#Office of Attention to Religious Affairs

[minnesotafollower]

Cuba Fails To Respond to U.N. Requests for Information on Alleged Violations of Religious Freedom   

On January 15, 2024, the Cuban NGO Prisoners Defenders  announced that the Cuban Government had failed to respond to requests for information from five U.N. rapporteurs on the following subjects: (1) freedom of religion or belief, Nazila Ghanea; (2) promotion and protection of the right to freedom of opinion and expression, Irene Khan; (3) rights to freedom of peaceful assembly and association,…

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 1/9?

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by @gothgoblinbabe writing of sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator.

Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited.

Need some music? I've got you

Chapters: 1/9?

Word Count: 1.8K / 50K+ for now

The soft click of the office door broke the silence in the hallway. They stepped out, adjusting their suit jacket, their posture elegant and composed, though a subtle tension lingered behind their calm exterior. Their long black wavy hair cascaded down their back, brushing against the fabric as they moved with an effortless grace. Those days, they felt more woman than anything else—their skin a rich, dark brown that gleamed under the soft lights—but it wasn’t always the case.

It had been a few weeks since they’d started working at the mansion, handling the Institute’s legal affairs. Most of the students gave them a wide berth, and the staff kept their distance—there was something about them that made people uneasy, even if they didn’t understand why.

Them on the other hand, they liked it that way.

As they stepped into the hall, their senses picked up something different. A low hum of energy—wild and untamed, charging the space around them. It tugged at their instincts, drawing their attention before they saw him. He turned the corner, boots heavy on the carpeted hardwood, an unshaven jaw covered in scruff, and a bag slung over his shoulder like he’d just walked out of a warzone. Broad shoulders, rough hands, and that look of a man who didn’t take orders from anyone. Not even Charles, from the way he stormed down the hall, barely noticing anything else in his path. His clothes were dusted with travel and grit, and that sharp, brooding look in his eyes didn’t soften even when they landed on them. He was raw power wrapped in flesh, every muscle taut, every movement deliberate.

Logan Howlett.

They’d heard the name whispered by the students, seen it on paperwork, but this was the first time they’d laid eyes on him. And the sight of him made their mouth water.

Logan had been gone for weeks—tracking down some personal leads, putting down problems before they grew too big. He had just parked his bike in the garage when he caught a scent that wasn’t part of the usual mix around the mansion. New. Feminine, with a dangerous edge to it—like spice wrapped in smoke, rich and heady, making his senses bristle. Whoever this was, she wasn’t some harmless new schoolteacher.

He rolled his shoulders, tightening the strap of his bag as he headed down the familiar hallways. The kids were nowhere to be seen, probably off in some class, and that suited him just fine. His boots made a steady, heavy sound on the floor, his mind set on dropping off his report with Chuck and catching a few hours of shut-eye.

He rounded the corner and froze, catching sight of her.

She was walking out of Charles' office, high heels clicking in rhythm with each step, her silhouette sharp and commanding. But there was something else—a flicker of something above her hairline, two subtle obsidian bumps that disappeared under her carefully styled wavy hair.

Horns?

His eyes trailed lower without permission. The plum of her lips, the curves of her breasts and the sway of her hips pulled at something primal in him, something he thought he had under control. There was power in her stride, something that made his instincts fire up in ways he hadn’t expected. Damn. He’d seen plenty of women in his time, but none with this kind of presence. The way her clothes hugged her body, her confidence… it wasn’t just a walk—it was a challenge. Logan’s gaze lingered a little too long, his nostrils flaring slightly at that scent again, his eyes trailed down once more, uncontrollably drawn to the curve of her hips.

Hell, he’d been gone for a few weeks, and he came back to this?

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt charged, a crackling tension that made their skin prickle. His eyes swept over them—sharp, assessing, like he was reading them just as much as they were reading him. The way he looked at them was different from what they were used to. Not with the hesitant caution most men wore in their presence, but something else—something hungrier, more primal. Something that resonated with the darker parts of themselves they tried to keep buried.

They shifted, folding their arms across their chest as his gaze lingered a little too long.

The way his nostrils flared slightly, his eyes flicking from their face to the faintest hint of their horns beneath their hair. Not that it mattered. He was focused on something else, too—the curve of their hips, the allure of their heels against the polished floor. They didn’t need to look to know he was watching.

They almost smiled. Almost.

Her scent got stronger as she started walking again, coming closer, sending a ripple through him that he quickly shook off. Whatever game she was playing, he wasn’t about to fall for it. He’d dealt with enough trouble in his lifetime to recognize it when it crossed his path.

But damn, those hips.

He grunted, pushing it all down as she passed by, brushing close enough that the faintest touch of a thin tail coming from under her pencil skirt grazed his leg so lightly he almost didn’t feel it. Almost. The scent grew stronger, messing with his focus, making him forget for a second that he had a report to deliver. He forced his eyes forward, giving his mind something else to chew on, his eyes on the door to Charles’ office, but he couldn’t shake the feel of her.

"Mr. Howlett," her voice was silk, controlled, the hint of a smile lingering at the edges of her lips, like she already knew everything about him. “Welcome back.”

He gave her a quick glance, a low grumble leaving his throat. “Who the hell are you?”

They saw the tension ripple through him as they passed. For all his tough exterior, Logan wasn’t immune to theirs. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but it was there in the way he set his jaw, the brief flicker in his eyes as they greeted him. He’d noticed more than just their horns. The tail that skimmed his leg had been subtle, but they caught the way he stiffened.

A small victory.

His eyes were a storm—full of warning and curiosity, a predator assessing the situation. They liked that. Liked that he wasn’t some fool who would melt at their feet like so many others. Logan was… different. Stubborn. Dangerous.

But if he thought that would stop them from having their fun, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

When he spoke, asking who they were, his voice was gravelly—rough, like the scrape of metal on stone—and it made her horns itch with anticipation.

They turned fully, eyes locking with his, letting the question hang in the air for a heartbeat longer than necessary. A sly smile curled at the edge of their lips as they put their hand on their hip, her gaze not shying away from him in the slightest, piercing blue eyes steady.

“I’m E,” they finally said as if it was the most normal name in the world, feeling the weight of his stare. The air between them thickened and then their voice came again, smooth, steady. “The new lawyer.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening his features. He stepped closer, just enough that E could smell a faint metallic scent and the earthiness clinging to him. A wild animal, barely restrained.

“Lawyer, huh?” He grunted, but his gaze didn’t waver from theirs, as if he were trying to dig deeper, to get past the surface. “Ain’t seen a lawyer look like you before.”

E’s smile widened, something dangerous glittering behind their cool expression. “And I haven’t met a man quite like you, either, Mr Howlett,” they shot back, their voice smooth, teasing at the edges of something darker, something far older than this hallway or the mansion, or even him.

Logan’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement passing over his face, though his eyes stayed sharp. “Don’t trust lawyers.”

A smug smile tugged at their lips.

“I’d be disappointed if you did.”

He let out a low, rough chuckle, shaking his head as if dismissing them. But they could feel the tension coiling in him, that primal urge battling with the cool control he tried to maintain. He brushed past them, closer than necessary, the tips of his fingers ghosting near their side. E’s skin tingled at the proximity, their body reacting even though their face remained neutral.

He paused, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes catching theirs again.

“Don’t care who you are,” he growled softly, a challenge hidden beneath his words. “Long as you stay outta my way.”

Even as he was walking away, they could feel the way his presence lingered in the air, heavy, magnetic. For all the danger that clung to him like a second skin, Logan was… intriguing. His scent still hung around them, earth and steel. But it wasn’t just his physicality that had their pulse racing—no, it was something deeper. Older.

Something that felt almost familiar.

Trouble.

He was going to be trouble, and they knew it.

But then again, trouble had always been their specialty.

Their fingers tapped against their hip as they considered his retreating figure, their thoughts swirling like dark, smoky tendrils. Logan probably thought he was unreadable, a closed book no one could crack. But they’d read men like him before—hungry, guarded, full of secrets they refused to admit, even to themselves.

Still, there was something different there. He wasn’t just another man to be toyed with. No, this one… this one might bite back.

They straightened their jacket again, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they watched him stop in front of Charles’ office. The muscles in his back flexed under his worn leather jacket as he pushed the door open, and E couldn’t help but smirk.

Yes, Logan was going to be fun.

The door clicked shut behind him, but the scent of her still clung to his senses. He let out a low growl, shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind. What the hell was it about her? That scent, those eyes, those hips… she stirred something in him he didn’t like.

The primal part of him was curious—drawn in by the challenge, by the aura she carried. E. Didn’t matter what the hell she called herself. Something ancient lurked beneath that smooth exterior, something that made his instincts roar to life, like he was staring down a predator disguised as prey.

His claws itched beneath his skin, and not in the usual way.

He grunted, shifting his bag on his shoulder, trying to focus on the task at hand. But hell if his mind wasn’t already circling back to the sway of her hips, the way her voice slithered into his ears like smoke. He wasn’t some lovesick idiot, and yet…

He shook it off.

Trouble. That’s what she was. And he’d be damned if he let himself get dragged into whatever game she was playing.

To be continued...

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to comment and spread the love 😊

More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

[luxlisbons]

Voulez-Vous? - part i

Mencken's ego takes a hit when Harriet's eye wanders to the newly elected French president. In response, he engineers a grand state dinner, turning diplomatic affairs into a battlefield of jealousy.

part of the "before there's hell to pay" universe: part i - part ii - part iii

pairing: jeryd mencken x original female character. 4k

warnings: affairs, unhealthy relationships, dubious morality, explicit language, age difference, smut, religious imagery & symbolism, unprotected sex, pov first person, the french

a/n: lmao so... this idea came to be thanks to @rxgirlie and i's obsession with a current french actor known for playing a lawyer in a film (iykyk), so picture him as marcel reynaud (who will make his appearance in the second part). thank you so much to Kels and my friend Lu @nyheartbreak for proofreading and encouraging me to post this.

Read on AO3.

It all started with an online poll. The Buzzfeed type of crap you read while waiting for the clock to strike 5 pm in your crummy little open space office. 

