#Metropolitan City of Rome

[travelella]

Rome, Metropolitan City of Rome, Italy

Cafer Mert Ceyhan

[crying-on-the-six]

Puteal with Narcissus and Echo, and Hylas and the Nymphs.

Roman, Antonine or Severan, A.D. 150-200. Excavated in Ostia 1797, the port of Ancient Rome.

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

[blueiscoool]

Archaeologists Unearth Ancient Mosaic of Winged Medusa in Spain

The stunningly preserved Ancient Roman mosaic floor was found at the Huerta de Otero site in the city of Mérida.

In both ancient and modern interpretations, Medusa is often known as a monster — a Gorgon with tresses of serpents whose stare turned men to stone. This version typically appears in children’s movies and fantasy thrillers, but her image hasn’t always been so awe-inspiring. In late June, archaeologists in Western Spain uncovered an Ancient Roman mosaic floor that depicts Medusa with tiny wings and flowing locks of hair, thought to have been used as a protective symbol.

The mosaic was found in the city of Mérida’s Huerta de Otero archaeological site. Ancient Romans established a colony there in 25 BCE named Augusta Emerita. Traces of its former inhabitants — including an amphitheater and a bridge — can be found throughout the modern-day city. “[The site] is of an exceptional nature due to the level of conservation of the ruins and, above all, the ornamental elements that decorate the well-preserved house: not only the mosaic of the Medusa but also paintings and sculptural motifs,” said archaeologist Félix Palma in a statement.

The Huerta de Otero location was excavated in 1976 but lay untouched for decades. Research picked back up in 2019, when the city employed professional archaeologists and students from its Barraeca II Professional School to explore the ruins. Since then, the team has uncovered an Ancient Roman defensive wall, a road, and the home of a wealthy family.

The Medusa mosaic adorned the floor of this home. Depictions of fish, peacocks, and carefully tessellated patterns surround the artwork’s central figure: a human-like Medusa, her gaze turned to one side.

Although this image diverges from some contemporary renditions of the mythological figure, the mosaic’s winged version was common in Ancient portrayals of Medusa. While early Greek depictions of the mortal-turned-monster, cruelly punished for being raped by the god Poseidon, show her as grotesque, Medusa’s image softened by the time of the Ancient Romans. Beginning in the Classical Greek period, her face acquired more human attributes. It started to be rendered with symmetry and youthful beauty in the following centuries.

Other Ancient Roman mosaics featuring the head of Medusa have been discovered throughout Spain. Medusa again comprises the focal point of an Ancient Roman mosaic in a 115–150 CE work found in Rome, where she can be seen sporting human curls and a snake around her neck. A 1st-to-2nd-century ornament from a chariot pole shows a young woman with curly locks (although a couple of snakes still peer through her tangle of hair).

In Ancient Greek mythology, Perseus killed Medusa to avoid being turned to stone. Medusa, in her early terrifying form, was used as a protective symbol — “an image of evil to repel evil,” Madeleine Glennon writes in a 2017 essay for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The goddess Athena famously included a representation of Medusa’s severed head on her protective cloak or aegis. In Ancient Rome, her beautified image was still employed as a protective symbol, although the depiction shifted into a form more similar to a woman than a monster.

By Elaine Velie.

[reasonsforhope]

"Thousands of demonstrators converged opposite the White House on Saturday to call for an end to Israeli military action in Gaza, while children joined a pro-Palestinian march through central London as part of a global day of action against the longest and deadliest war between Israel and Palestinians in 75 years.

People in the U.S. capital held aloft signs questioning President Joe Biden’s viability as a presidential candidate because of his staunch support for Israel in the nearly 100-day war against Hamas. Some of the signs read: “No votes for Genocide Joe,” “Biden has blood on his hands” and “Let Gaza live.”

Vendors were also selling South African flags as protesters chanted slogans in support of the country whose accusations of genocide against Israel prompted the International Court of Justice in the Hague, Netherlands, to take up the case...

The plight of children in the Gaza Strip was the focus of the latest London march, symbolized by the appearance of Little Amal, a 3.5-meter (11.5-foot) puppet originally meant to highlight the suffering of Syrian refugees.

The puppet had become a human rights emblem during an 8,000-kilometer (4,970-mile) journey from the Turkish-Syrian border to Manchester in July 2001.

Nearly two-thirds of the 23,843 people killed during Israel’s campaign in Gaza have been women and children, according to the Health Ministry in the Hamas-run territory...

“On Saturday Amal walks for those most vulnerable and for their bravery and resilience,“ said Amir Nizar Zuabi, artistic director of The Walk Productions. “Amal is a child and a refugee and today in Gaza childhood is under attack, with an unfathomable number of children killed. Childhood itself is being targeted. That’s why we walk.”

