#cairo editore

[ofstoriesandstardust]

i just want your love (twisters - boone)

a/n: whatever, you can pry this from my cold dead heads.

summary: You've been a bit busy with the start of your master's program and Boone is feeling just the teeny tiniest bit left out.

warnings: fluff, alcohol mentions, swearing, insecurities, i hate you theory, when i catch you theory, unedited i wrote this in like an hour and a half

word count: 1.8k

Now, despite popular opinion, Boone was actually smart. 

While most people would’ve written him off as an uneducated, thoughtless hillbilly, Boone actually had a decent head on his shoulders. Reckless, yeah, loud and chaotic, sure. But he was the best editor the team had, swiftly cutting through b-roll and different angles, always putting on the best show for their viewers. 

But academia was not and never had been and probably never would be Boone’s strong suit. He hadn’t even finished high school. 

And when you had made the decision to go back to school for your Master’s you had warned him that it would be a huge time commitment on your end, that you wouldn’t be able to put as much effort or attention into your relationship as you had before. 

Your first semester would be the Fall semester, right at the heart of the off-season. He had pledged to you that he would be the best partner to you as you made the adjustment and he had pledged to himself that he would do his very best to stay out of your way. 

And yeah, sure, it was an adjustment for you. The long days were killer on you but he always made sure you had a lunch packed and a decent dinner to come home to (and if Cathy and Tyler were giving him tips and tricks and recipes on the side, no one needed to know). He had made sure to make himself scarce or at the very least quiet on weekends, hanging out more with Javi or Tyler and Kate, putting together more footage for compilation videos, and even picking up a new video game Javi had recommended to him. He was pretty sure even Dani and Lilly were sick of him hanging around their place, always bugging Lilly about Cairo and upgrades they could make, even though none of his friends ever had the heart to tell him to go away.

But this was killing him. He had been doing okay, because you usually spent time with him after dinner on the weekends or made breakfast with him and on Friday nights he could coerce you to curl up on the couch with a beer and takeout and watch a movie before you inevitably fell asleep with a piece of pizza in hand, forty five minutes into the movie. 

But last night, a Saturday, you hadn’t left the office for dinner until an hour and a half after he had finished it and had stood in the kitchen only long enough to scarf down two helpings before disappearing to finish your homework. And dammit, he missed you. He wanted to curl up with you, you tugging your fingers through his hair, as he laid his head on your stomach and you told him about your day. He wanted to be able to finish editing a video and get your feedback on it before sending it over to the rest of the group. He wanted to tell you about the improvements he and Javi and Lilly were making to Cairo to get better footage and data from the drone. 

So today, as you’re blinking yourself awake through your third sip of coffee, Boone declares he’s going to help you with your homework. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, silent question in your look. He chooses to ignore it, silently proud of himself, thinking about all the time you’ll get to share with him if he finds a way to help you. Maybe he can read your readings to you as you take notes, or help you come up with questions for discussion, or edit through your reflection assignments for class. 

A stack of paper lands in front of him and he glances up at you. You gesture to it silently as you take your seat, clearly waiting for him to “help”. 

He gingerly picks up the packet, flipping over to the first page and is instantly overwhelmed by the words “empiricism” and “epistemology” and “temporal” and “postulates” and “discursive constitutions”. 

“What in the fresh hell does any of this mean?” He mutters as he flips through it, confusion and embarrassment blurring the foreign words together in the face of the truth: He couldn’t help you with this. He wasn’t smart enough. 

You snort into your coffee. “You tell me. You’re the one who said you could help.” 

He lets the papers fall to the table, cheeks burning in shame. You falter, setting your cup down before standing up, wrapping your arms around him from behind. One of your hands combs itself through his curls, working out the knots that had formed while he was asleep last night. 

“Baby, if I can’t figure it out, I don’t know how you expect to figure it out.”

“Hey.” He protests weakly, face growing even hotter in shame at the callout, twisting to pull away from you but your grip tightens. 

“Easy, that’s not what I’m saying.” You say with a tug on his hair. “‘M saying it’s hard all-around and I’m familiar with this field. No wonder it don’t make sense to you. And maybe I shouldn’t have given you the theory, that shit’s meant to be hard, but I wanted to make a point.” He sighs, knowing you’re telling the truth. “Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I just-” He sighs, feeling like an idiot for even saying it. “I just miss you.” 

Your hand pauses in his hair. “Boone, we talked about this.” 

And you had. You had made it so clear to him that you would be busy, maybe too busy, and you’d understand if he wanted to break it off. But he hadn’t wanted to lose you and that fear had made him panic, promising things he wasn’t sure he could sustain. 

And Javi and Kate had both warned him separately, the sacrifices grad school required, and even Tyler and Lilly had warned him that the crap he had put up with while they had been in school would be nothing compared to the long work and internship hours, class blocks, and homework loads of grad school. 

But he wanted to be with you more than he cared about a couple of road bumps for a few years while you got a degree that would ultimately, hopefully, let you make a little bit more money to create a better life for the two of you. Not that he thought the life you guys had had before was bad, but if another degree and a bit more money in the bank made you happy, he’d back you in that effort, a hundred and ten percent. 