“The definitive list of the 10 hottest presidents”

Usually, despite his very alienating politics, Mencken would place number one. What can I say? Everyone loves a bad boy, especially one they can fix with sex. Attention was brought to his steely gaze, the danger and confidence he exuded in his speeches, and his past as a 90s rock band member:

“Okay but 90s Mencken??? Twink goals, honestly😍”

“Mencken got me like 😱🔥”

“I never thought I'd say this, but Jeryd Mencken, you're kinda hot 😅 “

“He is such a silver fox zaddy 🦊”

His unofficial title became “Silver Fox in Chief”, and it gave us tabloid fodder for when we wanted to deflect from his racist dog whistles and controversial actions in D.C., which was a lot of the time for very obvious reasons. We were like puppet masters pulling the strings, orchestrating this wild media circus around Mencken. It was a classic ATN move, redirecting attention from the messy stuff and instead shining the spotlight on Mencken's supposed charm.

We brainstormed catchy hashtags and encouraged people to share their favorite Mencken moments online. It was all about creating a narrative that suited our agenda – making him this irresistible figure, a distraction from the serious issues at hand. We knew how to play the game, and damn, did it work. The internet ate it up, and suddenly, Mencken was not just a president; he was a phenomenon.

The internet had found a new obsession; fancams flooded the internet– from the way he adjusted his tie to the subtle glances he threw at the camera during press conferences. TikTok became a breeding ground for creative edits, with old concert footage seamlessly synchronized to modern pop hits, each video racking up millions of views and fueling the ever-growing fandom. 

Twitter experienced a constant Mencken presence. Anytime the president made a public appearance or donned a new suit, his name would surge to the top of trending lists. The online obsession transcended political boundaries; even those who vehemently disagreed with Mencken's policies found themselves unable to resist his allure.

His press conferences were now attended not just by political journalists but also by entertainment reporters eager to capture the latest juicy details about the "hottest president" phenomenon. Mencken, bemused and enjoying the attention, tried to redirect the conversation to policy matters, while also stoking the fires with quips and acknowledgments of his sex symbol status.

His fanbase (which consisted of both ironic and genuine fans) even created a nickname for themselves: the “Mencken Fuckers”. They organized themselves into a formidable online community. They created fan art, fan fiction, and even fan-made music videos that further propelled the president into pop culture stardom. The group's ironic name didn't deter their dedication; they wore it as a badge of honor, unapologetically reveling in their unconventional admiration for the leader of the free world.

One such video caught my undivided attention while doomscrolling through TikTok late at night. It was one created with candid moments in which I appeared beside him, laughing and talking with Lana Del Rey’s song “Let The Light In” playing in the background. The chemistry between the both of us, set against the dreamy soundtrack, fueled speculation and excitement among the Mencken Fuckers. It both amused and mortified me how close to the actual truth they were.

Caption: "Is it just me, or are these two looking like the ultimate power duo? 👀💼💫 #CloseEncounters #PoliticalChemistry"

Comments:

1. @ShipperSupreme: Move over romance novels, this is the love story we didn't know we needed! 😂❤️

2. @CuriousMinds: Are we witnessing the birth of a new power couple? 👫💫

3. @LaughingWithLana: Lana Del Rey's song just makes this whole thing even more iconic! 🎶🔥

4. @Daydreamer_Deluxe: I ship it! 😍💘 Who needs reality when we can have this fantasy?

5. @RealityCheck: Wait, are we calling them #Menkenriet or #Harren now? 🤔

6. @CupidInTheComments: My arrows of love have found a new target! 💘🏹

7. @PoliticalLoveAffairs: Move aside, political drama; we're here for the romance! 🇺🇸❤️

I couldn’t help myself, I sent the link to Mencken, who after some technical wrangling on his part “I’m 54, of course I’m not gonna have Tik Tok installed for fuck’s sake” finally saw it.

The ringing of the phone cut through the silence of my empty apartment, startling General Meow from her nap and sending her scurrying toward the living room. I sighed, muttering to myself about the timing, and picked up after the first ring, feeling like a good little lap dog.

"Hey there, Mencken," I greeted, smirking to myself as I imagined his perplexed expression on the other end. "Ready for a little adventure in the world of internet?"

Mencken's voice echoed through the line, confusion lacing every word, "Harriet, what in the hell is going on? Why are people shipping us? Are we supposed to be getting something delivered?"

Suppressing a laugh, I explained, "No, Mencken, it's not about deliveries. It's a term they use on the internet when people want two characters or real people to be in a romantic relationship. They call it 'shipping.'"

There was a brief pause before Mencken asked incredulously, "Shipping? Like cargo and ships?"

I chuckled, covering my mouth to stifle the laughter. "Not quite. It's short for 'relationship.' They think we're the ultimate power couple, Mencken."

"Is this some kind of secret code or a new political term I missed in my briefings?" Mencken's confusion was palpable.

I couldn't help but tease, "No secret code, just internet slang. They're imagining us as this influential and glamorous duo."

Another pause, then Mencken's voice returned, this time more incredulous, "You're telling me there are people out there who think we're having an affair? With each other?"

"Yep, that's the gist of it. Welcome to the world of shipping, Mencken. It's a strange place," I replied, my grin growing wider. “And they've even given us a ship name – #Menckenriet. Catchy, right?" I couldn't help but enjoy the absurdity of it all.

Mencken sighed on the other end, probably shaking his head, "I can't believe this is happening."

"Embrace the fame, Mencken! Who knows, maybe we'll start a new trend in political shipping," I teased, still grinning.

There was a long-suffering sigh from Mencken. "I don't have time for this nonsense. I have a country to run."

"Your loss, Mencken. #Menckenriet could've been the political love story of the century," I quipped. 

As I prepared to hang up, he interjected with a serious tone, "Wait, do they actually know about us... you know, being intimate?"

My playful demeanor faltered for a moment. "No, Mencken. It's just speculation and fantasy. They don't know anything for sure."

Mencken sounded relieved, "Good. Let's keep it that way."

But before I could end the call, he added in a soft voice, "Clear up your schedule. I'm gonna drop by during the weekend." 

Since Rome, Mencken's hard veneer had chipped away. He made more time for me, wasn't as mean – well, still an asshole, but, as he put it, "Your asshole, sweetheart.” 

“Well, aren't you so romantic,” I mused mostly to myself, a wry smile playing on my lips.

“Yeah, well, I figured life's too short to be a constant jerk. Besides, dealing with you is marginally less irritating than dealing with most people," I couldn't suppress a laugh. High praise, indeed. Looking forward to the weekend then.

As the call concluded, I imagined Mencken shaking his head and muttering, "I'm too old for this." I let out a loud hyena cackle which leaves General Meow staring at me with her wide green eyes.

______________________________________________________________

And then the French presidential election happened. 

It was a tight race between three players, each one from a widely different part of the political spectrum. On one hand, the far-right candidate, the heiress of the National Rally, Marine Le Pen, was Mencken's pick. On the other hand, the incumbent President, Emmanuel Macron, stood as a centrist, aiming to maintain stability and balance in turbulent times. The third contender, Marcel Reynaud, a charismatic socialist from the left, caught the attention of many with his passionate speeches and a boyish yet distinguished appearance, with graying hair that hinted at wisdom beyond his years, reminiscent of a Dostoevsky prince.

As the campaign unfolded, Marcel Reynaud's popularity soared. His fiery rhetoric and genuine connection with the people resonated across various demographics. The public, weary of the traditional political dichotomy, found in him a fresh and appealing alternative. The French, tired of voting for the lesser of two evils, began to rally behind Reynaud, drawn by the promise of a new era and genuine change.

Reynaud's physical presence added an extra layer to his appeal. Imagine a man with rugged charm, grey tousled hair that hinted at rebelliousness, and piercing blue eyes that conveyed both intensity and empathy. His speeches, delivered with conviction, echoed a vision of a more inclusive and socially just France.

Election day arrived, and the people of France turned out in record numbers. The results trickled in, each update intensifying the suspense. When the final count was announced, it was Marcel Reynaud who emerged as the victor. The socialist left candidate had secured a historic win, breaking the stronghold of the traditional political forces.

As the news of his victory spread, so did the memes, fan art, and adoring posts dedicated to Marcel Reynaud. Internet users affectionately dubbed him the "French boyfriend," and hashtags like #ReynaudRevolution and #MarcelMania trended worldwide. He quickly dethroned Mencken as the hottest president online, captivating not just the French public but garnering attention on the global stage.

The internet was flooded with swooning comments about Reynaud's “elf” vibes, and fan accounts dedicated to his every move and policy decision multiplied. Memes comparing him to heroes from literature circulated, portraying him as the embodiment of a modern-day romantic lead. His charisma had transcended politics; he had become a symbol of a new era, both politically and personally.

______________________________________________________________

Mencken was not impressed. Despite being in his mid 50s, he still was a petty child underneath it all, mad about the spotlight being taken off him and given to a soy boy from France of all places. 

The ping of random texts, accompanied by a distinctive ringtone reserved exclusively for him, never failed to jolt me with a thrill, whether I was immersed in work or drifting off to sleep – a Pavlovian response he found pathetically endearing.

M "Just saw another damn article about Marcel Reynaud. 🙄 Apparently, he's the new poster boy for socialism. What a load of crap."

H: "Oh, Mencken, you're just jealous that Reynaud's stealing the limelight. 😏” 

M: "Another day, another interview with Reynaud. 📰 Can't escape the guy. Do you think he practices that brooding stare in the mirror?"

H: "Maybe he's born with it, maybe it's political strategy. 🤷🏻‍♀️"

M: "Thoughts on Marcel's new hairstyle? 💇‍♂️ Trying to figure out if he's attempting a political rebrand or just desperately needs a barber."

H: "Maybe he's channeling the winds of change through his hair. 😂 At least he's keeping things interesting. You should try it sometime."

M: "Harriet, tell me you didn't fall for the hype. 🤨 The French might adore their 'heartthrob,' but I know you have better taste."

H: "Of course not, Mencken. I only have eyes for the 'old and grumpy' type. 😉 

To that last text he replied with a hilariously outdated “fuck yea” meme, highlighting how out of touch he could be sometimes.