London’s Metropolitan Police force said some 1,700 officers would be on duty for the march, including many from outside the capital...

The London march was one of several others being held in European cities including Paris, Rome, Milan and Dublin, where thousands also marched along the Irish capital’s main thoroughfare to protest Israel’s military operations in the Palestinian enclave.

Protesters waved Palestinian flags, held placards critical of the Irish, U.S. and Israeli governments and chanted, “Free, free Palestine.″

In Rome, hundreds of demonstrators descended on a boulevard near the famous Colosseum, with some carrying signs reading, “Stop Genocide.”

At one point during the protest, amid the din of sound effects mimicking exploding bombs, a number of demonstrators lied down in the street and pulled white sheets over themselves as if they were corpses, while others knelt beside them, their palms daubed in red paint.

Many hundreds of demonstrators gathered in Paris’ Republic square to set off on a march calling for an immediate cease-fire, an end to the war, a lifting of the blockade on Gaza and to impose sanctions on Israel. Marching protesters waved the Palestinian flag and held aloft placards and banners reading, “From Gaza to Paris. Resistance.”"

-via AP News, January 13, 2023

[filmap]

La chimera Alice Rohrwacher. 2023

Station 00051 Allumiere, Metropolitan City of Rome Capital, Italy See in map

See in imdb

[kvetchlandia]

Peter Hujar Fran Lebowitz 1975

"Rome is a very loony city in every respect. One needs but spend an hour or two there to realize that Fellini makes documentaries." Fran Lebowitz, "A World View" in "Metropolitan Life" 1978

[mapsontheweb]

Map of Italy's Four Largest Metropolitan Areas by size of urban footprint. Rome is the largest of them all in all four categories: 

1. as a city within its administrative boundaries 

2. as a Metropolitan City

3. as an urban area 

4. as a metropolitan area.

[eretzyisrael]

Who are the Mizrahim? History 101

Where do Jews come from and what is the difference between Sephardim and Mizrahim? Loolwa Khazzoom gives this succint explanation for the Jewish Virtual Library:

A Baghdadi Jewish family

Regardless of where Jews lived most recently, therefore, all Jews have roots in the Middle East and North Africa. Some communities, of course, have more recent ties to this region: Mizrahim and Sephardim, two distinct communities that are often confused with one another.

Mizrahim are Jews who never left the Middle East and North Africa since the beginnings of the Jewish people 4,000 years ago. In 586 B.C.E., the Babylonian Empire (ancient Iraq) conquered Yehudah (Judah), the southern region of ancient Israel.

Babylonians occupied the Land of Israel and exiled the Yehudim (Judeans, or Jews), as captives into Babylon. Some 50 years later, the Persian Empire (ancient Iran) conquered the Babylonian Empire and allowed the Jews to return home to the land of Israel. But, offered freedom under Persian rule and daunted by the task of rebuilding a society that lay in ruins, most Jews remained in Babylon. Over the next millennia, some Jews remained in today’s Iraq and Iran, and some migrated to neighboring lands in the region (including today’s Syria, Yemen, and Egypt), or emigrated to lands in Central and East Asia (including India, China, and Afghanistan).

Sephardim are among the descendants of the line of Jews who chose to return and rebuild Israel after the Persian Empire conquered the Babylonian Empire. About half a millennium later, the Roman Empireconquered ancient Israel for the second time, massacring most of the nation and taking the bulk of the remainder as slaves to Rome. Once the Roman Empire crumbled, descendants of these captives migrated throughout the European continent. Many settled in Spain (Sepharad) and Portugal, where they thrived until the Spanish Inquisition and Expulsion of 1492 and the Portuguese Inquisition and Expulsion shortly thereafter.

During these periods, Jews living in Christian countries faced discrimination and hardship. Some Jews who fled persecution in Europe settled throughout the Mediterranean regions of the Ottoman (Turkish) Empire, as well as Central and South America. Sephardim who fled to Ottoman-ruled Middle Eastern and North African countries merged with the Mizrahim, whose families had been living in the region for thousands of years.

In the early 20th century, severe violence against Jews forced communities throughout the Middle Eastern region to flee once again, arriving as refugees predominantly in Israel, France, the United Kingdom, and the Americas. In Israel, Middle Eastern and North African Jews were the majority of the Jewish population for decades, with numbers as high as 70 percent of the Jewish population, until the mass Russian immigration of the 1990s. Mizrahi Jews are now half of the Jewish population in Israel.

Throughout the rest of the world, Mizrahi Jews have a strong presence in metropolitan areas — Paris, London, Montreal, Los Angeles, Brooklyn, and Mexico City. Mizrahim and Sephardim share more than common history from the past five centuries. Mizrahi and Sephardic religious leaders traditionally have stressed hesed (compassion) over humra (severity, or strictness), following a more lenient interpretation of Jewish law.

