the others roasting marshmallows for s’mores, and it’s a look that is so uncharacteristic on him. What’s even weirder is how friendly everyone greets him—as if they all know him—and you’re completely lost when they turn to you and ask if you’ve met Kunikuzushi.

“No,” you lie through your teeth, forcing a pleasant smile and extending your hand for a stiff handshake, which Venti snickers at. “No, I’ve never met him before.”

Apparently, he’s in one of Venti’s classes—it’s a course he’s taking solely because he needs the credits. Tighnari knows him because they usually work the same shifts at the campus café. Kazuha knows him from his linguistics and philosophy classes. Heizou’s ate with him in the dining hall plenty of times now and they’re also taking the same psychology class. It feels so genuine and yet so fake at the same time. Too perfectly manufactured to be a mere coincidence. But you do your best to push past these suspicions, and when he sits across from you, smiling at you and saying how nice it is to meet you, the warping flames paint his face in devilish shadows. That’s what you think he is when he acts like a completely different person from how he was when you dated: a devil who’s good at being kind and outgoing, noisy and abrupt, and always so foul-mouthed, but in a way that makes him charming. Your friends are so enthralled. They love him and his sense of humor. They love his quick wit. They love how fun he is. And suddenly weekends spent in the forest aren’t so enjoyable.

You do your best to overcome your doubts. For a few months you’re on edge. How he even found you is a mystery. Surely he wouldn’t stalk you and enroll in the same college just to get revenge or…whatever vengeance he wants from you. But when he treats you to coffee, when he brings you and the others pastries every other morning, when he invites the lot of you to study at the library, when he tells the funniest stories while crossed and everyone’s giggling like schoolgirls it really feels like he’s…healthier. Like he’s turned a fresh page in his life and is starting anew. Like he’s changed for the better.

Perhaps he just doesn’t remember you. You’ve changed your style over the years, so it’s possible he’s simply forgotten your image and can’t place memories to your name. Eventually, after soothing yourself with these theories, you begin to accept his presence in the group. He fits in so flawlessly, as if he’s a missing piece to the puzzle, and you can’t believe you’re admitting this, but you like this version of Kuni. He’s confident, not cocky. He’s kind, not rude. He gives everyone space. In fact, he rarely texts frequently in the group chat. And he’s funny! He’s so funny. You don’t think the Kuni from your past was ever as funny as the Kuni who regales everyone with lighthearted stories of how he once took in a stray cat that turned out to belong to his neighbor or how his old job had the strangest customers.

Maybe he truly did change. Maybe all of these coincidences really are coincidences. Maybe it’s for the best that you leave the past in the past.

Finals season looms, and the group hasn’t had time to meet up outside of class. Venti has tried to persuade everyone to come study at his apartment. His roommate won’t care (yes, he will. Xiao hates it when everyone gets blackout drunk and he has to wake everyone come morning), but if you’ve known Venti long enough you’ll know there is no studying that happens at these study sessions. This is probably the reason why he’s had to repeat a year.

With everyone’s schedules packed with academics, it’s difficult to find a time where everyone can get together to study. You think you might just be better off studying on your own, but Kuni’s message of you wanna pull an all-nighter for these lame af finals together?? accompanied with a photo of snacks and coffee, any thoughts of studying alone instantly vanish.

This is how you find yourself in his dorm, sprawled on his bed while he sits on the floor, whacking your dangling feet when they get too close to him. His roommate Albedo is currently out tutoring a few students at the library and won’t be back until much later, so it’s just you, Kuni, and a pile of textbooks and notes. You’ve hung out with Kuni a few times and he was great company during each. You’ve also fallen asleep in his dorm before, when you’d come over to binge a show the both of you enjoy, and you’d lost track of time and had slipped into a dream halfway through the marathon. You’d woken the next morning with Kuni looming over you, grinning deviously and holding an uncapped marker. He’d leaned down and whispered, “You drool in your sleep,” and you’d swatted at him and groused about how you were sleeping so peacefully when he just had to ruin your sleep (and your face) with his antics. And then there was that time when you were so drunk at that one party and you could hardly stand, he’d been there to help. He even stayed with you for the rest of that night, offering his assistance when you became nauseous or needed water or a snack until you passed out.