And yet, he was starting to get the feeling that he was going to get left behind. You had complained to him that there were primarily men in your program, and while he had laughed with you at the idiot comments they’d make in class, he was starting to wonder if it would just take one connection with any of them for you to realize you could be with someone more your speed. Someone smart and someone who understands whatever fancy-pants words this author was using and someone whose schedules matched yours and would just be a better fit all around. 

“Baby, you’re crying.” You whisper and to his horror, he realizes he is, face suddenly wet. 

Before he can even do anything about it, your face swims into view as you sit on his lap. His hands immediately find your waist, the need to have you close persisting past the urge to pretend like nothing is wrong. 

Your thumbs wipe away his tears. “What’s wrong, my love?” You whisper softly, concern etched into the lines of your face. He gives a pitiful shrug. 

“I just think that- that maybe you need to be with someone better. Someone smarter, I guess. Someone who understands what the word postulates means.” 

“I think if anyone who understands theory should legally be considered a psychopath.” Your face falls when he doesn’t laugh at the joke and you sigh. “Baby, you are plenty smart, even if it isn’t with this shit.” 

“But what if you meet someone better there? Someone who can understand you?” 

You give a sad smile. “Baby, you do understand me. And all those men are old or married or gay or extremely annoying. Or E, all of the above. I don’t want them.” 

“But you want me?” 

It doesn’t make sense to him. It has never made sense to him, but it especially doesn’t make sense to him now. 

“Booney, of course I want you. How could I not?” 

And well, he could think of one or two reasons. Or twenty. 

“Booney, this has been one of the hardest adjustments in my life. But you’ve been so great through it, always making sure I eat and go to bed at a decent hour and do all my homework so I’m not waking up at odd hours of the night, stressed out of my mind. And it’s been really fucking lonely, being at a school where I can’t along with any of my classmates and I don’t know anyone else, but you’re always making sure I’m seeing the Wranglers for barbecue at least once a week, or catching up with Kate over coffee or going riding with Tyler. You’re making sure my head stays on, making sure I’m taking care of myself. And I’m sorry I haven’t been taking care of you in return. 

“No,” He protests. “No, this is dumb shit, it ain’t-”

“It ain’t dumb shit, it’s your feelings, and I’m sorry I haven’t been paying attention. I’m gonna make more of an effort to try.” Once he nods, and you see the confirmation you’re looking for, you sigh, hands leaving his face. “Listen, I only got one chapter to read today, so let me finish eating and go do that, and then I’m yours the rest of the day. You can have me all day, although I should maybe shower at some point, cause I can’t remember the last time I took one.” 

He offers you a watery smile. “You mean it? I’m not gonna be a major distraction? If you got shit to do, I- I understand. I can go over to T’s or something.”

You shake your head. “No, no. I mean it.” 

“Can we just- just stay in bed the whole day? Watch movies or something?” He asks shyly. You nod, a grin growing. 

“Sounds heavenly baby.” 

He lets you go, maybe a bit reluctantly, as you finish your eggs before disappearing into the office, and then to the shower an hour later. He can’t help but join you, almost too pleased to have your undivided attention. 

Later that night, as both of your phones are set on the nightstand on do not disturb, takeout containers strewn across the room, the Harry Potter films flickering on a forgotten screen, he nudges your cheek with his nose. “I fucking love you baby.” He whispers. “You’re- the whole world to me.” 

You hum, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you too, baby. I ain’t going nowhere, nowhere in the whole world I’d wanna be then right here.”

[notasfilosoficas]

“Lo que pienses lo serás. Lo que sientes los atraerás. Lo que imagines lo crearás”

Helena Blavatsky

Helena Blavatsky, también conocida como Madame Blavatsky, fue una escritora, ocultista y teósofa rusa nacida en Yekaterinoslav en agosto de 1831. Fue una de las fundadoras de la “Sociedad Teosófica” y contribuyó a la difusión de la llamada “Teosofía”.

Fue hija de un coronel de origen alemán, establecido en Rusia y de una hija de una de una familia de la nobleza rusa que trabajó como novelista. Por parte de su madre fue nieta de la princesa Helena Dolgorúkov, botánica y escritora.

Debido a la prematura muerte de su madre, Helena creció bajos los cuidados de sus abuelos, los Fadéef en Saratov en una vieja e inmensa mansión, en donde su abuelo se desempeñaba como gobernador.

Helena tenía talento como pianista, y según testimonios de algunos contemporáneos, poseía ciertos poderes psíquicos o sobrenaturales, y desde muy temprana edad se mostró interesada en el esoterismo, libros que leía de la biblioteca de su bisabuelo quien se había iniciado en la masonería a finales del siglo XVIII.

Helena sostenía y demostraba que tenía la capacidad psíquica para comunicarse con los moradores de los mundos sutiles e invisibles, y con los seres que para nosotros están muertos.

A la edad de 17 años se casó con NIkífor Vasiíevich Blavatsky de 40 años, en una provincia de Armenia. Helena aceptó casarse para poder ganar independencia, y aunque según ella, nunca se consumó la unión, tras 3 meses de infeliz matrimonio, escapó por las montañas montando a caballo para ir a la casa de su abuelo en Tiflis, capital de Georgia.

Según se cuenta, Helena realizó una serie de viajes por diversos países, como Egipto, Turquía y Grecia entre otros tantos. En algunos de estos viajes, estuvo acompañada por el explorador y naturista estadounidense Albert Rawson, miembro de la masonería e interesado en el ocultismo.