Despite such baseline commonalities, Middle Eastern and North African Mizrahim and Sephardim do retain distinct cultural traditions. Though Mizrahi and Sephardic prayer books are close in form and content, for example, they are not identical. Mizrahi prayers are usually sung in quarter tones, whereas Sephardic prayers have more of a Southern European feel. Traditionally, moreover, Sephardic prayers are often accompanied by a Western-style choir in the synagogue.

Mizrahim traditionally spoke Judeo-Arabic — a language blending Hebrew and a local Arabic dialect. While a number of Sephardim in the Middle East and North Africa learned and spoke this language, they also spoke Ladino–a blend of Hebrew and Spanish. Having had no history in Spain or Portugal, Mizrahim generally did not speak Ladino.

In certain areas, where the Sephardic immigration was weak, Sephardim assimilated into the predominantly Mizrahi communities, taking on all Mizrahi traditions and retaining just a hint of Sephardic heritage — such as Spanish-sounding names. In countries such as Morocco, however, Spanish and Portuguese Jews came in droves, and the Sephardic community set up its own synagogues and schools, remaining separate from the Mizrahi community.

Even within the Mizrahi and Sephardi communities, there were cultural differences from country to country. On Purim, Iraqi Jews had strolling musicians going from house to house and entertaining families (comparable to Christmas caroling), whereas Egyptian Jews closed off the Jewish quarter for a full-day festival (comparable to Mardi Gras). On Shabbat, Moroccan Jews prepared hamin (spicy meat stew), whereas Yemenite Jews prepared showeah (spicy roasted meat), among other foods.

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[kimiko24-art]

Pesche Mistro/Ercolani (peaches) JJBA OC (more AU lore and world building)

Pesche is yet another Vento Aureo oc that's apart of my au. His first name means peaches in Italian! He's currently 24, his birthday is November 23rd~ Also that isn't his official outfit. I'm still working on his clothing design! I gotta redraw this don't like his face lol

✨STORY✨

✨ Pesche was adopted into the Ercolani family at the age of thirteen. Even though he carries the last name of the family. He is considered more of a family friend than an actual member. After many years of being treated like an outsider. Pesche decided to cut his ties with the Ercolani and start his own career as an mercenary back in his hometown of Naples. It took him two long years to make a name for himself on the streets of Napoli. But once he did, Pesche preformed many jobs for big mafia gangs, including Passione. He was even eventually hired by his own adoptive father, Guilio to protect his adoptive sister Oliva while she was overseas.

SOME INFO

✨Pesche likes spending time alone, but isn't opposed to making friends..though he won't admit it. He's pretty awful at small talk too. Honestly he's just a bit of a tsundere. Pesche considers himself to have no affiliations, and will gladly work for anyone who's willing to pay.

✨Pesche's stand is called "Sneaker Pimps" named after an older band that I like! I don't have any idea for the abilities yet!

OUR RELATIONSHIP

✨We were enemies at first (he was hired to do a job and there was a conflict of interest.) but then our little mishap lead to us developing a friendship after a little while. Though he doesn't seem to want a close friendship especially since I have ties with Passione! But he's always around more or less. I like to tease him a lot~

INFO ABOUT THE ERCOLANI FAMILY

✨A now powerful family, that had their humble beginnings in Southern Naples. In the beginning the Ercolani family had an arrangement with Passione. They had deep ties to the gang and agreed to work together since they both operated out of Southern Naples.

✨The Ercolani would supply funding to Passione for a cut of the total profit made from the drug trade. But after finding out that Passione had been holding back on the family's cut, despite the investment, they had a huge falling out. Which led to a sort of heated rivalry. Eventually after a few years they cut ties and the Ercolani relocated elsewhere.

✨They now own several major business throughout Italy. Mainly in tourism. They also have control of several popular opera houses in Florence and Rome. For now the two groups are at a sort of truce. Neither ventures on to each others territory. The Ercolani family has roughly 106 members and the head of the family is Guilio Ercolani. He is known for his intense hatred of Passione and love of opera.

-

(The family's name is a variation of Ercolano (Italian: [erkoˈlaːno]) is a town and comune in the Metropolitan City of Naples, Campania of Southern Italy. From the personal name Ercolano originally an adjectival derivative (meaning 'Herculean') of Hercules.)

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM | CHAPTER IV - RED

justice the founder of my fabric moved.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

Santino d’Antonio was a man of sheer principle.

Very few things could ever dare come in the way of stopping him, if he decided exactly what he wanted. The world was a simple place, after all, to men like him. There are rules to be followed - and there were men who set the rules for all to obey.

Santino preferred to be the latter.