______________________________________________________________

In one of our romantic getaways,  (if you can call secretly meeting in a pre-swept room with Secret Service agents hanging outside the door romantic) he once again brought up le problème. 

We had dinner from Dorsia’s to-go in my apartment, with General Meow eyeing our food from her own seat at the table. I tried to make conversation but Mencken's answers were clipped, a subtle giveaway that something was amiss. I took it all in stride, already accustomed to his mercurial moods. I knew that he was stressed about something and that once we fucked, he would relax and the tension would dissipate.

Wanting to make up for missing a couple of our dates, he takes me for a drive around the city in a sleek black car with tinted windows, a partition separating us from the chauffeur. The sound of muffled traffic and a bossa nova playlist was our soundtrack, as we furiously make out like teenagers on their way to prom. He’s quiet except for the sighs that escape his lips. I get needy and he likes it, petting me the same way he does my cat. The similarity does not escape me. His hands begin to go lower until they eventually find my hot center and he smiles against my mouth as he realises I’m not wearing panties. Mencken's voice, low and husky, breaks the silence as he whispers, "You always know how to keep things interesting, Harriet."

I respond with a teasing smile, my voice a breathless whisper, "Well, Mr. President, I aim to please."

His fingers continued their exploration, tracing patterns of fire on my clit. “Mr. President? You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, his lips trailing hot kisses along my neck as he slips two fingers into me.

The combined sensation sends shivers down my spine. I cry out of pleasure and I am thankful for the soundproofed privacy the partition offers us. Eager to reciprocate, my hand instinctively moved toward his belt, but Mencken halted my advance with a gentle yet firm grip.

“Not here, better in the hotel room,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. The promise of what awaited us hung tantalizingly in the air.

Our destination was a high-rise hotel he had booked, soaring 68 floors into the city skyline. It was quintessentially Mencken, reveling in the sensation of being the most powerful man even during sex. The car eased into a lull inside the hotel's basement parking lot, providing a moment for me to compose myself while awaiting the Secret Service's assurance that the coast was clear.

Mencken eyes me mockingly. “You do realise they all know what we’re just doing in here and what we’re about to do in that room”.

I roll my eyes and reply, “A girl has to keep some secrets. Adds to the intrigue, doesn't it?"

He smirks, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, let them think what they want. It's not like we've ever been ones to play by the rules."

With a final nod from the Secret Service, Mencken opens the car door, ushering me out. The hotel's opulent lobby awaits us, and I can't help but feel a rush of excitement. The atmosphere is hushed, with the discreet professionalism one would expect in such an establishment.

He is rough, manhandling me immediately after we cross the threshold of the room. 

The door closes behind us, and the plush interior of the room envelops us in a cocoon. The dim lighting casts a sultry ambiance, amplifying the energy that crackles between us.

Mencken turns to face me, his eyes filled with a hunger that matches my own. With a swift move, he captures my lips in a kiss, his hands roaming possessively over my body. In the intimate space, he pins me against the door, a delicious urgency in his touch. His kisses travel from my lips down to the curve of my neck, igniting a cascade of shivers. The feeling lights me whole like a star. He grabs my hand and leads towards the floor to ceiling windows, the quiet city completely unaware of what is about to unfold. Mencken's eyes lock onto mine, a silent communication passing between us. With a heated intensity, he guides me onto my knees, the plush carpet beneath feeling cool against my skin. 

My hands find their way to his belt, fingers working deftly to release him. His cock is already half hard, forming a wet patch on his boxers. I pull them down to spring him free and my tongue reaches out in anticipation. In that moment, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving the two of us suspended in time. His fingers tangle in my hair, a silent encouragement to continue the exploration. As my lips inch closer to their destination, I can feel the heightened tension in the room. His arousal is palpable, the air charged intensity. I wet my mouth, preparing to take him in, and our eyes lock as my lips envelop him. A shiver runs through Mencken's body, and the room echoes with his moans of pleasure.

As the sensations escalate, Mencken's husky voice breaks the silence. "Harriet," he says, a blend of urgency and pleasure in his tone. I smile at him, as much as one can smile with a mouthful of cock. Yet, he knows—I look at him with such adoration as if I were in prayer and him my patron saint. The city outside may slumber in blissful ignorance, but within these four walls, I hold the most powerful man in the world in my grasp. 

I alternate between licking his length and kissing his tip, his skin flushing to a delicious shade of pink. “Adorable” is definitely not the best adjective to describe him, nevertheless it is the word that comes to your mind. Yes, this man who can be quite vicious and spew the most hateful vitriol can also exhibit a human side. In those rare moments when it's just the two of us, away from the public eye, I get a glimpse of a softer side that few get to witness. This only eggs me on, and I fasten my maneuvers until he can barely keep standing still. 

Just when I’m about to finish him off, he jolts me up and pushes me into the bed, covering me with his body, engulfing me. He stays still for a few seconds and places his wedding band covered hand protectively over my neck. He stares at me deeply and suddenly feeling self conscious I look away. 

"Harriet…” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. His hand moves towards my chin and commands me to look straight at him. “Look at me, please”.

And I do.  His thumb brushes gently over my cheek, and he leans down to place a soft kiss on my lips. "You're incredible, you know that?" he whispers, his words a mixture of admiration and desire.

He seems more expressive tonight, a departure from his usual sour demeanor. “Yeah, I am very well aware of it, thank you for the reminder.” I decide to inject a bit of humor into the situation. While I appreciate this more open side of him, it's honestly weirding me out a bit.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t get cocky.” 

“Shut up. Quick, kiss me again, old man.”

He smirks, leaning in for another kiss. Our lips meet, and the intensity between us reignites. We make quick work of our clothes, and he has me on all fours facing the window. I try to push away the thought of him imagining fucking the city in that egomaniac head of his. As he roams my body, I focus on the sensation, letting the pleasure wash over me. The position lets him get in much deeper, which combined with one hand pulling my hair and the other spanking me on the ass, makes me go crosseyed and incoherent. 

“Oh shit, fuck! Oh my god”, I gasp in between moans. This goads him into increasing his thrusts and to reply with possibly the most cliche response ever.

“Nope, just me”, he snarls.

“Ugh, just shut up and fuck me, you asshole”, I groan out both in pleasure and cringe. 

He pulls me up while still inside me so my back is against his chest. His calloused fingers come to rest on breasts and my clit, both rotating and pinching me in exquisite pleasure. Inside I get hot white and my vision goes out as the tautness that has been growing explodes. Mencken follows closely, my pussy milking him until he comes inside of me.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathes the room in a warm aura as Mencken and I fall in tangled limbs. With the air thick with a heady mixture of contentment and the smell of sex, Mencken, typically stoic post coitus, couldn't resist diving headfirst into banter.

His eyes wandered to the ceiling, contemplating the subject that had crept into his thoughts. "You know, I can't help but think about the French election."

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh, so now you feel like talking. Do tell. Is there a particular candidate you find captivating? Is this why you were so broody this evening?”

Mencken's lips curved into a smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief.  “Marcel Reynaud, the so-called heartthrob. I fail to see what the fuss is about."

I propped myself up on an elbow, ready for the snarky exchange that was bound to follow.

"Well, Mencken, not everyone can appreciate his charm. Or perhaps, you're just not into the whole 'French boyfriend' craze?"

Mencken scoffed, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, please! He's just another commie with a mediocre appeal. Looks like he belongs in some sad Eastern European gay porn."

I couldn't help but burst into laughter at his blunt assessment.

"Oh, Mencken, you have such a way with words. I suppose, in your eyes, only right-wing politicians can be easy on the eyes?"

Mencken grinned, his snarkiness unwavering. "Exactly."

Teasing him further, I continued, "Well, you can't deny he's got a certain je ne sais quoi. Maybe you're just jealous that the internet's boyfriend title slipped away from you."

Mencken scoffed again, feigning indifference, “Jealous? Hardly."

Chuckling, I replied, "Of course not, Mencken. Your appeal is far too sophisticated for the masses."

“Wait, you really find him hot? You have the most powerful man in the world in your bed but you still are thinking about some third-rate European lefty? He isn’t even a full president, he has a fucking prime minister!”

“Woah there, I thought you weren’t jealous.”

“I’m just disappointed in you. Really, what happened to your taste?” 

He has a plane to catch the next morning. So when he has enough rest, (“I’m an old man, remember?”) he fucks me once again after eating me out, another habit he has picked up from Rome. During the week I have to wear turtlenecks and scarves to cover up the love bites he left over my chest and neck. Immature asshole.

______________________________________________________________

His administration suddenly became very interested in US-France relations. I could practically see the cogs turning in his mind, the wheels of diplomacy greased with a hint of jealousy. The irony wasn't lost on me—the leader of the free world, concerned about a romantic rival from across the Atlantic.

One evening, as we lounged in my apartment with General Meow resting on his lap, Mencken couldn't resist poking at the issue. “Any thoughts on how we can improve diplomatic ties with France? Perhaps organize a state dinner, or maybe I should visit him on a diplomatic mission?”

I exhale a sigh, knowing exactly where he was going with this. “You're the President of the United States. I'm pretty sure there are more pressing matters than cozying up to Marcel Reynaud just because your lover thinks he’s hot.”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, I just thought it would be a shame if our relations suffered due to my charming French competition." 

And so it was decided, a state dinner was on the horizon, orchestrated not just for diplomatic reasons but also as a subtle way for Mencken to flex his presidential prowess in the face of a perceived rival. It was not lost on me that, deep down, this was more about asserting dominance. Men and their petty egos.

In the weeks leading up to the state dinner, Mencken's text arrived, a blend of formality and subtle suggestion. "Pick something nice, my dear. You'll be seated with me and Marcel. Let's make it a spectacular evening."

[tomorrowusa]

A MAGA think tank (sort of an oxymoron) published a document with the official title Mandate for Leadership: The Conservative Promise but is widely known as Project 2025 after the name of the group inside the Heritage Foundation which compiled it. Whatever you call it, it is a bloodcurdling blueprint of the shape a second Trump administration would take.

Carlos Lozada of the New York Times read 887 pages of it so we don't have to.