Despite your initial apprehensions, you consider him a friend. He’s no one nearly as close as Rosalyne or your other friends. He’s just a mutual friend, someone you’ll spend time with when you feel like it, but you don’t truly need him in your life. That, and part of you still struggles to trust him after all of the stress and unhealthy obsession he subjected you to.

“Kuni,” you whine, lifting your head from the textbook. “Can you get me some water? I’m thirsty.”

“Do I look like your maid?” he snaps, immersed in organizing his notes. “Get it yourself.”

“I’m picturing it now and you’re in a frilly dress and—”

“Forget I asked.” Setting his notebook down with an exaggerated sigh, he crosses the distance to the mini fridge and withdraws a bottle of water.

Grinning, you slide off of his bed and reach for it with a grateful hum. He smirks and takes a step back, holding it away from you.

“Seriously…”

Rolling your eyes, you lunge for it and he side-steps you with the practiced grace of a cat. You brace yourself against the wall and swipe at him. Again, he dodges, unscrewing the cap and shaking the bottle teasingly.

“I think I’ll take a sip for myself. All of this studying has left me so parched.”

“No fair! That’s mine!”

“Is it?” He pulls it away from his lips to observe the bottle and feigns surprise. “That’s weird. I don’t see your name on it.”

“Look closer!” you exclaim, but just as he’s about to humor you you pounce, tackling him to the ground—there’s a beanbag cushion that breaks your fall—and the water spills all over the both of you in the midst of the tumble. A slew of colorful words stick in Kuni’s throat and your laughter rings out melodiously. You seize his wrist and hold it down while reaching for the bottle in his other hand, where there’s still some water left. He struggles halfheartedly, relinquishing the bottle with a disinterested scoff, and you pull away from him to down what’s left.

While crushing the plastic bottle into a ball, you notice something on your palm—the palm that had grabbed Kuni’s wrist—and it takes a minute before the skin tone-colored substance registers in your mind.

Concealer.

You peer at him and notice that he’s cradling his arm, and confusion sprouts.

“So funny,” he spits with a hollow laugh. “You owe me a new beanbag if this one’s ruined.”

“Hey, hold on. What’s with the—”

“Forget it. You got your water, so let’s get back to studying. Or do you no longer want to be a perfect student?”

Without thinking, you grab his arm as he’s standing and when you look at his forearm you can see where the water’s started to wash the concealer away. Curiously, you scrub at it while he tries to yank his arm away, but when you unearth a dozen scars littering his wrist and climbing the length of his arm that creeping cold from before returns.

And suddenly you’re brought back to those phone calls—the ones where he’d threaten suicide and murder—and you stumble back as if you’ve been burned, half-expecting to hear those threats once more. Kuni’s staring at his wrist, his features twisted in grim disapproval, and for a moment you think he looks…hurt. Or maybe that’s sadness you see. Whatever emotion it was, it doesn’t linger because a quiet chuckle slips past his lips, and the sound is so very frigid it has your blood crystallizing.

“It really hurt when you said you never wanted to see me again.” Kuni peers down at you, and his eyes that had once been so bright and filled with light are dull and dark. “But nothing hurts more than loving you.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. You’re rooted to the ground, horror slinking through your body and rendering you immovable. Your heart is in your throat, pounding so loudly it’s practically a drum, and a cold sweat washes over you.

“Each time I found myself hating you, I thought it was odd because I love you so much. I can’t possibly hate the one I’ve loved all this time.” He scowls. “But loving you hurts. Loving you feels like chewing glass and drinking poison. Loving you isn’t fair because while you moved forward with your ‘friends,’ I was forced to stay behind and pick up the pieces of what was left of you. So for every moment I couldn’t stand you, I tallied it on myself so that I’ll never forget the times I loved you so much I hated you.”