En 1851, se dice que tuvo su primer encuentro con un hombre del cual había tenido diferentes sueños de la infancia, y que se convertiría en su maestro de nombre Rajput Mahatma.

Ese mismo año, Blavatsky viajó a Canadá, y varias partes de los Estados Unidos, México, Sudamérica, e intentó posteriormente ingresar al Tibet sin éxito, antes de regresar a Inglaterra.

En 1855, logró entrar al Tibet en donde pasaría por un periodo de entrenamiento bajo la dirección de su maestro y de 1860 a 1865 vivió en el Cáucaso, en donde pasó por experiencias de crisis de tipo sobrenatural, los cuales, según ella, la posibilitaría a la adquisición de un dominio completo de sus energías psíquicas.

En 1871, tras multiples viajes y experiencias psíquicas por Chipre y Grecia, y tras salvarse en un naufragio cuando se encaminaba a Egipto, intentó en El Cairo fundar la que llamaría “Sociedad Espírita”, con poco éxito pues se vió rodeada de charlatanes y ególatras que harían fracasar esta sociedad, por lo que en 1873, su maestro le dió instrucciones de proseguir hacia París y más adelante Nueva York.

Es en Nueva York en el año 1875 que Blavatsky funda con el coronel Henry Olcott, y el abogado irlandés William Quan Judge, la denominada “Sociedad Teosófica” con la participación de 16 teósofos, según actas elaboradas por el propio William Judge.

En septiembre de 1875, Blavatsky publica su primera gran obra titulada “Isis sin velo”, libro que habla de la historia y el desarrollo de las ciencias ocultas, la naturaleza y el origen de la magia, las raíces del cristianismo y según ella, los fallos de la teología cristiana. 

En 1878, Blavatsky y Olcott trasladaron la sede de la Sociedad Teosófica a la India en donde conocieron al editor del periódico oficial del gobierno de la India, Alfred Sinnet, iniciando juntos en 1879 la publicación de la revista “The Theosophist”, siendo Blavatsky la editora responsable, con lo cual la sociedad teosófica se arraigó profundamente en América y Londres.

La denuncia de varios seguidores del fraude que se ocultaba en las prácticas de la Sociedad, llevó a la fundadora a abandonar la India en 1885 para establecerse en Londres.

En 1888 Blavatsky publica su obra “La doctrina secreta”, seis tomos en los que trata de explicar la evolución cósmica, planetaria y humana, la cual incluye mas de 2000 citas con indicaciones de paginas y autores. En esta obra están también explicados los símbolos básicos contenidos en las grandes religiones y mitologías del mundo.

El surgimiento del espiritismo y el ocultismo, estuvo muy ligado a una crisis que se sucedió en el pensamiento contemporáneo del cristianismo, causada por la antipatía de los cristianos liberales a la idea de la condenación eterna, la cual era opuesta e incompatible con la noción de un Dios amoroso.

Por otra parte, en lo relacionado a la ciencia, la geología había demostrado que la datación del mundo era mucho mas antigua que las enseñanzas de la Biblia, haciendo del espiritismo una nueva forma de contactar con lo espiritual, lejos de las viejas ortodoxias.

Helena Blavatsky murió en Londres en 1891 de gripe a los 59 años de edad. Su cuerpo fue incinerado y parte de sus cenizas fueron depositadas en Europa, Estados Unidos y en la sede de la Sociedad Teosófica. 

A la muerte de Blavatsky y de Henry Steel Olcott, la Sociedad Teosófica fue entregada a su secretaria Annie Besant, quien ya había logrado con sus audacias crear un importante cisma entre los miembros de la Sociedad, obligando a William Quin Judge abandonar la sociedad y ser perseguido por los seguidores de Besant.

Tras su muerte, la teosofía vivió varias crisis y cismas, y su influencia se extendió a lugares oscuros como el Tercer Reich, donde muchos altos cargos del partido se declararon seguidores de esa doctrina.

Fuentes: Wikipedia, biografiasyvidas.com, elconfidencial.com, elespanol.com, ecured.cu

[ausetkmt]

The Life, Politics and Legacies of Thomas Sankara

The Life, Politics and Legacies of Thomas Sankara

Celebrating and critiquing the life of one of Africa’s most important anti-imperialist leaders

Thomas Sankara was one of Africa's most important anti-imperialist leaders of the late 20th Century. His declaration that fundamental socio-political change would require a 'certain amount of madness' drove the Burkinabe Revolution and resurfaced in the country's popular uprising in 2014.

This book looks at Sankara's political philosophies and legacies and their relevance today. Analyses of his synthesis of Pan-Africanism and humanist Marxist politics, as well as his approach to gender, development, ecology and decolonisation offer new insights to Sankarist political philosophies. Critical evaluations of the limitations of the revolution examine his relationship with labour unions and other aspects of his leadership style. His legacy is revealed by looking at contemporary activists, artists and politicians who draw inspiration from Sankarist thought in social movement struggles today, from South Africa to Burkina Faso.

In the 30th anniversary of his assassination, this book illustrates how Sankara's political praxis continues to provide lessons and hope for decolonisation struggles today.