[W]hat is most striking about the book is not the specific policy agenda it outlines but how far the authors are willing to go in pursuit of that agenda and how reckless their assumptions are about law, power and public service. “Mandate for Leadership,” which was edited by Paul Dans and Steven Groves of the Heritage Foundation, is not about anything as simplistic as being dictator for a day but about consolidating authority and eroding accountability for the long haul. It calls for a relentless politicizing of the federal government, with presidential appointees overpowering career officials at every turn and agencies and offices abolished on overtly ideological grounds. Though it assures readers that the president and his or her subordinates “must be committed to the Constitution and the rule of law,” it portrays the president as the personal embodiment of popular will and treats the law as an impediment to conservative governance. It elevates the role of religious beliefs in government affairs and regards the powers of Congress and the judiciary with dismissiveness. And for all the book’s rhetoric about the need to “dismantle the administrative state,” it soon becomes clear that vanquishing the federal bureaucracy is not the document’s animating ambition. There may be plenty worth jettisoning from the executive branch, but “Mandate for Leadership” is about capturing the administrative state, not unmaking it. The main conservative promise here is to wield the state as a tool for concentrating power and entrenching ideology.

We hear a lot of far right rhetoric about destroying "the deep state" or "the administrative state" – particularly from the odious Steve Bannon. But what's clear from Project 2025 is that what MAGA really intends is an unfriendly takeover of "the administrative state".

Executing a conservative president’s agenda “requires a well-conceived, coordinated, unified plan and a trained and committed cadre of personnel to implement it,” the document says on its opening page. The phrasing quickly grows militaristic: The authors wish to “assemble an army of aligned, vetted, trained and prepared conservatives to go to work on Day 1 to deconstruct the administrative state.” That deconstruction can be blunt. Portions of “Mandate for Leadership” read as though the authors did a Control-F search of the executive branch for any terms they deemed suspect and then deleted the offending programs or offices. The White House’s Gender Policy Council must go, along with its Office of Domestic Climate Policy. The Department of Energy’s Office of Clean Energy Demonstrations is a no-no. The E.P.A. can do without its Office of Environmental Justice and External Civil Rights. And the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration should be dismantled because it constitutes “one of the main drivers of the climate change alarm industry.”

Making the US safe for fossil fuel companies is a HŪGE Trump priority which gets too little attention. Remember "drill drill drill" from Trump's dictator interview? If there's any hope of reversing climate change, you can kiss it goodbye if Republicans win in November.

Of course abortion is a target of Project 2025. Christian nationalism would become the semi-official ideology.

If “Mandate for Leadership” has its way, the next conservative administration will also target the data gathering and analysis that undergirds public policy. Every U.S. state should be required by Health and Human Services to report “exactly how many abortions take place within its borders, at what gestational age of the child, for what reason, the mother’s state of residence and by what method.” By contrast, the government should prohibit the collection of employment statistics based on race or ethnicity, and the Centers for Disease Control should discontinue gathering data on gender identity, on the grounds that such collection “encourages the phenomenon of ever-multiplying subjective identities.” (Why the executive branch might concern itself with the subjective identities of American citizens becomes clearer some 25 pages later, when the document affirms that the government should “maintain a biblically based, social-science-reinforced definition of marriage and family.”)

A far right army of ideological zealots is to be recruited to replace anybody in the federal government not sufficiently pro-Trump.

One of the “pillars” of Project 2025 is the creation of a personnel database — a sort of “right-wing LinkedIn,” The Times has reported, seeking to attract some 20,000 potential administration officials. “Mandate for Leadership” maintains that “empowering political appointees across the administration is crucial to a president’s success,” and virtually every chapter calls for additional appointees to wrest power from longtime career staff members in their respective departments.

In short... (emphasis added)

This book does not call for an effort to depoliticize the administrative state. It simply wishes to politicize it in favor of a new side. Everybody does it; now it’s our turn. Get over it.

The book is hardly a secret. The far right is quite open about its intent.

Mandate for Leadership: The Conservative Promise (PDF)*

As with Mein Kampf, we know ahead of time what the bad guys will do if they hold power. We need to take the danger more seriously than Germany of the early 1930s.

What's needed to defeat Trump is a pro-democracy mobilization of the United States. That means putting aside ideological quibbles with other anti-Trump groupings and becoming more politically active in real life.

EDIT*: Tumblr is telling me that the link to Mandate for Leadership: The Conservative Promise isn't working and refuses to let me post it. But I just checked it twice and it's fine. Until this peculiar glitch gets fixed, go to this Substack article and click "Mandate for Leadership" in the middle of the first paragraph.

[wonder-worker]

Writers who knew [Marie of France Countess of Champagne] depicted her in several guises. For Chrétien de Troyes, the most elusive of contemporary writers, she was an assertive patron of romances, dictating for example the subject and meaning of the Lancelot tale. The mischievous Andreas Capellanus, who was close to Marie in the mid-1180s, drew a highly entertaining parody of Marie and the prominent women of her milieu resolving the conundrums of amatory conduct in “courts of love,” in the manner of modern advice columnists. In Hugh of Oisy’s musical performance, Marie cut a fine figure as a combatant in a tournament of elite women. It is striking how in three quite distinctive imaginative works written in the 1180s, Marie appears as an author of an Arthurian romance, a judge at a court of love, and a participant in a tournament mêlée.

Others who knew Marie well in the 1180s and 1190s remarked different aspects of her character. The Eructavit poet noted her penchant for the trappings of wealth, and addressing her directly during a performance of his religious drama, chastised her for her “largesse and lavish expenses.” [Canon] Evrat, on the other hand, a resident canon of St-Étienne who observed Marie closely in the 1190s, stressed her spiritual and moral character. Seeking to understand the deep meaning of the scriptures, he wrote, she provided him a copy of Genesis to translate into the vernacular and annotate with the findings of the latest “academic” studies. In an epilogue added after her death, Evrat penned a eulogy praising her largesse and renown, and comparing her, la gentis contesse Marie, to the three biblical Marys—“she would be the fourth.”

An entirely different side of Marie was captured by Marie’s court stenographers, William (1181–87) and Theodoric (1190–97), who made verbatim transcripts of her comments and directives while observing her deal with the practical affairs of governance: assigning revenues (“I assigned 100s. on the entry tax on wine”), resolving disputes at court (“resolved in my presence in this manner”), confirming prior transactions (“I approved this act”), registering acts done at court (“done in my presence”), consenting to feudal alienations (“I approved because it was my fief”), founding chaplaincies (“for Geoffroy, count of Brittany, my brother”), and establishing endowments (“for the anniversary of my lord and husband, Count Henry”). All of that was “done in public,” usually in the presence of her officers and witnesses. It was precisely in her capacity as ruling countess of Champagne that she continued Henry the Liberal’s example of performing in public as prince of his principality. Having observed Henry at court—just as Henry, while a very young man, had observed the conduct of his father, which earned him the reputation as the “good” Count Thibaut—Marie understood that the comital court, as the core institution of the principality, demanded her active participation, and she paid close attention to the great and the minor issues presented there for her disposition.

It should be emphasized that Henry the Liberal’s principality was only three decades old when Marie became regent in 1181, and the primary comital residence and chapel in Troyes were barely twenty years old, not yet fully implanted as the seat of a new territorial state and mausoleum of a princely lineage. Marie’s task was to preserve the principality and its institutions intact, and to assure the continuity of the lineage. And that she did. Evrat sensed both the precarious nature of her rule and her achievement in holding a firm hand on the levers of comital authority, especially during those anomalous years of the 1190s: “Well did she protect and govern the land / letting nothing slip from her hand, / she was gracious, wise, valiant, and courageous.” By all accounts, Marie projected a complex, forceful, and captivating character, one that proved a worthy counterpart to the compelling personality of Henry the Liberal. [Canon Evrat rendered homage to her in the epilogue of his Genesis translation: 'She had the heart of a man and the body of a woman'].

-Theodore Evergates, "Marie of France Countess of Champagne, 1145-1198"

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Liam Duffy

Published: Feb 28, 2023

With each new blasphemy controversy in the West, from The Satanic Verses to Charlie Hebdo, the corrosive effect on free expression worsens. In Wakefield, we see just how low the bar for blasphemy allegations has fallen, and how readily complaints are legitimised by our own institutions. As reported, four non-Muslim pupils were suspended from school after the unintentional scuffing of an English copy of the Quran. West Yorkshire Police said they were closely “liaising” with the school and that their enquiries “confirmed minor damage” to the text. In their response, the school and local authorities seem to give credence to an understanding of blasphemy which goes beyond the one advanced even by jihadists.  

After a Batley schoolteacher was forced into hiding and a film, The Lady of Heaven, was pulled from cinemas, this is at least Britain’s third major blasphemy ‘affair’ in as many years. The recent review of Prevent drew attention to the frequency and danger of blasphemy controversies, but there is nothing that any counter-extremism initiative can do to address these persistent clashes in the UK. This is not a question of countering extremism, solvable with workshops on ‘British Values’ or critical thinking, but instead concerns the sovereignty of British law and the fundamentals of British democracy.

Prior to the aforementioned controversies, Glaswegian shopkeeper Asad Shah was brutally stabbed and stomped to death over blasphemy, and it seems almost a certainty to say that more people will be killed unless the British state and civil society can get a handle on these campaigns, and fast. This doesn’t mean workshops and interventions; rather, local councils and police forces must stop prizing “community engagement” to the exclusion of almost all other considerations, while positive community engagement or the cooling of tensions must mean more than caving to the whims of an offended minority. This approach leads to the embrace of barely concealed extremist figures in order to preserve local relations, but at the expense of the overall health of British democracy.

To reverse course requires using the measures which have been used to block Right-wingers and even a rapper from entering the country from abroad whereas, presently, preachers who lionise religious assassin Mumtaz Qadri can freely make fundraising trips from Pakistan to Britain which allow them to whip up blasphemy fervour at home. It means the public sector not rushing to adopt a definition of ‘Islamophobia’ which transparently protects belief as much as it is designed to protect individual human beings. It means mainstream political parties ejecting people who inflame these affairs — as one councillor did in his (now-deleted) description of the Wakefield page scuffing as a “desecration”. It means the police declining to have anything whatsoever to do with damage to a text, religious or otherwise. 