This can’t be happening, you’re thinking, curling your hands into trembling fists. He changed. He changed, right? This isn’t the same Kuni from before. This isn’t…

“And when I saw how well you seemed to be doing without me, I hated you even more.” Without warning, he’s grabbed your arm and hoisted you up. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes—not that anything could when he’s pulled a switchblade from his pocket and poised the pointed tip at your jugular. “You have poor taste in friends. Those guys suck.”

Tutting, he shakes his head at you like a parent might when scolding a child, and says, “Do you know how fucking tiring it was pretending? You think I care about pastries and stupid campfire stories? You really think I’d ever want to associate myself with that sorry lot?”

“K-Kuni, please let go of me. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were—I’m sorry. So please just…”

“And then the first time you see me after all these years apart and you had the gall to lie to my face! ‘I’ve never met him before.’ Bullshit. You just didn’t want any of your loser friends to know our history, right? Because you’re ashamed to have known me, right?”

“That’s not it! I… I was just—I didn’t… I was… I just…”

“I… I… I…” he mocks, shoving you down onto the beanbag. It dips under the sudden weight, and you sink further into it when he points the blade at you. “Stop tripping over your tongue. I should be the one near tears! You cast me aside and then forgot all about me. You abandoned me when I needed you most.” His voice cracks at that last sentence, and your heart skips erratically.

“That’s not what happened! We needed space. I needed space. You were being too—” You stop yourself, unsure of how to phrase it. Too controlling? Too dangerous? Too scary?

“Lucky for you, I’m willing to overlook these past...slights.” The blade twirls effortlessly in his grasp, and you heave a relieved breath when he’s no longer pointing it in your direction. “Marry me and we’ll forget all about the past. We’ll start over.”

His demand almost stops your heart altogether. You stare up at him, mouth agape, and mumble a disbelieving, “What?”

“You heard me.” He seems to soften with his next words, and for a moment he looks and sounds like the Kuni who hangs out with you and your friends. The harmlessly fun Kuni who always takes such good care of you. “You’re the only one I’ll ever love, so let’s get married.”

“K-Kuni, I can’t... I really can’t...”

Within seconds the blade has found itself on his wrist, pressing into delicate flesh. Not enough to cut, but if he applies more force you’ll definitely see blood. You choke on a horrified gasp.

“What was that?” He raises his brow at you, challenging you with a calm smile.

Your mind reels in an effort to conjure a plan. What can you even do? If you take the blade from him, will he turn his anger on you? Will you have to wrestle him into submission? And if you do manage to get out of his dorm, will anyone believe you? He’s painted himself in such a pleasant light. Your friends love and trust him! So what can you say? And if there isn’t any solid proof, no one will even entertain bringing the authorities into this mess.

“I’m waiting, (Name). Are you really going to make me add another tally? Do you really want me to hate you again? Oh, but maybe I should start marking you! We can add a slice for each time you failed to love me. That way we’ll both look like used cutting boards.”

You need help, you want to say, but the words escape you.

Instead, you nod hastily and say breathlessly, “Okay, yes! I’ll marry you!” Swallowing your horror, you glance at the blade as it’s lifted from his skin. Thankfully, there isn’t a cut. “I... I’ll marry you, Kuni. So... So please don’t hurt yourself. Please.”

It feels like you’ve been strangled for an eternity, so when he finally pockets the blade the air in your lungs returns and you collapse against the beanbag, chest rising and falling in short, panicked breaths. 

“Good.” He bends down to your height, grips your chin with cold fingers, and forces you to meet his adoring stare. “We’ll look at rings tomorrow. Or maybe you’d prefer bracelets instead? I can be flexible but only for you, so you’d better be grateful.”