He knew, from a very young age, that his actions would matter more than most people who had walked this soil before him. Indoctrinated, that some day, one very mighty day that he would come of age and rule the empire his family left him. That the ring adorning his father’s finger would soon be shining on his, the mere sight of it making men take a bow. Taking in Camorra’s teachings, day by day, age by age - the elder’s words gradually surrounding every aspect and second of his life.

A man devoid of routine and disciple could not be trusted to be the maker of the rules.

He liked his suits pressed, every inch of them carefully sewn and constructed - all custom made. He liked his men to report to him with a job well done, as soon as it was complete as he did not particularly enjoy to be the deliverer of punishment, unless the circumstances called for it.

He liked sipping his morning cappuccino early at dawn, watching the sun rise over the Mediterranean.

On the dot, the same exact time, each and every morning.

And one of the dearest ones to him, the one that perhaps brought him the most peace - he adored dinners shared in candlelight with you, his beloved, every single night that he could.

He enjoyed the flavor of the world’s most exquisite red wine trickling down his throat even more when he shared a glass with you. He liked sitting across from you, each night, on either an expansive dinner table or an intimate booth - whatever the night called for. He liked drowning in your eyes as the dessert course was served, savoring the sweetness.

He liked seeing how the wary candle flames illuminated your ever-so-gorgeous face.

“Santino,” came your calming voice, as if calling for him through the void, finally reaching light.

“Sì, amore?”

“Will Tarasov honor his promise?”

Strands of hair fell on your face as you posed the question in genuine conversation, a gentle movement of your fingers pushing them back, then leaning towards the wine.

“He better.”

A small grin adorned your lips, taking another sip as your gaze shifted towards the starry night across Rome, shining over your city.

“One thing I know for sure - men like him will never leave the work, amore,” he would slowly say, the gleaming crystal glass in his hands, crimson liquid shaking ever so slightly after his sip.

His eyes, though, seemed to be the slightest bit of troubled, a little aloof, yet calm and calculated as his gaze wandered over the ornate Caravaggio adorning the vast penthouse wall.

The Taking of the Christ.

It was one of his favorites. One of yours, rather, brought in by his request from the Metropolitan Museum of Art all the way across from the New World, back to where it belonged for eternity. He had noticed your eyes linger on the gleaming armor, masterful brushstrokes to create illusion of light, of hope, of dishonor as Christ was taken upon betrayal of Judas. It had been a marvel to you to see Christ’s halo, ever so gently painted with specks of gold, still be visible even against his upcoming miserable fate - it was an incessant topic of excitement over the dinner that followed the museum visit, your eyes shining move than gold ever could within the glimmers of the intimate flames of the restaurant.

The next day, he had the artwork installed at the Continentale.

He had made a silent pact with himself to keep that spark in your eyes.

After all, it was sometimes the small pleasures that mattered for Santino.

The penthouse echoed with his voice, the waitstaff replenishing bread and empty glasses like ghosts in the shadows - delicate, efficient, barely there.

“You think he can do it?”

“Sì,” your lips let go, not doubting for one split second. Maybe it was the past speaking, etched along the words in their everlasting effect. Deep within you, the voice knew that John would come out of this ordeal at the end of the day. He would find his way, claw through the concrete and raw earth if he had to.

Limping, bruised, bloodied, yet walking still.

Scarred, scathed, yet alive nonetheless.

Alive, and most importantly - a free man.

“Senza problemi,” you added for some good measure unbeknownst to you, nimble fingers cutting yet another piece of your food to savor. The most decadent of dishes as always, the intricate porcelain with gold specks, the polished silverware easily gliding through the veal as you took a bite.

Yet nothing could be done without his help. Without your carefully constructed plan, meticulously arranged meetings, no detail overlooked.

All of it done to aid none other than John Wick.

What would he do without you by his side?

It was a thought that rarely crossed his already convoluted mind, but when it did, it came down on him with a wave of emotions. Feelings that made his heart flutter for the briefest second, his jaw clenched taut for a fleeting moment.

The very life he led molded him into an expert of separating his emotions, dissociating the past from the present. It would not be the first, definitely not the last time that he buried memories to keep from resurfacing.

Santino knew of the past, your past, fragments of memories shared with him over the years. He knew that there was once a time your eyes gazed intimately at another pair but his.

He would be lying to himself thinking that the mere idea did not haunt him when times rolled around, when the name was mentioned.

A capo would be a fool to show his true colors for anyone to pry.

Yet, as he slowly made his way over to your end of the marble dining table - his body language, the mimics and the small movements he was habituated to hide, seemed to tell another story.

Was it jealousy? Need? Greed to keep you right there where he wanted, where you could be safe and protected?

Pulling out the closest plush dining chair to take a seat facing you. His striped three piece, casually chosen for the leisure of an evening meal with a lover at home, parting gently to reveal his crisp white shirt as he leaned over. Head tilted ever so slightly.