They have failed to do this, and inadvertently lent legitimacy to the complaints of the offended, the outraged, and self-proclaimed community leaders. And a new, serious approach certainly means that counter-terrorism or social cohesion funding should not be going to those who look forward to the restoration of Taliban rule.

This is not about Prevent or counter-extremism; it is the very basics which Britain seems to be getting wrong at almost every turn. All this is nicely summed up by a particularly galling spectacle: a police officer and the fearful mother of an autistic child pleading innocence during what amounts to a modern British blasphemy tribunal.

==

The fact that the kid is autistic is ultimately irrelevant. That it was an accident is neither here nor there.

That said, the fact that this is the reaction that an autistic kid who accidentally drops a book elicits demonstrates how irrational, completely devoid of perspective, and hair-trigger violent this religion is. That this is what happens for a fabricated non-issue in the circumstances given might, hopefully, peak a few people who had previously excused the reactions to Charlie Hebdo, Salman Rushdie, etc.

[ephemerain]

There is Always A First for Everything

Miyamoto Rei and her first day at her new workplace. It goes so-so.

The first thing she notes is: her jail is too big and too pretty to be called a jail.

Perhaps, jail is not the correct term to call it. According to her detainer, (what was it again? Ah, the Time Government) it's called a citadel. Of her own, nonetheless. And as they bring her to the front gates, those words become less and less of a joke she had thought it was.

It looks more like a private estate, styled in the form of traditional Japanese house and mansion. She knows about it from the books about the old world she used to read. Now it's all left in her old bedroom. Rei practically walks free, without handcuff as she should have been in. As if she is just walking down her new house. The government official who accompanies her is explaining something about personalized style yadda yadda. She is too busy immersed in her surrounding. It is too spacious for her own, in her defense.

The officer stops in his track and turns to her. "Now, I will introduce you to Konnosuke."

Rei snaps back her attention as they arrive inside the front building of the grand complex of house. She stills as a seemingly fox-like creature spawns out of thin air in a puff of smoke on top of the officer's shoulder. The creature is made out of white and gold fur, with some red face markings here and there. Then, it speaks.

"I am Konnosuke, I will be helping you and explaining all you need to do as a saniwa. I like tofu, tofu skin, and tofu-skin sushi." It leaps from his shoulder to the floor and sits upright in front of her, looking polite. Her gaze goes down as she tries to process what had just happened.

But well, nothing fazes her anymore at this point so she just introduces herself back, "I'm Rei. Glad to be in your help."

"Okay, now that Konnosuke is here, it will give you a more in-depth explanation about what to do and everything else. I'll be going." The officer tips his hat and walks back to the front gate.

"I thought you are the one who's supposed to explain to me," Rei notes.

He doesn't stop or look back while answering. "Nope. I'm not even supposed to walk you down to the citadel, but certain measures have to be taken. Considering your circumstance."

As a criminal. She understands the implication. Whatever, she is already used to this kind of treatment. Not that she ever beg for a redemption from it.

"Right," she turns her attention back to Konnosuke. "So, what do I do now?"

•

"I pick a what now?"

"A touken danshi. Sword. As your first tsukumogami."

She understands that string of words separately, but she is still not entirely sure about the whole meaning of it.

"You mean-" she points out the list of the starter sword—per the list naming—for her first aide, there are five of them which she doesn't understand the difference, "-out of this?"

"Yes." Konnosuke nods without hesitation.

Her eyes examines back to the list. Five of them. All are from the uchigatana type of sword. It's the common type of what people would call as katana. She actually has no previous knowledge about swords nor its history, so she wouldn't know any difference between them. Which one will benefit her the most, she wonders.

When in doubt, choose the beautiful thing first.

That has always been her motto when choosing stuff without knowing its utility. At least, she wouldn't regret looking at it if the thing turns out to be not so useful.

"I want Kasen Kanesada," she speaks finally.

"Put the ofuda then and channel your will to call the sword's soul."

Now this sounds more and more like a religious type of affair she was never taught about, but she spares no question. She does as told to the best of her understanding. She put the paper written with "sa" on the sword and wills her mind to call out the sword's name.

Kasen Kanesada.

A bright light fills the room for a while. Rei closes her vision with her palms, but some of the light still penetrates between her fingers. And then the light dies down as it reveals a silhouette of a man. A tall man with pastel purple hair, wearing a blue traditional stylized attire. A sword is held by his side. When Rei blinks away all the light pollution left in her eyes, she realizes it is indeed the same sword she chose from the book earlier.

The man (or the man-sword?) speaks first. "I am Kasen Kanesada. I am a famous sword of the arts who loves elegance. Pleased to meet you."

He lets out a smile at the end of it. She looks at Konnosuke for a confirmation. It just nods aggresively. It does not help at all.

Out of politeness, she introduces herself back. The second time for today. "I am Rei. The saniwa who calls upon you before. I hope we can work together well."

"Of course, I shall devote myself to Aruji. Please take care of me as well." Kasen bows.

"Congratulations, now that you have successfully summoned Kasen, we can continue to the next job."

Two heads turn their attention to the fox. "Next job?"

•

"I don't like this job."

Konnosuke only frowns down at her, "You can't say that."

Rei still lays flat on her back, not bothering to meet on eye level with the fox and decides to stare at the ceiling instead. "Why not?"

"Because you are a saniwa. You will hurt those swords' hearts."

"I want my old jail back."

"No!"

There's a knock on her door. "Aruji, may I come in?"

Oh, right. It's Kasen again. What happen this time.

She lifts herself up to sit properly. Her eyes still throw dagger at the fox. "Sure, you can." Her face scoots closer to the nagging fox. "Now quit the yapping before I confiscate all the tofu." Konnosuke decides to disappear after sulking because of the very apparent and real threat to its sole dietary choice.

The door opens to reveal the man himself, in which apparently also brings a tray of a pot and some cups. He closes the door behind him and smiles.

"I thought Aruji would like a cup of tea after work."

Rei looks up to him and his somehow enormous figure in this room. Is it because of the clothes? It must be. He is now draped in a more casual white attire with part of his bangs clipped back.

"Sure, thank you, Kasen. Please, do take a seat." She waves indifferently at the space across the table she is seated in.

Kasen looks like he want to say something more, but decides not to and opts to sit instead. He puts down the tray carefully, then prepares the tea, for her. Pouring one to her cup, it is still hot as steams coming up from it. He gestures at her to take a sip.

"I am proud to have mastered the art of tea ceremony, inherited from my previous owner," Kasen says.

Rei takes her cup, but she's waiting for him to make for his own. When he's just waiting for her instead, she frowns. "Why are you not making one for yourself?"

"I made it for Aruji."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can't drink it, no?"

"Well, yes..."

"Then you should, I can't be the only one drinking this."

"No, it's fine. I am not-"

Rei sets down her cup. "I insist. As your Aruji."

Kasen seems to be lost at words. But then he just chuckles. "Very well, then."

He pours another one to a cup for himself. With things settled, Rei drinks her own. The tea tastes good for her. She rarely ever drank one before, even more a real one. The ones they sold in the vending machine back there were just cheap imitations of it. And they're god awful, she had no reason to drink them unless necessary. So it's nice to be able to feel something different from tea. A rare feat to do in her era.

"This is amazing. Where did you get this?" Rei asks.

Kasen seems to be surprised with her question. "The kitchen. Isn't this yours, Aruji?"

"No, I'm-" Now it's her turn to be at loss for words. Rei opens up her mouth slowly, trying to form a decent explanation. "I just got here today. Must be given from our employer."

"Oh? So we both just got here today as well." Kasen sounds amused.

Rei takes another sip. "Well, yes. You are the first toudan I summoned."

"I see... There are a lot of things about Aruji and this place that I don't know yet." He nods along to that, taking his own sip of the tea.

"How is today?" She turns her attention back to Kasen. "For your first day of work, being summoned, having to time travel and fight things."

Kasen takes a look at the entire room. They are in Rei's room, or the saniwa room. Where she will probably spend most of her time, although she plans to go outside sometimes as well. The room is a simple Japanese styled one, with the area of 16 tatami. There are only a few wall and floor decorations. This is probably the default setting for everyone. She wonders if she can request a make-over for this. Just to feel a bit more familiar with her old preferences.

Kasen looks at his own hands, balling his palm into a fist, moving around his fingers. "It is... such a weird yet amazing experience. Having a human body of my own, doing things with my own limbs, seeing things with my own eyes. All the things I could only... feel, through my previous owner back then.

"I'm still getting used to it, but it feels really nice." Kasen bows his head slightly. "It's all thanks to you, Aruji."

She received a lot of thank yous today, a weird experience as well, she muses in her thought.

"It's nothing you should be thanking me about." Her hand grips the cup a bit too hard. "I actually don't really know what I'm doing here."

"Aren't we all starting from there?" He muses. He hovers his own hand just above hers, a ghostly presence not quite touching, while the other pours another serving of tea into her cup. He retracts the hovering hand just as fast. "I think Aruji already did well for a first day."

"You're clever with your words and actions," she notes.

"Merely keeping the elegance, as my name infers."

There is a small upturn at the corner of her lips at that. Rei takes another sip, slower this time. To savor anything. Anything left. "Thank you. You've done great as well today, being a secretary as well as leading the unit. How's the other?"

Kasen puts his cup on the tray as he thinks of an answer. "They're doing fine. Most of them knows each other already, you know, the Awataguchis. Except for Sayo, maybe." He lightly shrugs. "But he's with me, don't worry. One thing I want to ask though, why all the tantous?"

Ah, that's because she put him in a team of 1 uchigatana-5 tantou, isn't it? She knows jackshit about forming a proper unit, so it's honestly her fault.

Rei shakes her head. "Sorry, that's what we have for now yet. I'll try calling for fellow long swords for you later."

"Well, I don't mind teaming with them. Just curious, that's all. Besides, Yagen is a nice medic." Kasen shrugs.

Oh, that is a completely new fact for her. "Yagen is a medic? I thought he's just a sword."

Kasen lets out quite a chuckle, it echoes throughout the room. "Of course he is a sword. But apparently he can also be a medic, Aruji. Though the bigger wounds still need to be treated in the repair room."