You swallow rising bile and nod. “T-Thank you.” You’re not sure why you’re thanking him when he hardly deserves it, but it feels like the right thing to say to ease the tension.

Kuni’s eyes sparkle, no longer a void of endless darkness, and when he leans in to capture your lips in his your heart sinks. You really can’t run from your past, can you?

[palatinewolfsblog]

“The profession of journalism ought to be

about telling people what they need to know -

not what they want to know.”

Walter Cronkite.

The Art of Gravitas

(for my old Friend @acommonloon ) ...

[avalanchinedream]

so when is someone gonna take one for the team & write a slow burn 'princess x her personal guard' melvika royalty au? where mel is the princess of the kingdom of piltover & sevika 'one of the greatest fighters in the nation' is sought after & hired to protect mel after a failed assassination attempt. the arguments, the tension, the TEASING omg...them both disliking the arrangement at first bc mel believes she can take care of herself & sev for obvious reasons but growing to fall for each other after spending so much time together. sev giving her loyalty to someone deserving of it. PLEASE SOMEONE HEAR ME!!!

[anzuhan]

[bmpmp3]

sorry to be a bit of a hater but i do wish youtubers weren't so scared of making their videos just like, "reviews", whys everything gotta be a "video essay" all the time. every day my recommendations are filled with 40 minute videos titled "_____: An Underrated Masterpiece" where the first like five minutes are reading the wikipedia definition of "masterpiece" in a somber voice with dramatic themed text on screen. please just tell me how good or bad you think something is and use the rest of the runtime to explain why. you dont need to put on all these airs

[batshaped]

well damn that's a wrap on Achilles plush for now. i hope everyone who got one is enjoying him!

(have a store link for stickers why not)

[infamous-if]

okay but most important question……. did seven bin the letter after the break up 😭

no it's written in their journal (the same one sev was writing in during the night bus scene giggles)

[marimayscarlett]

LIFAD turns 15 years old today 💿🎶

On this day, the 16th of October 2009, the album 'Liebe ist für alle da' was released. The work for this album started the year prior, as the preproduction for the album took place from February to October 2008. The focus of the band in the beginning period of the production lay on learning how to work together again, playing songs together and gather ideas. In Hermannshagen, over the course of about one month, the band came up with up to 90 recordings of little snippets (like choruses and riffs), which they recorded for later.

After this brainstorming period, the band moved to the Beesenstedt castle in Sachsen-Anhalt to rehearse. The process apparently was less than easy due to tension in the band. The individual members seemingly first had to reconnect with each other, since the last production had been some time ago. Richard described the process of working on the album as difficult at times: "Everyone was involved and interested in everything, which meant the decision-making power was practically zero because everyone wanted to go in a different direction. Six people on the boat and everyone playing captain – that's really tough."

After the work period in Germany, the band moved over to the US for recording. Drum recording took place in the Henson Studios located in Los Angeles, and the final destination were the Sonoma Studios in San Francisco. The studio they had booked there fell far short of their expectations – the band felt cramped and not as comfortable as they had hoped for a successful recording of their new album. Paul describes it as follows: "There we ended up in a studio that was in the middle of a retiree resort. We had imagined that differently, because actually the area was quite cool. There were cougars and deer running around, but we were in the middle of nowhere, and when we booked, we couldn't see the barbed wire that fenced off all the paths. We felt cramped, and on top of that, the studio wasn't exactly inviting. The owner had hung unsightly things everywhere that we had to take down first. However, after de-cluttering the rooms, we started to feel better."

In total, about 20 songs were recorded, of which 18 songs were published (15 on the special edition of the album, plus Mein Land and Vergiss uns nicht on the single for Mein Land, and Gib mir deine Augen on the single for Mein Herz brennt.)

The promotion for this album was done by advertising clips, for example an old lady enjoying "Frühling in Paris" and a bodybuilder lifting weights while listening to "Mehr".