Amber Murrey is Postdoctoral Fellow in Sociology at The American University in Cairo, Egypt. Her award-winning research considers contemporary Pan-Africanism, resistance to neo-colonial violence, resource extraction and decolonisation. She has been published in a variety of academic journals, including Third World Quarterly, Political Geography, The Journal of Black Studies, The Postcolonialist and Capital and Class. She is the editor of A Certain Amount of Madness (Pluto, 2018).

Endorsements: 'The legendary Thomas Sankara - hero, revolutionary leader, anti-imperialist - receives deserving analytical treatment from the most prominent radical voices here assembled for one the greatest sons of Africa. The book enhances our understanding of the pragmatism of politics, the rhetoric of revolutionary actions, and the resurgence of reactionary forces. A must read' - Toyin Falola, Honorary Professor, University of Cape Town, University Distinguished Professor and Jacob and Frances Sanger Mossiker Chair in the Humanities, The University of Texas at Austin

'This book by a wide range of committed scholars, including, crucially, a significant number of African scholars, is a necessary and illuminating intervention. The Sankara that emerges here is more than 'Africa's Che Guevara', a man whose ideas and politics are 'rich with a thousand nuances' that distinguish them from other forms of Marxism and Pan-Africanism. Sankara comes alive in all his complexity' - Sean Jacobs, Associate Professor of International Affairs at The New School and Founder and Editor, Africa is a Country

[needlesandnilbogs]

Notes on City Spies: Mission Manhattan

(copied from discord by way of blogspot)

P4: Kat is in fact 14 now.

P6 Sydney or Paris is 16. Also ily kat.

P8 awwwww Rio making a friend p11 lol mood

P12 oooh oh dear

P23 PERSON IN GLOBE?????

P33 ooh new motherism we love. Also I bet the bomb is in the tiara.

P37 and this dude would be in on it.

P53 another very Murderbot line.

P62 CAIRO NOOOOOO

P67 awwww, Rio has such a big heart I love him

P69 any time they play tourists things go wrong. Just saying.

P70 lol he named this lady after his editor

P76 lol James PONTI and the PONTE, hmmmm? Also I love kat so much

P78 clemmie?

P86 wait clemmie and mother never officially divorced? DUDE

P103 I LOVE BROOKLYN SO MUCH

P104-5 I LOVE KAT TOO MAYBE MORE THAN BROOKLYN

P106 TRU AND C ARE FRIENDS??????

P108 very diplomatic, Ponti.

P110 oh boy. Gertie, huh???

P114 tru is grandma now. Also fic this story

P130 lol that's such a sibling moment I'm love

P133 yes Monty, this is about the haggis (alas this means Monty doesn't keep kosher or else they get kosher haggis) (wait, is kat vegetarian? Look for textual support for this)

P136 oh dear... this is not going to lead to PROBLEMS, is it?

P139 awwwwwwwww

P145 awww more support for my brooklyn&beny family fics

P168 oh NICE ONE PARIS SO PROUD

P175 oh no the clemmie sads but also MONTY CALLED MOTHER CAIRO'S DAD TO ALL THEIR FACES IT'S PROGRESS

P186 note to self Brooklyn, beny, kat pov of that missing scene

P192 FINALLY RIO RECRUITMENT

P207 RIO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

P224 oh boy

P233 YESSSS KAT

P244 Rio I love you so much

P246 yet again the nautilus shows up

P271 OH NO I HOPE EVERYONES OKAY

P316 oh nooooo

P318 it has been 13 months since start of book 1

P323 awww at least he's being honest about it?

P326 nooooo!!!

P330 patience and fortitude.... yesssssssss paciencia y fortaleza

P344 I love when the adults have fun with things and also when Monty's just like yeah there's the confident kids I'm raising, tell me what's going on, and SHES PROUD OF PARIS AAAAAA

P353 I love you Sydney

P372 OH THERES THAT LINE I LOVE U RIO

P379 YESS YES YES STACKS FTW THEY SAVED THE DAY WITH LIBRARY POWER

P381 YESSSS REAL NAME THIS GIRL

P384 "kat, you're incredible" "I get that a lot" LOVE LOVE LOVE ON ALL PARTS AND IM SO PROUD OF MY GIRLIE

p389 lolllll Mrs. G best new character now

P394 I LOVE YOU BEATRIZ

P399 lol C ily

P406 ohhhh clemmie. Oh boy. Well, that's a sequel hook. (not evil au when)

Team eval notes: awwwww Cairo's getting to know them!!! I need to write this scarab in universe fic tho. Also!!! Kat being kind with primes!!!!!!!

DONE I LOVE I LOVE I LOVE. Total time 2hrs 5 min.

I also wish to make clear that I have about half of that missing scene written and it is eventually going to make it to ao3

[darkmaga-returns]

The thoroughly Technocratic “Digital Public Infrastructure” (DPI) originally slid in on the back of the global warming hoax. Unaccountable and unelected Bill Gates is rebranding the effort with his Modular Open-Source Identity Platform (MOSIP).

On 1-3 October, the Global DPI Summit  2024 was held in Cairo, Egypt. The principal sponsor was a NGO called Co-Develop Fund, who promised to,

… bring together key stakeholders from the public, private, and civil society sectors, including:

Countries: Countries that are seeking best-in-class approaches to digitization.