The glints in his green hues as his gaze lingered around your features accentuated by the fazing moonlight seemed to indicate a mixture of all.

His thumb slowly reached to lift your chin, now properly facing him. Gentle touches from hands that have bathed in blood. Knuckles that have broken bones caressing your cheek in the softest of touches.

His invaluable artwork, sitting right in front of him, looking up at him with expecting eyes laced with curiosity.

He could not help but wonder just how much longer could he protect you in this world you both were thrown into mercilessly, by blood or by oath.

Your body softened under his touch, habitually, gazing into his eyes and leaning with ease, finding yourself positioning closer to him, your black boatneck dress doing all the favors to your frame.

“I need you to be very careful when you’re in New York again,” Santino spoke with a clear, stern yet whispered soft voice. The ever-so-stray strand of curly black hair adorning his forehead, his clean-shaven skin smooth under the moonlight. The fireplace towards the center of the room cackling as the wood burnt, casting a gentle orange shadow to contrast the silver light of the night.

“Tarasov is one beast, his enemies are another.”

Getting the so-called “impossible task” ready would not have been an easy feat. Santino had no doubt in his head that you would the plans to imminent success, one by one, assembling all the targets right where you wanted them to be. However, like any lower would - he worried.

A nod came from your side as a response, smiling tenderly yet softly at him, leaning your head into his palm as his warm fingers embraced your cheek. Your hand found its’ way to rest softly on his thigh, freshly red manicure in stark contrast against the navy wool.

“Non ti fare problemi per me,” you would say. “I will be just fine.”

“Bene,” he would respond after a short pause of looking for truth in your eyes.

You spoke the truth to Santino - yes, you would be fine. You always turned out to be quite alright after even more dangerous situations that this life had put you through, if your lucky streak did not fail you this time.

To you, deep down, this all seemed to be a twisted return of fate. A little laugh of the heavens above, having a little fun with the both of you. Helping the man who led you astray all those years ago.

It may have been an unthinkable back then, yet it indeed was happening the moment you would step onto that private jet in the hangar the following day, with Santino, as charming as ever, waving you off with the smile on his face.

And only then, would you realize.

John was going through all of this trouble, this mayhem - all for her.

Something he never would have done for you.

“Come here,” Santino would whisper, attempting to silence the rampant thoughts running through with a loving kiss - the familiar exquisite scent of the sea salt, pine and bergamot enhancing your senses.

It felt right.

It had always felt right with him. His warm touch, gentle embrace - his touch so delicate that he seemed almost afraid to break you.

As you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer, you could hear the light as a feather taps of dress shoes against hardwood as the waitstaff promptly took the cue to excuse themselves, the doors clicking shut.

Santino’s rugged hands found your thighs, deepening the kiss as he roamed up to your waist, peppered touches becoming demanding.

The wine fresh on his lips, enticing and inviting to taste more.

And so you did.

You yearned to taste more of him as he effortlessly lifted you up to carry you towards your bedroom, your patent leather heels slipping onto the floor, your hands buried in his hair, nails that would dig onto his back in the following moments of the night.

Santino never ceased to remind you of his attraction towards you, and yours towards him. Times like this, he liked to use it to his advantage, to serve a noble cause.

And as your eyes rolled back out of sheer pleasure - the world besides Santino ceased to exist for a split moment.

He was the only truth. He had been the only truth, the one that mattered. The sole constant in your life, the only one that could make you feel in bliss.

And he vowed to never let you forget it.

[travelella]

Via del Corso, Rome, Metropolitan City of Rome, Italy

Irena Carpaccio

[oncanvas]

Ancient Rome, Giovanni Paolo Panini, 1757

Oil on canvas 67 ¾ x 90 ½ in. (172.1 x 229.9 cm) The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, NY, USA

[wordsmithic]

If you think the Roman Empire fell in 476 AD, I'm here to tell you: No, it didn't!

The Metropolitan Museum of Art summarizes the history of the Roman Empire! This explains why Greeks called themselves Romans till the 19th century!

transcript: In 330 A.D., the first Christian ruler of the Roman empire, Constantine the Great (r. 306–337) (26.229), transferred the ancient imperial capital from Rome to the city of Byzantion located on the easternmost territory of the European continent, at a major intersection of east-west trade. The emperor renamed this ancient port city Constantinople (“the city of Constantine”) in his own honor (detail, 17.190.1673–1712); it was also called the “New Rome,” owing to the city’s new status as political capital of the Roman empire. The Christian, ultimately Greek-speaking state ruled from that city would come to be called Byzantium by modern historians, although the empire’s medieval citizens described themselves as “Rhomaioi,” Romans, and considered themselves the inheritors of the ancient Roman empire.