Eugenio Recuenco was the artist behind the album aesthetic - he shoot the pictures for the booklet as well as for the cover of the album. Richard mentioned a similarity to the painter Hieronymus Bosch regarding the style and arrangment in the pictures. In the US, the cover was censored - an additional inlay paper on top of the usual cover showed the cover picture, but without the woman on the table

Less than a month after the album's release, it was placed on the German index. The reasons given for this were the song Ich tu dir weh, which was seen as glorifying violence, as well as this particular image of Richard:

Due to these reasons, from November 11, 2009, the original version could only be sold upon request to adult customers and was no longer allowed to be advertised. On the re-release of the CD following the indexing of the album, there is only a several-second pause in place of the song. On the cover, Ich tu dir weh is crossed out in red and marked with the footnote "Removed after censorship by the authorities of the Federal Republic of Germany." The letters of the song lyrics in the booklet were replaced with Xs except for brief excerpts.

After a lengthy legal dispute, the album was finally removed from the index in October 2011 and can once again be distributed with Ich tu dir weh.

Nevertheless: The album, like its predecessors, entered directly at number 1 on the German charts and stayed there for two weeks. In total, it was in the Top 100 for 83 weeks. It also held the number 1 spot for several weeks in Austria and Switzerland, and even reached the Top 20 of the album charts in the USA and the UK. In the ranking of the best-selling albums in Germany in 2009, Liebe ist für alle da ranked 7th.

Some additional facts surrounding the album:

During their tour for the album, Rammstein performed Ich tu dir weh with altered lyrics.

The album was originally supposed to be called Wiener Blut – like the Rammstein song about child abductor Josef Fritzl. However, they decided against it because there was already a Falco album with the same name.

Richard about the album title: '"Liebe ist für alle da" (Love is there for everyone) is a very Christian thought. Of course, one must ask, is love really there for everyone? I would hope that it is. Can we forgive those who have misunderstood love? I often think about that, and I fail, then make some progress, only to go back again.'

The chorus of Frühling in Paris is inspired by Edith Piaf's chanson Non, je ne regrette rien.

Four years after the album's release, Führe mich was used as a soundtrack for Lars Von Trier's controversial film Nymphomaniac.

The song Haifisch is inspired by Mack the Knife from Brecht's The Threepenny Opera.

Sources: rammwiki metalhammer rammstein.de welt.de noz.de

[useless-catalanfacts]

November 9th, 2023:

Journalists from Catalonia protest Israel's killing of Palestinian journalists and Israel's information blockade

The major Catalan journalist unions (Sindicat de Periodistes de Catalunya, Sindicat de la Imatge UPIFC, CGT, Comunicadores Feministes, European Network of Women Journalists, and Solidaritat i Comunicació SICOM) have called for a demonstration where they have raised the names of Palestinian journalists killed by Israeli fire. They set notebooks, microphones, vests and identification armbands piled on the ground to signify Israel's massacre of journalists and its attempt to silence information about Israel's war crimes in Gaza, with an attempt to stop journalists sharing the proof of what's happening in Gaza with the rest of the world.

As the Catalan journalists' manifesto said, Israel's attacks "don't respect schools nor hospitals and deliberately seeks to destroy media headquarters and journalists' homes". The protestors demand protection for journalists in Gaza and also for the foreign journalists so that they can enter and work freely. As of now, Israel forbids international media from entering Gaza.

In the 4 weeks since the Israel-Hamas war started, more than 10,000 people have been killed in Gaza. At least 41 journalists have been killed. Every day, at least one journalist has died. According to Reporters Without Borders (RWB), this has already been the deadliest start of a war for journalists in this century. A reflection of the magnitude of this massacre against life in Gaza.

The huge majority of media professionals who have died in this Israel-Hamas war —36 out of the 41 identified— are Palestinian journalists killed by Israeli attacks. RWB states that they're being "eliminated, one after the other" and that the ones who survive "are at imminent risk of death". At least 10 of the dead journalists were killed when they were "clearly working", according to RWB.