Bilateral and multilateral institutions: Institutions that support country governments in their digitization efforts.

Open-source digital public good providers: Providers of scalable digital solutions that can be used by countries to implement DPI.

Private sector companies: Companies with the expertise and capacity to help governments implement digital solutions at a population scale.

Civil society actors: Actors who are working to ensure that DPI is implemented in a way that is inclusive and protects the rights of all citizens.

Global DPI thought leaders: Experts on DPI who can provide valuable insights and guidance to countries on their DPI implementation journeys.

Domain-focused actors: Actors who are working to implement DPI solutions in specific sectors, such as education, healthcare, and agriculture.

⁃ Patrick Wood, Editor.

Microsoft co-founder Bill Gates is pushing governments to adopt the new global system for digital cash and ID that is backed by the World Economic Forum (WEF).

Gates and his foundation are doubling down on support for s digital public infrastructure (DPI).

DPI supports both digital IDs and payments and is backed by the WEF, the European Union (EU), and the United Nations (UN).

Gates is now pressuring governments around the world to begin incorporating DPI as the globalist groups push for payments and IDs to switch to a fully digital system on a global level.

The billionaire laid out his vision for global DPI in a new blog post.

The Silicon Valley oligarch is once again attempting to establish his reputation as a visionary on these matters.

Gates praised several third-world “developing countries” for allowing DPI to be tested on their citizens.

He revealed that the system has already been “trialed for the rest of the world” in India, Kenya, Brazil, and Togo.

One of the major criticisms leveled at digital IDs and payments is that they will lead to “enhanced,” digital government surveillance, and subsequent disenfranchisement of people.

Many have also raised concerns about the rush to usher in the technology.

Globalists have been pushing for DPI to be rolled out globally for large-scale adoption by 2030, ostensibly to fight “climate change.”

However, Gates does not share these concerns about the technology and is heavily pushing for DPI to be rolled out for the general public.

According to Gates, citizens should not be concerned about government surveillance because “a properly designed” DPI will in fact “enhance” privacy.

He claims DPI includes “safeguards” which he didn’t elaborate on.

Gates also touches on what he says are the benefits of using Modular Open-Source Identity Platform (MOSIP).

MOSIP is a global digital ID tool backed by the Gates Foundation.

However, MOSIP is yet another point of contention from the privacy standpoint.

But MOSIP featured as a key participant during the recent Global DPI Summit 2024 held in Egypt.

At the event, those behind MOSIP, as well as the World Bank, the UN’s development agency UNDP, and the globalist Tony Blair Institute all took part.

The event provided another opportunity for these organizations to push for global adoption of DPI by 2030.

In addition, the organizations pledged to work on accelerating this process.

MOSIP demonstrated its identity platform at the summit.

At the same time, it stressed that the goal of digital ID and payments is to improve accessibility of identification, “particularly for developing nations.”

The platform is already in use in Ethiopia, Morocco, and Sri Lanka.

Meanwhile, the World Bank announced that it is about to launch its own global Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI) program.

Read full story here…

[ortegaversesimp]

A little Cairo fic for my buddy @i-choose-you-cyndaquil , A big thank you to my co writer, editor and proof reader @streaminn !!

Chaos and Lust.

That's what Cairo likes to live her life by. She lives for the heart racing thrill, for the chase. 

A run of the mill boy or girl next door was never going to hold her attention for too long. The monotony of daily life, the same old, boring routine, day upon day would crush her spirit. She was destined for bigger things than being a meek little housewife like her mother. 

She loved the forbidden. She loved driving a man or woman to their ruin with only her wit, her mouth and her body. She loved watching them give into their basic instincts and fall like Lucifer fell from the Heavens. How beautiful it is to sin, to watch someone so desperately try to act like they aren’t tempted.

Her latest prey may be the most dangerous and exciting one yet..

A werewolf.

She had never had a wolf before. Stereotypically they were known to be more brawn than brains. The idiots who lived in her small town growing up would rather use a book to play fetch with than open and expand their tiny minds. They’re pretty little puppies to look at, to have a rough ride or two with when bored but certainly not worth the time and energy Cairo usually takes on her…conquests.

The first thing about the wolf she noticed was her eyes. From the moment Cairo met Enid she knew something dark was lingering in those stormy blues. They shone with something shattered, just begging to be filled with a distraction that she was ready to give. It was waving a red flag to a bull and Cairo was hooked in an instant.

At first it seemed to go according to her plan. A coy smile, using up all the southern charm her momma drilled into her head since she was a toddler. Then a light humour filled conversation with ‘innocent’ but lingering touches on the blonde's hands, hair and chest that leads to Cairo dragging the slightly drunken hesitant blonde to the dance floor the moment a slow song begins to croon out. 

Thirty minutes and a very zealous makeout session later, Cairo is on her knees in a dirty alleyway with a fearsome creature who was at the top of the food chain moaning in pleasure, pleasure that Cairo could easily refuse to give if she wasn't feeling generous. 

What she wasn't banking on however, was the regret that filled Enids' eyes after they were done nor the flash of anger at the snide mention of her wife. It should’ve filled Cairo with a spark of irritation except it floods her with a heat when those teeth bares and a growl rumbles deep in the mutt’s chest.