[lackadaisical-tale]

Rocky’s Lackadaisical Tale - Chapter 1: Bardic Inspiration

It was the year 1927, the place: St. Louis, Missouri, in the southern part of the United States of America. The American government had placed a ban on any establishment selling liquor or any alcoholic drink publicly. But this story is not about that; not at all.

Nearing the corner of one of St. Louis's streets was the ever-lovable tabby cat, Roark "Rocky" Rickaby. His blue suit popped out against the purple and pink of the sunset that was enveloping the sky that early evening. He had been as happy-go-lucky as he'd always been, his tail swishing behind him like a very big, fluffy cattail.

Compelled by the grandeur of the scene before him, Rocky began to recite a poem as verbosely as his mannerisms would allow.

“Oh, dear Daystar! Let your beautiful smile; radiant as ever, try to reach us down here in this city of steel and smoke. Blotting out your beautiful pyre for the sanguine reds and jealous emerald isles we conspire to sully.” Rocky said, his inspiration taking hold of his mouth and holding it open for the wellspring of words.

“Oh dear, daystar! Might I apologize for taking your countenance as such, as my mortality counts off the days and daze me with the lackadaisical praise you shine upon this Rome of the West? Which blesses me with visions such as this, and hexes me to not have people hear my words, being the most gallant of inspirations or the most vicious of mockeries.”

Rocky goes in for a third verse to his spontaneous poem, only for an officer of the law to hurry the tabby in blue along his way. And so Rocky acquiesced and went right along.

“Anyways, I need to get to Mrs. Mitzy’s place and get to work. We got a buyer coming and I got to make a good impression on them all. I hope it isn’t six already.” Rocky repeated out loud to himself as he walked to the one place he worked at; and not at all by legitimate means. The speakeasy is known as “Lackadaisy”.

Meanwhile, as the sun sets and the moon draws closer to hanging over the metropolitan streets, a certain fired-furred cat, Odin-eyed Slovakian, and a young madam were all hanging out at the bar; among the other members of the crew that were there that night.

“I wonder if Rocky will be late?” Viktor bluntly grumbled out the question, cleaning the glasses that were barely getting any use from the patrons who were intimidated by his physical appearance and lack of depth perception.

Meanwhile, Freckle was reading a new book he had gotten—a collection of Arthurian stories and legends. He had recently become interested in medieval stories and tales of knights in shining armor, riding noble and gallant steeds. Coming into the room from the garage was the young party animal (despite being an animal herself), Ivy Pepper, covering the groundwork for what needed to be fixed on the automobiles used for rum-running and bootlegging, and also covered in inky, black grease.

“Well, there goes my outfit. Probably gonna have to head back home and get changed.” Ivy spoke, the empty bar carrying her voice enough for both Freckle and Viktor to hear her.

“That seems like a bad idea. You shouldn’t be going home alone. It’s late.” Viktor said, still cleaning the glasses and the bar top.

“Well, in that case…somebody ought to take me. Do you want—“

“No. Too busy. An important business deal is being done. Sedgewick and Mitzi are coming in with them. Need to “spruce” place up.” Viktor grumbled out.

“Well, alright. That leaves only one left.” Ivy said, shrugging her shoulders. “Calvin, mind coming with me home?” she asked, looking at him for a response. It took a moment, but he soon realized she was asking him.

“Oh, uh, er…me? I suppose I can, but Mitzi also wants me to stay here. Rocky’s coming and she wants me to make sure Rocky doesn’t….uh…well…” Freckle answered, his eyes darting around, his hands trying to occupy themselves.

“Fine, I’ll go it alone. I can take care of myself just fine. You both need to get out there one day, y’know? Such homebodies.” Ivy huffed, crossing her arms. She hurried to collect her things and left.

Freckle thought about what Ivy said. “…Don’t we need to be at home for us to be homebodies?” he muttered to himself.

Time passed and soon Rocky came down, with his violin case in one hand and his hat in another. “Heya! How are…we…..all….” Rocky trailed off as he looked around.

“Say, where’s Miss M? I thought she’d be here at six?” Rocky asked, pulling out a note that she gave to him, his thumb partially covering the first digit of the time. Freckle looked at the note, closing his book as he did. He goes to look at the note. Immediately, he sighs. “Rocky…take a look at the note again. And take your thumb off the writing.”

Rocky smiled at this. “Okay, sure! I can do that,” he said. He takes a look at the note and goes to read it out loud.

“Rocky Rickaby, please come to the speakeasy at 8 and—“

Rocky blue eyes widened as he realized his mistake. A faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks, slowly tucking the note back into his coat pocket. He chuckled sheepishly. “…Oops,” he said in response.

“Yeah, oops,” Freckle said in mild frustration. “Look, just don’t do any of your usual hijinks. I usually go with it, but…Mitzi seems to think this is important. So just don’t do anything.”