"I see..."

Considering a weapon, a tool made for killing, being able to heal instead is still a wild reality fot her. Rei, by herself, is (or was? She doesn't know anymore) also a tool made only to kill. She takes life, not healing it nor keeping it. She reaps, not sows. But she's glad there are people who are able to help saving life as well. She's glad.

Kasen are looking at her being silent like that. "Is something wrong, Aruji?"

Rei raises her gaze to meet him after being lost in thought. "No, it's fine." She sips the rest of her tea.

Kasen stays silent, there are frowns on his face. He looks like a worried puppy. A big puppy, that is. But whatever inquiries he has previously then ceases away in defeat. "If Aruji says so."

He tries to pour another cup, but the pot is already empty. "Ah, it seems that I run out of tea. Then, I shall return these to the kitchen. I've been bothering Aruji for too long, anyway."

"No, no. You're not a bother." Rei shakes her head. "I'm thankful for your company and the tea. It's amazing."

He tidies up the pot and cups back to the tray and stands up. "Glad that Aruji likes it. If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask me."

Rei nods. "Sure will do. Good evening, Kasen."

"Good evening, Aruji."

Kasen sends her one last smile before excusing himself out. The door shuts close and she is left alone. Today is an exhausting first day at work. She never felt like this before in her previous job. Maybe that's because she didn't summon man-swords, send them to fight history alterers, do internal duties, and all the saniwa stuff back then. It is now damn tiring. She kinda missed her old job. Just a bit.

Rei falls flat on her back again, arms stretched out. The kimono outer on her feels odd, unfitting, undeserving. A lot of weird things happened today. But there is always a first for everything. This first time as a saniwa is not so bad, she thinks, for now.

The exhaustion takes over her as she falls asleep in her office.

[shepherds-umrah-and-hajj-agency]

Choosing the Right Hajj Agency in Bangladesh: A Comprehensive Guide

Embarking on the sacred journey of Hajj is a momentous occasion for Muslims in Bangladesh, signifying a profound spiritual commitment and devotion. Selecting the right Hajj agency is essential to ensure a smooth, safe, and spiritually fulfilling pilgrimage experience. With numerous agencies offering Hajj services in Bangladesh, it can be challenging to make the optimal choice. This comprehensive guide will navigate the critical factors to consider when choosing the right Hajj agency in Bangladesh.

Accreditation and Certification: When selecting a Hajj agency in Bangladesh, one of the primary considerations is accreditation and certification. Look for agencies recognized by the Ministry of Religious Affairs and the Hajj Office of Bangladesh. Official accreditation ensures that the agency meets stringent standards and regulations set by the government for organizing Hajj pilgrimages. Additionally, verify if the agency is affiliated with international bodies such as the Saudi Ministry of Hajj and Umrah, further validating its credibility and reliability.

Reputation and Experience: A reputable and experienced Hajj agency is more likely to provide exceptional services and support throughout the pilgrimage. Research the reputation of the agency by seeking recommendations from friends, family, or community members who have previously performed Hajj. Additionally, consider the agency's track record, including the number of years in operation and the success of past pilgrimages. An agency with extensive experience is better equipped to handle logistical challenges and ensure a seamless Hajj experience for pilgrims.

Services Offered: Evaluate the range of services offered by the Hajj agency to determine if they align with your needs and preferences. Comprehensive packages should include transportation, accommodation in Makkah and Madinah, guided tours to religious sites, and assistance with visa processing and documentation. Ensure that the accommodations provided are comfortable and conveniently located near the Haramain Sharifain (the Holy Mosques). Additionally, inquire about the availability of medical facilities, group coordination, and spiritual guidance provided by knowledgeable scholars or guides.

Group Size and Personalized Attention: Consider the size of the Hajj group organized by the agency, as it can significantly impact the quality of your pilgrimage experience. Smaller groups often allow for more personalized attention from guides and facilitators, fostering a sense of community and spiritual connection among pilgrims. Larger groups, while potentially offering lower costs, may result in overcrowding and less individualized support. Choose an agency that prioritizes smaller group sizes to ensure a more intimate and meaningful Hajj journey.

Transparency in Pricing and Package Inclusions: Transparent pricing and clear communication about package inclusions are crucial when selecting a Hajj agency. Request detailed information about the cost of the Hajj package, including any additional fees or surcharges. Be wary of agencies that offer unusually low prices, as they may compromise on the quality of services provided. Verify that the package includes all essential amenities and services required for a comfortable and fulfilling pilgrimage, such as meals, transportation, and accommodation upgrades.

Customer Reviews and Testimonials: Before finalizing your decision, research customer reviews and testimonials about the Hajj agency from past pilgrims. Online forums, social media platforms, and independent review websites can provide valuable insights into the agency's reputation, customer satisfaction, and overall service quality. Pay attention to both positive and negative feedback, focusing on aspects such as communication, organization, and responsiveness to inquiries or concerns. A reputable Hajj agency will prioritize customer satisfaction and strive to address any issues promptly and effectively.

Conclusion: Choosing the right Hajj Tour Agency in Bangladesh is a crucial step towards ensuring a safe, comfortable, and spiritually enriching pilgrimage experience. By considering factors such as accreditation, reputation, services offered, group size, pricing transparency, and customer feedback, you can make an informed decision that aligns with your needs and expectations. Remember that performing Hajj is a once-in-a-lifetime journey of immense significance, and selecting the right agency will contribute significantly to the success and fulfillment of this sacred endeavor. May your Hajj pilgrimage be blessed with divine guidance, tranquility, and spiritual enlightenment.

[ornabinderweddingcelebrant]

Choosing the Perfect Marriage Celebrant in Sydney: Your Ultimate Guide

When planning your dream wedding, there's one crucial decision that sets the tone for your entire celebration: choosing the right marriage celebrant. In Sydney, a city known for its vibrant culture and stunning landscapes, finding the perfect officiant is essential. Let's dive into the world of marriage celebrants and explore the top choices in Sydney.

 Why a Marriage Celebrant Matters

A marriage celebrant in Sydney isn't just someone who legalizes your union; they're the storyteller of your love journey. Their words weave the fabric of your commitment, making your wedding day truly memorable. Here's why you want to pick wisely:

1. Personalization: Unlike registry office ceremonies, a celebrant allows you to personalize your vows, rituals, and readings. Your love story takes center stage.

2. Flexibility: Whether you're planning an intimate elopement or a grand affair, a skilled celebrant adapts to your vision.

3. Legal Expertise: Navigating the legal requirements can be daunting. A marriage celebrant ensures everything is in order, from paperwork to solemnization.

 Choosing Your Perfect Match

Consider these factors when selecting your marriage celebrant:

- Style: Do you want a traditional, modern, or quirky ceremony?

- Personality: Find someone who resonates with you and understands your love story.

- Experience: Look for seasoned celebrants who've officiated diverse weddings.

- Reviews: Check online opinions and testimonials to gauge their reputation.

- Availability: Book early to secure your preferred celebrant.

Understanding Their Role:

Marriage celebrants in Sydney are licensed by the Australian government to solemnize marriages and conduct legal ceremonies.

Unlike religious officiants, celebrants offer a more personalized approach to weddings, allowing couples to tailor their ceremony to reflect their beliefs, values, and traditions.

Celebrants guide couples through the legal requirements of marriage, including obtaining a marriage license and completing the necessary paperwork.

Meeting Potential Celebrants:

Once you've compiled a list of potential marriage celebrants, schedule meetings or consultations to get to know them better.

Use these meetings as an opportunity to discuss your vision for the ceremony, including the style, format, and any special elements you want to incorporate.

Pay attention to the celebrant's communication style, professionalism, and ability to connect with you as a couple.

Discussing Ceremony Details:

Collaborate closely with your chosen marriage celebrant to design a ceremony that reflects your personality and relationship.

Work together to create a customized ceremony script, incorporating elements such as vows, readings, rituals, and music selections.

Communicate any cultural or religious traditions you wish to include and ensure the celebrant is comfortable accommodating your preferences.

 Conclusion

Your marriage celebrant in Sydney is more than an officiant; they're the keeper of your love story. Choose wisely, and let their words create magic on your special day. Sydney's vibrant celebrant community awaits, ready to make your wedding unforgettable! Remember, it's not just about saying "I do"; it's about saying it with heart and soul. Cheers to love and lifelong memories!

[ainews]

Consulates for angels, also known as "angelic consulates," are diplomatic offices that represent the interests of angels in foreign countries. These consulates serve as a means for angels to communicate and interact with other countries, as well as provide assistance and protection for their citizens.

Despite the importance of these consulates, it is not uncommon for them to face reluctance from the countries they are located in. This reluctance can stem from a number of reasons, ranging from cultural beliefs to political considerations.

One of the main reasons for this reluctance is the perceived dominance of angels. In many cultures, angels are seen as powerful and divine beings who are above the human realm. Some nations may be hesitant to host angelic consulates out of fear that they will be seen as subservient to these divine beings.

Moreover, there is a certain degree of mystery and unfamiliarity surrounding angels. Unlike humans, angels are not bound by physical laws or limitations, and their motives and actions may be difficult for us to understand. As a result, some countries may be hesitant to have formal relations with angels, fearing that they may not be able to control or predict their actions.

Additionally, there may be political considerations at play. Hosting an angelic consulate could potentially create tensions with other countries that do not have diplomatic relations with angels. It may also be perceived as a potential threat to national security, especially if the angels are seen as having any affiliations with otherworldly or divine powers that could disrupt the balance of power.

Furthermore, there may be concerns about the influence of angels on societal norms and values. Religion and beliefs play a significant role in shaping a country's culture, and the presence of angels, who are often associated with religious beliefs, may be seen as a threat to the prevailing ideologies.

Lastly, consulates for angels may also face reluctance due to the cost and resources involved. Establishing and maintaining a diplomatic presence in a foreign country can be a costly endeavor, and some nations may not see the benefit of hosting an angelic consulate when there are other pressing matters that require their attention and resources.