The wolf even had the audacity to try to leave after, as if Cairo hadn’t done what could’ve been her top five best performance. 

'No, No that wouldn't do,' Cairo thought, pushing the disobedient doggy against the wall.  

Lust filled ocean eyes dilated and two sets of lips were so close that they were intimately sharing one breath. Long arms were automatically snaking around Cairo's waist, one had found her waist with a slightly painful grip, while the other was clutching onto her back like a needy child. 

As the night wore on and the moon gave way to the sun's rays, two entwined bodies finally gave into exhaustion. Cairo unwrapped her legs from around Enid’s sweat covered body as she basked in her post orgasmic haze. She had lost count on the many times the werewolf railed her into the king-sized bed and Enid will likely get a long talking too if her neighbours complained about the constant banging of the headboard and Cairo’s uncharacteristically loud moans all night.

It's in the light tweets of the morning that Cairo can’t help but eye the ring that Enid doesn’t dare to remove.

The wolf may be the first monster she’s fucked but its certainly not the last time she bedded a married lover. The woman tilts her head, watching as those hands seem to twitch before curling into a hold. 

Do you want to know what all these married people had in common? 

They removed their rings, acting like the loss of the metal band was proof that what they were doing wasn’t wrong - acting like this is all but a single tryst where they aren’t breaking vows.

Enid? She did the opposite. She growled and snapped at Cairo’s skin when she jeered about what her dear wife would think if she knew. The faithful dog never answers but she never denies either, only pressing Cairo’s face deeper into the bed and making it so hard to think.

What a way to shut her up.

Cairo aches in that bed and it was then that she knew that Enid was gonna be her best work yet. The story she will write about this angry, passionate woman will make what she did to poor poor pathetic Jonathan seem like child's play.

Cairo is going to use her, wring her dry like Enid did to her last night and when she’s tired? Bored by what it's like to be taken by a beast? She’ll toss her aside like trash.

But Cairo has always lived for the heart racing thrill and if Enid keeps pressing those sharp teeth again her skin…

Cairo may even keep her.

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

Today marks 5 years since the first issue of Struggle - La Lucha. Here's what I wrote at the time:

"It's a special day. Today we launch a new publication, Struggle - La Lucha for Socialism, providing a fighting Marxist-Leninist perspective for the workers and oppressed.

"We are dedicated to preserving the legacy of Workers World newspaper and the revolutionary spirit of the founders of Workers World Party, before the leadership of our organization was seized earlier this year by a renegade grouping hostile to those traditions.

"2018 has been a difficult and painful year for many comrades. But it's ending with great hope, as we raise the red flag and carry forward the urgent struggles to unite our class against the deepening attacks of the U.S. imperialist ruling class and the capitalist system.

"We'll have much more to say in the coming weeks and months. For now, check out our beautiful first issue and other articles on the website, like and share our Facebook page and follow us on Twitter."

From here we launched the Socialist Unity Party in 2019. The publication has been consistent, as has the work of our party in the face of numerous obstacles.

In 2023 we successfully carried out our first national initiative, building a coalition and mobilization for the Oct. 7 National March to Protect Trans Youth in Orlando.

Following up on the John Parker's 2022 trip to the front line of the U.S. proxy war in Donbass, which helped to break the grip of pro-Ukraine war propaganda on much of the U.S. left, this year our comrades went to Cairo to support the Global Conscience Convoy for Gaza.

There is much more to come in 2024. Join us.

-- Melinda Butterfield, co-editor

Struggle-la-lucha.org

[dotun-akande]

What do you call a bone-crushing dinosaur from Egypt?

A Cairo-Practor! 🤭 . . . X-Men: Heir of Apocalypse #2 (Initial cover sketch) 🖤

Writer: Steve Foxe

Cover Artist: Yours Truly

Penciler: Netho Diaz

Inker(s): JP Mayer & Sean Parsons

Colorist: Alex Sinclair

Letterer: VC’s Clayton Cowles

Editor: Annalise Bissa

@marvelentertainment

[gregor-samsung]

“ Era il 1973, c'era la guerra, la gente faceva capannello attorno alla radio. Ascoltavano Radio Cairo, ancora increduli che l'esercito egiziano potesse attraversare il canale di Suez, che gli arabi potessero vincere contro Israele. Stava in piedi assieme ad altre persone, Zayn 'Alúl, davanti alla bottega di Abu Khalíl, sorseggiando tè e facendo quattro chiacchiére. A un certo punto le chiacchiere avevano preso un'altra piega, si erano trasformate in una discussione a proposito dei fatti della Bank of America. Era successo che alcuni elementi della polizia libanese avevano fatto irruzione nella banca, ucciso due degli uomini che l'avevano occupata, arrestato gli altri due e liberato gli ostaggi. Con il risultato che la banca non aveva scucito un petacchino per lo sforzo bellico arabo, scopo ultimo dell'operazione, stando alle condizioni dettate dal capo del commando, poi abbattuto. - È stato un errore, - diceva Abu Khalíl, - la guerra è in Israele, a che pro occupare una banca qui? - La banca è americana, gli americani sono Israele. Sí insomma, lí e qui è la stessa identica guerra, - aveva ribattuto uno dei ragazzi che facevano ressa attorno alla bottega.