In the last month, Israel has destroyed —totally or partially— 50 media headquarters, including Al Jazeera's office building, Ain Media, and other local press, as well as the news agency France-Press (AFP).

RWB has filed a lawsuit against Israel for war crimes against Palestinian journalists in the International Criminal Court. In fact, it's the 3rd time that RWB does this in the last 5 years.

Protection of Palestinian and international journalists is vital. As is a ceasefire and prosecution for war crimes.

Sources: La Directa and Beteve.

[wowbright]

It's wild looking at my life trajectory of being a young journalist who would have loved to work at The New York Times or Slate or NPR to someone telling spouse over breakfast, after said spouse said they heard/read on these three sources that "the Black and Latino vote gave the election to Trump":

"You really need to stop turning to these sources for analysis. They are fine with straight news. But when they want to do commentary or analysis, they focus on the thing that they find most interesting and surprising and likely to grab your attention, not the thing that is most significant for the outcome"

and then i whipped out the numbers from the NBC exit poll showing that black voter support for Trump had a 0% change since 2020, with black men's support for Trump going up by a single percentage point and black women's support for Trump dropping by 2%.

Commentators are making a big fucking deal about a 1 percentage point change among black men without pointing out that black men make up only 5% of the electorate so that change had zero effect on the election outcome and likely would have continued to have absolutely zero effect even in a much closer race.

I think it's curious that commentators in "liberal" media have decided that this is somehow comparable to the much larger shifts toward Trump in other demographic groups, including Latinx and young people, especially young men. Or, more significantly, the fact that the majority of white people voted for Trump.

Even with the shift among Latinx voters, the percentage voting for Harris (53%) was far higher than among non-Hispanic whites (43%).

I also think it's curious that their commentary talks about members of minority groups "deciding" elections when more than 70% of the electorate are white.

"Oh," spouse said. "They didn't point any of that out."

Of course they didn't. Because that would mean they would have to focus on white people. (I acknowledge here that white men voted for Trump and larger numbers than white women. But also, it appears that the majority of white women voted for Trump, and certainly in larger percentages and raw numbers than Latinas or black women or "other"s.)

If white people who had voted for Trump had voted instead for Harris, that would have affected the election outcome, too, wouldn't it?

But somehow, that is not interesting to the media, because 'white people' is just some abstract immutable force and the individuals who make up that population actually have no agency in the choices they make. /s

Commentators need to stop acting like white people are just going to keep white peopling no matter what, so it's the responsibility of POC to save us from ourselves.

Fuck that bullshit. I don't care if you grew up in the whitest white white town in the whitest county in the whitest state in the Union. White people are just as responsible for our choices as anyone else. It is absolutely bullshit to talk about POC "deciding" the election while ignoring the white elephant in the room.

This is what people mean when we talk about white supremacy. It doesn't mean that every white person thinks that they are better than everybody else. White supremacy means treating white beliefs and choices so much as the default that we forget that they are *beliefs* and *choices* anymore.

White people make up the majority of the electorate. The majority of white people voted for Trump. That is not true of any of any other racialized voter group for which I was able to find statistics.

If we are going to say that any one demographic group "decided" the election, then we are going to have to say that it was white people.

Editorial comment: I feel like this should be obvious from everything I've said above, but to be clear, I think it's bullshit to say that any one demographic group decided the election. Each one of us is responsible for our choices. It's not useless to look at demographic trends, but it is useless to blame entire demographic groups for how the election turned out--unless that demographic group is a self-selected one like "people who had the opportunity to vote and voted for Trump and/or did not vote for the only viable alternative, Kamala Harris."

[falsenote]

have been instinctively skipping the popular reviews on letterboxd no matter the movie for ages which is why i am just now seeing that in a review for la notte brava someone referred to bolognini as a closeted homosexual