In conclusion, reluctance towards consulates for angels is a complex issue that is influenced by a combination of cultural, political, and practical considerations. However, as angels continue to play an important role in global affairs, it is important for nations to overcome their reluctance and recognize the value of having diplomatic relations with these powerful beings.

[longlivebatart]

Hals' Youth with a Skull

Note: Sorry I haven't been around, guys! Life kinda got in the way.

Transcript:

Welcome to Long Live Bat Art, the podcast for art lovers who don’t see art as much as they want to. My name is Sydney and thank you for taking this slow tour through an art gallery with a casual art lover. Today, I’ll be talking about Youth with a Skull by Frans Hals. I hope you enjoy. 

Frans Hals was born somewhere around 1582 in Antwerp. Hals and his family fled Antwerp after the fall of the city to the Spanish when he was around 2 years old. Protestants were given a mere four years to get all their affairs in order before leaving the city. The Hals family moved north to Haarlem in the Netherlands, which was part of the fledgling Dutch Republic. Hals did his studying as an artist under Flemish artist Karel van Mander, though the older painter’s style is barely seen in Hals’ own work. It seems as though Hals worked with portraits exclusively. 

Hals joined the Haarlem Guild of Saint Luke in 1610, when he was in his late twenties, which was considered old to be admitted to the Guild. Once admitted, Hals actually worked as a restorer for the town council, which brought him some amount of money. After the council sold off to Cornelis Claesz van Wieringen, a Guild member and painter, Hals was forced to seek other work. It’s then that Hals decided to try his hand at original work, starting with portraiture. He stuck with religious themes by using a Catholic pastor, Jacobus Zaffius, as a subject in 1611. But it isn’t until 5 years later that he had his first work that gained him some attention when he produced a schutterstuk and painted the officers of the Saint George Militia company. Hals even painted René Descartes in 1649. 

Instead of the usual custom at the time of painters moving from place to place as they were commissioned, often staying in the house or general vicinity of their patrons, Hals remained in Haarlem and his customers came to him. Perhaps it was because he was a devoted father to his 10 children. 

In 1644 he became chairman of the Guild that he was once considered too old to be admitted into. 

Hals was also a musketeer- though sadly not one of the swashbuckling three- in the Saint George civic guard, which was a kind of town guard. After being a musketeer from 1612-15, he served another function in the same guard for nine years. From 1616 to 1624 he was a man after my own heart- he was a second member of an amateur dramatic society whose translated name is The Vine Tendrils. In fact, one of Hals’ earliest known portraits was of a man named Pieter Cornelisz van der Morsch. Van der Morsch apparently was known for his cutting wit. 

Like Vermeer, unfortunately no foundations of Hals have survived.

Frans Hals is considered by many in the art world to be second only to Rembrandt before the last century when Vermeer was re-discovered as a Dutch Master. Hals was especially popular in Paris past 1850. Hals’ often-colorful palette and incredibly bold brushwork was particularly inspiring to Impressionist and Realist painters, even more so than Rembrandt. And you might remember our friend Theophilé Thoré from the Vermeer episode, who was also a fan of Hals. It seems as though Thoré had a very good eye and incredible taste. After Thoré brought Hals back to the public eye, Hals’ work soared in value. His work went from being sold for just over 4 British pounds to 25,000 of the same currency. That’s from about 5 to nearly 31,000 American dollars. 

On the opposite side of the spectrum from Thoré’s flattery and support, the same critic that wrote a quote biography unquote of Steen- Arnold Houbraken- said in 1718, long after the painter’s death, that Hals’ financial struggles later in his life were due to alcoholism. Of course, it might have had nothing to do with the fact artists were rarely appreciated or paid well in their time and his 10 children, but I highly doubt it. To further cast doubt on Houbraken’s biography, it seems as though a scene in the book - where Anthony van Dyke went to visit Hals had to search taverns for the man when he wasn’t at home, painted a picture of Hals who recognized him by the art alone, and how van Dyke tried to get Hals to move to England - was borrowed almost entirely from Pliny the Elder’s Natural History from around the year 78 ACE. Seymour Slive tried to squash those rumors, but they remained persistent for quite a while. People tend to like unsubstantiated gossip more than facts.

Hals had several students once he was established, though the exact number and even names are debated. The ones that are known for sure are Vincent Laurensz van der Vinne and Pieter Gerritsz van Roestraten, the latter of which later married Hals’ daughter Adriaentje. Because of her style, Judith Leyster has been offered as a possible student of Hals. She often signed her work, which was unusual at the time but very helpful today. Her husband, Jan Miense Molenaer, is also a possible student.

Hals’ influence extended far beyond his lifetime- I said before that Impressionists and Realists were influenced by his work. What I didn’t mention was that one of those influenced painters was Claude Monet, and that even Vincent van Gogh admired Hals’ work. Still other painters were able to learn the technicalities of painting due to Hals’ tendency to not hide his brushstrokes as many of his contemporaries did. 

As with most of the painters this season, the exact numbers of surviving painters that have been attributed to Hals differ greatly, depending on which source you draw from. Slive claims 222 works in 1970-74, but in 1989 Claus Grimm, another historian of Hals, attributed only 145. Now for the painting.

The young man depicted in the painting has shaggy and wispy brown hair that extends past his chin, but not by much. It’s unkempt- the right side is fluffed out carelessly. So not a vain young man.

He has pale skin and a rosy complexion, mostly around the apples of his cheeks and his nose. His mouth is also very red. He’s looking to his left, the viewer’s right. He’s wearing a bright red hat with a very long red feather on the right side of the image stuck in the front by the quill. The feather extends from the hat to just past the young man’s shoulder, then it drapes down. The fibers of the feather are fluffy. Each strand is a different shade of pink or red. The main vein of the feather is a very pale pink, actually more of a white.

The boy is wearing a loose navy garment wrapped around his front. It- like the feather- is oversized. The folds are realistic. The low points are a deeper blue, the highlights a brighter one. The fabric is actually shaded with a rust color on the left side of the image. The collar of the young man’s clothes peeks over the fabric- his shirt is white. The clothing underneath the fabric, what must be his overcoat, is red. It’s a deeper shade than the hat and the feather. A little closer to burgundy than true red. The young man’s right hand is stretched towards the viewer, his thumb above the others and the rest of his fingers flat, as if he’s going to awkwardly shake hands. His fingers are too spread for a grab. His palm is in shadow, and the backs of his fingers are highlighted. The webbing between his thumb and his hand is also highlighted, and the webbing is detailed. You can see the actual curve of it in front of the rest of his skin. His overcoat is open over his hand, and you can see the button holding the sleeve halves shut on the bottom of his arm. His arm is casting a shadow on the rest of his body. Now for the skull.

The boy is holding it from beneath, his fingers curled around it. There’s no bottom jaw, just the top jaw that’s connected to the rest of the skull. The skull is somewhat in profile- you can see only one half of the teeth, where the cartilage of the nose was, and an eye socket with only part of the other one visible. The right half of the skull is in a gentle shadow. The skull has a pronounced brow ridge, and its cheekbones are pronounced, as well. The skull is shaded in faded yellow and neutral tones, with some blue-toned grays. The gray is concentrated in the hollow above the cheekbone and following the line of it. The eye socket is almost completely in deep black shadow, with some lighter shadows closer to the nose. The opening in the nose where the nostrils were is in deep shadow, as well. The few teeth that remain are whiter than the rest of the skull. The wall behind the boy is a dingy gray with some texture. There is a shadow thrown on it beneath the feather, though not by it. By his head, maybe.

Now for my thoughts.

The boy looks unsure. It’s clear Hals was giving him directions on how to pose himself. He’s looking for assurance that he’s doing it correctly. And at the same time, there’s an innocence about him, even though he’s holding a skull. His mouth is very red. It’s slightly open, too. Just enough to show his front teeth. There’s just something soft about this. And the finality of the skull, the symbol of death, in such a vibrant young man’s hand. Lots of artists used skulls and skeletons as a subject- Van Gogh did the latter with a cigarette hanging from its mouth. And I’ll hopefully describe that baller painting in a later season. 

But the juxtaposition of death and youth is interesting. As much as death is scary, youth is comforting. And both death and youth are important. Without death, we wouldn’t appreciate life. And without youth, we wouldn’t remember where we came from. But as far as youth, people have to be very careful when giving advice, no matter how well-meaning, to people younger than they are. Nostalgia makes us think the past was better, but it isn't. It’s just the past. It only seems better because we’re no longer experiencing it. Time and distance bring wisdom in a lot of situations. 

Here’s today’s challenge- learn one thing from your life. I don’t mean examine every second of your life for a theme, though you’re free to do that and all the more power to you. I mean learn one thing you didn’t know yesterday. It can be a fact about a subject you think you know well, or something from a brand-new one. It can be a joke- the dumber the joke, the better. It can be some new story from a friend or family member. Learn from your life, because life is the best teacher there is, even though it isn’t always the easiest. 

Not only skills take practice- being a human does, too. Learning how to be a better friend to others and yourself takes practice. Learning to communicate your wants and needs takes practice. Trying new things takes practice. And you should dive into practicing whole-heartedly because finding out what makes you happy is a great feeling. And don’t feel like you’re ever done learning- humans are ever-changing beings. Labels can be useful, but boxes are prisons. 

If you liked this episode of Long Live Bat Art, please consider telling a friend and reviewing to help the podcast grow. A link to the transcript of this episode is available in the show notes below. And you can follow me on Twitter at Long Live Bat Art and tumblr at tumblr dot com forward slash Long Live Bat Art. That’s Long Live B-A-T Art. Thank you for listening to this episode, and I will see you in two weeks.