Rocky noted the weird tension around Freckle, so he decided to not press any buttons. He may be eccentric, but he isn’t stupid.

“You got it, cousin! Consider that done!” Rocky said with a smile, going to take a seat in one of the speakeasy booths and practice his violin. But that wasn’t long before Rocky tried to talk to both Freckle and Viktor repeatedly, over time they both decided they needed Rocky to give them some space.

“Hey, Rocky? It’s gonna be a bit before everyone shows up. Why not go out for a bit?” Freckle suggested. Rocky was surprised by this, before nodding and going with the suggestion. He leaves his violin and goes to explore the sights near Lackadaisy.

Freckle slumps to his seat, looking at the time. It was currently 6:45 P.M. The orange-haired cat sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is gonna be a long night, isn’t it?”

[dwgill-quotes]

Pagan religion did not depend on a very elaborate institutional structure, and the cults of each city were all organized locally; rabbinic Judaism, too, was very decentralized (Jews did have a single patriarch until around 425, but it is unclear how wide his powers were). Christianity, however, had a complex hierarchy, partly matching that of the state. By 400 there were four patriarchs, at Rome, Constantinople (since 381), Antioch and Alexandria (a fifth, Jerusalem, was added in 451), who oversaw the bishops of each city... Bishops were soon arrayed in two levels, with metropolitan bishops (called in later centuries archbishops) at an intermediate level, overseeing and consecrating the bishops of each secular province. Inside the dioceses of each bishop, which normally covered the secular territory of their city, bishops had authority over the clerics of other public churches... The church in the fourth and fifth centuries became an elaborate structure, with perhaps a hundred thousand clerics of different types, more than the civil administration, and steadily increasing in wealth as a result of pious gifts. It was not part of the state, but its wealth and empire-wide institutional cohesion made it an inevitable partner for emperors and prefects, and a strong and influential informal authority in cities; the cathedral church by 500 was often the largest local landowner (and therefore patron), and, unlike in the case of private family wealth, its stability could be guaranteed – bishops were not allowed to alienate church property... Even in a church context, bishops generally identified themselves with their diocese first, with wider ecclesiastical institutions only secondarily. But they were linked to the wider church hierarchy all the same: they could be called to order and dismissed by metropolitans and by the councils of bishops that steadily became more frequent, whether empire-wide (the ‘ecumenical’ councils) or at the regional level, in Spain or Gaul or Africa. The fact that this institutional structure did not depend on the empire, and was above all separately funded, meant that it could survive the political fragmentation of the fifth century, and the church was indeed the Roman institution that continued with least change into the early Middle Ages; the links between regions became weaker, but the rest remained intact.

Chris Wickham, chapter 3 of The Inheritance of Rome: Illuminating the Dark Ages 400-1000.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Friday, June 28, 2024

june 15_june 29

SAINT MICHAEL, FIRST METROPOLITAN OF KIEV AND ALL RUS' (992)

Saint Michael the first Metropolitan of Kiev, according to the Joakimov chronicle, was a Syrian by birth, but according to other chronicles, he was a Bulgarian or Serb. In the year 989, he arrived at Korsun with other clergy for holy Prince Vladimir (July 15), not long after Vladimir’s Baptism (988).

As first metropolitan of the Russian Church his service was difficult, but grace-filled. He zealously made the rounds of the newly-enlightened Russian Land, preaching the Holy Gospel, baptizing and teaching the newly-illumined people, founding the first churches and religious schools.

In Rostov he established the first wooden church in honor of the Dormition of the Most Holy Theotokos and installed Theodore the Greek there as bishop. Saint Michael was a wise and gentle, but also strict hierarch. The Russian Church has preserved the memory of the saint’s praiseworthy deeds. In the Synodikon of the Novgorod and Kiev Sophia cathedrals he is rightfully called the initiator.

Saint Michael died in the year 992 and was buried in the Desyatin-Tithe church of the Most Holy Theotokos in Kiev. In about the year 1103, under the Igumen Saint Theoctistus (afterwards Bishop of Chernigov, August 5), his relics were transferred to the Antoniev Cave, and on October 1, 1730 into the Great Church of the Caves.

Formerly, his memory was celebrated on September 2, along with Saints Anthony and Theodosius of the Caves. There is a trace of this earlier celebration in the service to Saint Michael. In the second verse of the “Praises” we sing: “Having begun the new year, we offer you our first songs, O blessed one, for you were the beginning of the hierarchy in the Russian land.”

Saint Michael is commemorated twice during the Church year. His principal Feast Day is on June 15 (his blessed repose in 992). He is also commemorated on September 30 (the transfer of his relics).