Abu Khalíl aveva preso in mano il giornale e si era avvicinato alla luce che usciva da dentro il negozio. - Date retta a me, ragazzi, è stato un errore. 'Ali Shu'ayb ha preso in ostaggio e poi ammazzato un americano che non c'entrava niente. Leggeva, Abu Khalíl: - «L'americano John Conrad Maxwell è stato assassinato da 'Ali Shu'ayb. Quest'ultimo, ricorrendo a uno degli ostaggi perché non in grado di esprimersi in inglese, ha comunicato a Maxwell di aver deciso di ucciderlo poiché la dilazione concessa alle autorità era scaduta. L'americano ha implorato per la propria vita, ma 'Ali Shu'ayb gli ha sparato alla schiena. L'americano, supino al suolo, ha urlato e supplicato, ma 'Ali Shu'ayb, coadiuvato da un altro componente del commando, presumibilmente Jihàd As'ad, lo ha preso a calci e ha nuovamente fatto fuoco, colpendolo al ventre e togliendogli la vita». - Ma vi sembra possibile, ragazzi? Non son cose che si fanno, - aveva concluso Abu Khalíl: - E poi il problema è con Israele, la guerra è li. È stato un errore. - Tutte balle, - aveva esclamato Zayn 'Alúl, - sono tutte balle. “

Elias Khuri, Facce bianche, traduzione dall'arabo di Elisabetta Bartuli, Einaudi (collana L'Arcipelago n° 126), 2007¹; pp. 133-134.

[1ª Edizione originale: الوجوه البيضاء, (Wujuh al-bayda), editore Dar Al Adab, Beirut, 1981]

[phoenix-joy]

Author: Meilan Solly (Associate Editor, History) Publication: Smithsonian Magazine Time-stamp: May 3, 2024 Word count: 1048 Estimated reading time: between 3 to 6 mins.

Extract (385 words - 1 to 2 mins):

[An] exhibition in Washington, D.C. is recreating Tutankhamun’s tomb [...]. [The exhibition features] more than 1,000 reproductions crafted by Egyptian artisans, [and is titled] “Tutankhamun: His Tomb and His Treasures” [...]. [It shows] a clear argument for the value of replicas as educational tools, particularly when the originals are largely inaccessible to the public. The Grand Egyptian Museum in Cairo [the] artifacts found in the tomb, but its opening [...] has [...] been delayed.

Melinda Hartwig, an Egyptologist [...] and a special adviser to the exhibition, says the show allows visitors to “follow in Carter’s footsteps” by drawing directly on the archaeologist’s excavation notes and photographs. Early on, the exhibition transports visitors into recreations of the pharaoh’s burial chamber, antechamber and treasury, all presented as they [were originally discovered]. Later sections focus on the artifacts themselves, grouping replicas of Tutankhamun’s shabtis (funerary figurines), nested coffins, canopic jars and more.

Tutanchamun Ausstellung - YouTube (3:42)

According to Hartwig, Egyptian craftspeople, lapidaries and sculptors spent around four years recreating the artifacts found in the pharaoh’s tomb [...]. [They cast the objects in plaster, [...] covered the models in resin, [then] used alloys and glass appliques to add color and depth.

[The] artisans had access to extensive primary source material, as well as 3D scans of the original artifacts. [...]

Reviewing a Czech staging of the exhibition in January 2009, Egyptologist Jaromír Málek praised the artisans’ attention to detail as “astounding,” writing that “there are few things with which one would seriously like to quarrel.”

[...] Málek wrote [...], “The Egyptians point out that these [original objects] are antiquities of their own past, and … it is only appropriate that they remain on display in Cairo where they can be seen by ordinary Egyptian visitors, such as schoolchildren.”

[...] As Hartwig explains, [the exhibition] blends entertainment and education; the exhibition’s wall panels are changed with each iteration of the show, reflecting updated understandings of the pharaoh’s life and legacy. For instance, recent research suggests he was a warrior king, rather than a sickly, infirm ruler. Initially a skeptic [...], Málek admitted, “somewhat reluctantly,” that he had “become a convert,” adding, “This exhibition can do things which no other, perhaps with the exception of future virtual reality shows, is able to.”

Hartwig, for her part, says she loves the exhibition “because you experience the objects. They’re not behind glass. They’re not separated from context.” [...]

/end of extract

[longreads]

This week's #LongreadsTop5

-A disturbing child psychiatric facility. 

-The changing city of Cairo. 

-An optimistic take on AI supremacy. 

-The mystery of a cookie disappearance. 

-A joyful 51 years in the Smithsonian Zoo Panda House.

Read our editors’ recommendations on Longreads.

#longreads #nonfiction #essay #longfom #writing #journalism

[byneddiedingo]

Humphrey Bogart, Peter Lorre, Mary Astor, and Sydney Greenstreet in The Maltese Falcon (John Huston, 1941)

Cast: Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Gladys George, Peter Lorre, Barton MacLane, Lee Patrick, Sydney Greenstreet, Ward Bond, Jerome Cowan, Elisha Cook Jr. Screenplay: John Huston, based on a novel by Dashiell Hammett. Cinematography: Arthur Edeson. Art direction: Robert M. Haas. Film editing: Thomas Richards. Music: Adolph Deutsch. 