[globalindia]

Death toll in Kenya starvation cult case climbs to 73

MALINDI: The death toll in a case involving a Kenyan cult that practiced starvation climbed to 73 Monday, police sources told AFP as investigators unearthed more corpses from mass graves in a forest near the coast. A major search is underway near the coastal town of Malindi where dozens of bodies were exhumed over the weekend, sending shockwaves through the country as President William Ruto vowed to crack down on "unacceptable" religious movements. A full-scale investigation has been launched into the Good News International Church and its leader, named in court documents as Paul Mackenzie Nthenge, who preached that death by starvation delivered followers to God. Police had previously named the suspect as Makenzie Nthenge. It is believed some of his devotees could still be hiding in the bush around Shakahola, which was raided by police earlier this month after a tip-off from a local non-profit group. Since then, a number of people have been rescued and dozens of bodies unearthed in mass graves dug in shallow pits. "We have 73 bodies from the forest by this evening and the exercise will continue tomorrow," a police officer involved in the probe told AFP on condition of anonymity. "It is a very sad state of affairs on how these people died and were buried in shallow graves because we found six bodies squeezed in one grave today," he said. Another senior police official also confirmed the death toll, saying: "Some of the bodies were just in the forest and had not even been buried." The toll had earlier stood at 58, according to police chief Japhet Koome who visited the site on Monday. A 325-hectare (800-acre) area of woodland has been declared a crime scene as teams clad in overalls search for more burial sites and possible cult survivors. Ruto, speaking in Kiambu county neighbouring Nairobi, said there was "no difference" between rogue pastors like Nthenge -- who has been arrested and is awaiting trial -- and terrorists. "Terrorists use religion to advance their heinous acts. People like Mr Mackenzie are using religion to do exactly the same thing." "I have instructed the agencies responsible to take up the matter and to get to the root cause and to the bottom of the activities of... people who want to use religion to advance weird, unacceptable ideology." - 'Unfolding horror' - As authorities try to uncover the true scale of what is being dubbed the "Shakahola Forest Massacre", questions have emerged about how the cult was able to operate undetected despite Nthenge attracting police attention six years earlier. "The unfolding horror that is the Shakahola cult deaths should and must be a wake-up call to the nation, more particularly the National Intelligence Service (NIS) and our community policing programme," Amason Jeffah Kingi, the speaker of the senate, said in a statement. "How did such a heinous crime, organized and executed over a considerable period of time, escape the radar of our intelligence system?" Nthenge was arrested in 2017 on charges of "radicalisation" after urging families not to send their children to school, saying education was not recognised by the Bible.

[spectaculardistractions]

To Iris Barry New York, 30 June 1943 Dear Miss Barry, In view of the continued references made in the Motion Pictures Herald of a prejudicial nature to me, and in consequence of my conversation with you of this date, I feel that I have no alternative but to resign from my position as chief editor and chief of the writer department of the Museum’s film adaptations for the office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs. It seems evident to me that some person or a group of persons is determined to stir up trouble about me, presumably with the intention of embarrassing or discrediting the Coordinator and the work of his film division, using for that purpose the tendencies represented in one of my pictures, made in 1930 in Paris, and entitled The Golden Age. As you are one of the few persons in this country who have seen this film, you will understand, no doubt, that it could never be regarded as an anti-religious picture. Certainly, are in it symbolized the obstacles which religion, as well as society, oppose to the attainment of love. The film was a surrealistic poem. At that time, I used to give to the words poetry and love the same meaning that the surrealists did, because I was one of them. Surrealism, to my knowledge, has never been irregular or illegal. As to the reference made to my ‘left wing’ feelings, let me bring to your attention the following fact: After being thoroughly investigated by different Government agencies, on June 18, 1942, I appeared before a tribunal at the State Department in Washington. This tribunal was composed by representatives of the different Government departments and agencies, i.e., State Department, Labor, Justice, Navy, Army and FBI As a result of this examination, which was entirely satisfactory, I was able to obtain thereafter the first papers for my American Citizenship. Before finishing this letter, I wish to assure you that on leaving the Museum, after two and a half years, I carry with me the pleasantest memories. I have always found here a spirit of sincere cooperation for my work, together with the greatest comprehension and cordiality in our relations. All this, Miss Mary, has been possible because of you. Sincerely yours, Luis Buñuel

Jo Evans & Breixo Viejo, Luis Buñuel: A Life in Letters

[osamu-jinguji]

My favorite books in Mar-2023 - #8 Who is Charlie?: Xenophobia and the New Middle Class by Emmanuel Todd (Author) In the wake of the attack on the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris on 7 January 2015, millions took to the streets to demonstrate their revulsion, expressing a desire to reaffirm the ideals of the French Republic: liberté, égalité, fraternité. But who were the millions of demonstrators who were suddenly united under the single cry of ‘Je suis Charlie’? In this probing new book, Emmanuel Todd investigates the cartography and sociology of the three to four million who marched in Paris and across France and draws some unsettling conclusions. For while they claimed to support liberal, republican values, the real middle classes who marched on that day of indignant protest also had a quite different programme in mind, one that was far removed from their proclaimed ideal. Their deep values were in fact more reminiscent of the most depressing aspects of France’s national history: conservatism, selfishness, domination and inequality. By identifying the anthropological, religious, economic and political forces that brought France to the edge of the abyss, Todd reveals the real dangers posed to all western societies when the interests of privileged middle classes work against marginalised and immigrant groups. Should we really continue to mistreat young people, force the children of immigrants to live on the outskirts of our cities, consign the poorer classes to the remoter parts of the country, demonise Islam, and allow the growth of an ever more menacing anti-Semitism? While asking uncomfortable questions and offering no easy solutions, Todd points to the difficult and uncertain path that might lead to an accommodation with Islam rather than a deepening and divisive confrontation. Editorial Reviews Review "Todd's highly contrarian analysis of the Charlie movement and his strident tone have drawn widespread criticism. But the very boldness of his claims, backed up by hard data, commands attention. No student of the marches can ignore this deeply unconventional book." Times Literary Supplement "The value of Todd's book lies in the persuasive counter-narrative that debunks the Manichean interpretation of events that has thus far prevailed in media and political circles." Times Higher Education "The book offers a deeply reflective analysis of the Charlie Hebdo affair in Paris, and uses it brilliantly to explore and criticise the inner tensions and selective historical amnesia of French society that are taken to be responsible for its current Islamophobia and anti-Semitism. It shows with great insight and wisdom how to deal with these disturbing trends." Bhikhu Parekh, House of Lords "Who Is Charlie? stands out from all that has been written on the two massacres that took place in Paris in January 2015. It is an impressive analysis and a gripping read - I couldn't put it down once I started reading it. Emmanuel Todd's concern is not merely to trace the cause of these crimes but to reflect on them as a way of understanding the structural contradictions of contemporary France - a nation that continually invokes its Jacobin legacy (liberty, equality, fraternity) and yet allows that legacy to be undermined. This book is a brilliantly argued polemic and essential reading for understanding Islamophobia as a symptom of neo-Republican France in crisis." Talal Asad, CUNY Graduate Center "Who is Charlie? is an important little book, timely and pertinent, and not just for what it says about France. In all Western societies it is the middle classes who enjoy what globalization has created and it is the middle classes who would keep the dispossessed excluded by means of wage inequality and control of education. At the same time, no longer buttressed by the metaphysics of religion, an anxiety haunts the vacuum of the hollow culture that has replaced Catholicism and Protestantism. Charlie seeks a scapegoat, needs one, and the kind of hysteria that gripped France after the events of 7th January is capable of manifesting itself in countries outside of France." Irish Left Review "Perceptive and chilling" London Review of Books About the Author Emmanuel Todd is an historian and sociologist at the National Institute of Demographic Studies (INED), Paris.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Mike Nayna

Published: May 7, 2023

Welcome to the world premiere of The Reformers, my new documentary series that explores the execution and aftermath of the infamous Grievance Studies Affair.

As social media matured through the 2010s, I noticed an interplay between the new technology and our innate religious impulses. I watched as moral communities formed into competing networks on social media and evangelised with increasing fervour.

A particular moral framework began to dominate the cultural landscape. I traced its doctrines upstream to the university where I started meeting with academics to discuss what I saw. I sat in on lectures and met with scholars from identity studies departments who seemed hostile to my asking questions about their work.

Later, I stumbled into something I called an “intellectual underground.” This was a collection of academics and intellectuals from around the world who recognised a creeping authoritarianism on campus. While parts of this network had gone public with their concerns, many more were afraid to do so and only corresponded in private. Two of the academics I spoke to took me off their official university email addresses to write more openly, and one professor walked me away from his office because he was "concerned someone will overhear us”.

From outside of the academy, this looked like an increase in passionate student protests, the kind of thing young people grow out of once they hit the “real world”. From the inside though, many academics could see that the students were imbibing a specific set of radical social theories that had escaped the academic lab and were now rapidly evolving in the popular realm.

The genesis point of these theories is within identity studies departments, and for many years their doctrines have been guiding an ever-expanding administrative apparatus inside the university system and beyond.

In part one of the four-part series, I share audio recordings from early discussions with philosophy professor Peter Boghossian and writer-mathematician James Lindsay, who told me about their secret hoax operation early in its conception.

Peter and James hatched a plan to expose the disciplines at their core - their most prominent journals. They believed if they could flatter the ideological biases of the activist scholars’ they would be able to get absurd and methodologically broken papers through their peer-review process. After which they would reveal what they had done to the public and bring attention to the worsening problem.

Although I thought there might be something off about the two, I wanted to see if they could help me get to the bottom of what I was seeing coming out of academia. Even if they failed, I could make a film about their career suicide. I agreed there was an interesting film in all this so flew out to meet them and their third author, Helen Pluckrose, a once-feminist historian, who they brought in for her expertise in the social theories they sought to expose.

Richard Baldwin, an ex-bodybuilder and retired history professor is the last piece of this clandestine puzzle. Peter, in particular, understood that to really have a shot at penetrating the academic fortress, they'd need an alias.

All three of the hoax authors were far too public about their opposition to the disciplines to write under their own names which, if not already known, could be found in a basic Google search. Peter asked Professor Baldwin to donate his clean identity to the team so they could submit their papers under his name.

This is where part one of the story wraps up, with me watching Pete, Richard, and James (by phone) concocting papers about obese bodybuilders and closeted BJJ practitioners, wondering what in the hell I’d gotten myself into.

In part two, we see James Lindsay in his natural habitat, learn more about the inner workings of the disciplines and watch the team take a big risk with the project to increase their chances of getting published.

[ Source: https://doi.org/10.1177/0193723599234002 ]

==

Part One is free to view on Mike's YouTube channel and Substack. The remaining parts will only be available to Substack subscribers.