SAINT JONA, METROPOLITAN OF MOSCOW AND WONDERWORKER OF ALL RUSSIA (1461)

Saint Jonah, Metropolitan of Moscow and Wonderworker of All Russia, was born in the city of Galich into a pious Christian family. The father of the future saint was named Theodore. The youth received monastic tonsure in one of the Galich monasteries when he was only twelve years old. From there, he transferred to the Moscow Simonov monastery, where he fulfilled various obediences for many years.

Once, Saint Photius, Metropolitan of Moscow (May 27 and July 2), visited the Simonov monastery. After the Molieben, he blessed the archimandrite and brethren, and also wished to bless those monks who were fulfilling their obediences in the monastery.

When he came to the bakery, he saw Saint Jonah sleeping, exhausted from his work. The fingers of the saint’s right hand were positioned in a gesture of blessing. Saint Photius said not to wake him. He blessed the sleeping monk and predicted to those present that this monk would be a great hierarch of the Russian Church, and would guide many on the way to salvation.

The prediction of Saint Photius was fulfilled. Several years later, Saint Jonah was made Bishop of Ryazan and Murom.

Saint Photius died in 1431. Five years after his death, Saint Jonah was chosen Metropolitan of All Russia for his virtuous and holy life. The newly-elected Metropolitan journeyed to Constantinople in order to be confirmed as Metropolitan by Patriarch Joseph II (1416-1439). Shortly before this the nefarious Isidore, a Bulgarian, had already been established as Metropolitan. Spending a short time at Kiev and Moscow, Isidore journeyed to the Council of Florence (1438), where he embraced Catholicism.

A Council of Russian hierarchs and clergy deposed Metropolitan Isidore, and he was compelled to flee secretly to Rome (where he died in 1462). Saint Jonah was unanimously chosen Metropolitan of All Russia. He was consecrated by Russian hierarchs in Moscow, with the blessing of Patriarch Gregory III (1445-1450) of Constantinople. This was the first time that Russian bishops consecrated their own Metropolitan. Saint Jonah became Metropolitan on December 15, 1448. With archpastoral zeal he led his flock to virtue and piety, spreading the Orthodox Faith by word and by deed. Despite his lofty position, he continued with his monastic struggles as before.

In 1451 the Tatars unexpectedly advanced on Moscow; they burned the surrounding area and prepared for an assault on the city. Metropolitan Jonah led a procession along the walls of the city, tearfully entreating God to save the city and the people. Seeing the dying monk Anthony of the Chudov monastery, who was noted for his virtuous life, Saint Jonah said, “My son and brother Anthony! Pray to the Merciful God and the All-Pure Mother of God for the deliverance of the city and for all Orthodox Christians.”

The humble Anthony replied, “Great hierarch! We give thanks to God and to His All-Pure Mother. She has heard your prayer and has prayed to Her Son. The city and all Orthodox Christians will be saved through your prayers. The enemy will soon take flight. The Lord has ordained that I alone am to be killed by the enemy.” Just as the Elder said this, an enemy arrow struck him.

The prediction of Elder Anthony was made on July 2, on the Feast of the Placing of the Robe of the Most Holy Theotokos. Confusion broke out among the Tatars, and they fled in fear and terror. In his courtyard, Saint Jonah built a church in honor of the Placing of the Robe of the Most Holy Theotokos, to commemorate the deliverance of Moscow from the enemy.

Saint Jonah reposed in the year 1461, and miraculous healings began to take place at his grave.

In 1472 the incorrupt relics of Metropolitan Jonah were uncovered and placed in the Dormition Cathedral of the Kremlin (the Transfer of the holy Relics is celebrated May 27). A Council of the Russian Church in 1547 established the commemoration of Saint Jonah, Metropolitan of Moscow. In 1596, Patriarch Job added Saint Jonah to the Synaxis of the Moscow Hierarchs (October 5).

HEBREWS 7:26-8:2

26 For such a High Priest was fitting for us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and has become higher than the heavens; 27 who does not need daily, as those high priests, to offer up sacrifices, first for His own sins and then for the people's, for this He did once for all when He offered up Himself. 28 For the law appoints as high priests men who have weakness, but the word of the oath, which came after the law, appoints the Son who has been perfected forever.

1 Now this is the main point of the things we are saying: We have such a High Priest, who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens, 2 a Minister of the sanctuary and of the true tabernacle which the Lord erected, and not man.

MATTHEW 5:33-41

33 Again you have heard that it was said to those of old, 'You shall not swear falsely, but shall perform your oaths to the Lord.' 34 But I say to you, do not swear at all: neither by heaven, for it is God's throne; 35 nor by the earth, for it is His footstool; nor by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. 36 Nor shall you swear by your head, because you cannot make one hair white or black. 37 But let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and your 'No,' 'No.' For whatever is more than these is from the evil one. 38 You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' 39 But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. 40 If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. 41 And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two.