"By gad, sir, you are a character," says Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet), with what Greenstreet's co-star Mary Astor once described as "that evil, hiccupy laugh." He is speaking to Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart), who is certainly a character, if decidedly not a man of character. There aren't many other films so full of characters, but so lacking any with what one might call a moral center. Spade, for one, proves that you can be both misogynistic and homophobic -- as if proof of that were needed. Does he do the right thing at the end when he sends Brigid O'Shaughnessy (Astor) up the river? Perhaps, but he does it with such relish that it's hard to ascribe any probity to the act. The Maltese Falcon is one of the greatest examples of hoodwinking the censors of the Production Code, which among other things forbade depictions of homosexuality on screen. But does anyone miss the fact that Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre) is meant to be gay,  from his fussy little perm to his teasing fondling of the handle of his umbrella to the scent of gardenia that Spade finds so amusing? And probably only the ignorance of Yiddish on the part of the Catholics in the Breen office allowed Wilmer (Elisha Cook Jr.) to be called a "gunsel" -- a word that originally meant a young man kept by an older man for sex. Actually, it was Dashiell Hammett who slipped that one by the watchdogs in the original novel; John Huston kept it when he wrote the screenplay, doubtless smiling the sly smile of someone who knows what he's getting away with. Even today, most people probably think like the Breen office and Hammett's editors, that it means a gunman. But Huston also got away with the clear indication that Spade had been having an affair with Iva Archer (Gladys George), the wife of his partner, Miles (Jerome Cowan). And is there anyone who doesn't realize that Spade has slept with Brigid? This was Huston's first feature as a director, and the result of all this Code-dodging, as well as his unwillingness to sentimentalize his characters, made him a formidable directorial force in the years to come, one of the few Hollywood directors who knew how to make movies for adults.

[angelamontoo]

Opposite of my last Poll! If you had to kill off one of these Peter Lorre characters or otherwise change the film so they don't get as happy of an ending, which character would you let suffer?

Also please feel free to suggest ways X character could die/suffer in the notes!

[journeyneverends]

Bill Davis, friend and videographer, takes me through drone capture. We are headed to Sea of Cortez to participate in NOLS Sea Kayak Expedition to get a group of leaders to better understand what STEP students experience on their senior expeditions.

Reviewing special equipment at Bill’s shop. Bill had helped me with putting interviews of the STEP students on the web site we made for the Cairo to Cape Town fund raiser.

Tannis Starr, the assistant editor, has provided the team with invaluable assistance and support. She is a graduate of ASU’s Sidney Potier’s film school.

[midnightsaboteur]

Open Starter - WW2 AU

Asher Wilde - 27, pansexual, Army/SAS Lieutenant

(Written solely in beta editor)

Not even two years prior, he’d held dreams of being a beacon of London’s West End. And then the greatest conflict the world had ever known got in the way. Now, the one-time singer was First Lieutenant Asher Wilde of the Special Air Service. Dive bars were replaced by marches, although the enforced change hadn’t extinguished Asher’s playful, devil may care spirit. If anything, he’d grown even more free-spirited, blithely unrestrained by convention and eschewing so many rules. It made him perfect for the new SAS unit, but even that didn’t mean he was completely exempt from military discipline. 

Regardless, Asher had left barracks behind that night in favour of a bath house tucked away on a Cairo backstreet, a little-known secret he liked to keep. Without a stitch of clothing on him, Asher leaned back on the sauna bench and exhaled, the breathing soon followed by grunts and moans. “Damned fucking…” Asher managed to say, initially to himself, before the door opened and he turned to see a figure before him. He regarded them with a curious look and a raised eyebrow, mind working quickly to realise what they might think. 

“If you’re wondering what those sounds were, it’s because my legs and feet are fucking killing me, not because I’m wanking…” he began, adding “You try jumping and rolling around in the desert all day, and see how it knocks your body about.” 

[tempi-moderni]

LA LEGGENDA DEL SANTO CORRUTTORE

di Marco Travaglio

Agli innumerevoli delitti commessi da vivo, B. ne ha aggiunto un ultimo da morto. Il più imperdonabile: averci lasciato questa corte di vedove (non le due vere e quella finta: tutte le altre), prefiche, leccaculi, paraculi, piduisti, terzisti, parassiti, prosseneti, camerieri, servi sciocchi e soprattutto furbi che da due giorni lacrimano per finta (solo lui riusciva a piangere davvero a comando) a reti unificate, devastando quel po’ di informazione e di dignità nazionale che gli erano sopravvissute.

Il giorno di lutto nazionale e i sette di lutto parlamentare, più che a B., sono un omaggio a Fantozzi e ai funerali della madre del megadirettore naturale conte Lamberti, immaturamente scomparsa all’età di 126 anni. Ora mancano solo la Coppa Cobram di ciclismo da Arcore a Pinerolo e la statua del de cuius all’ingresso del fu Parlamento, con inchino forzato e craniata incorporata per i cari inferiori.

Le cascate di saliva che tracimano da ogni canale tv e da ogni giornale regalano perle inimmaginabili persino nei suoi anni d’oro. L’ex conduttore Mediaset intervista su La7 il suo editore ex Mediaset su quanto era buono e democratico l’editore precedente che stipendiava entrambi prima che lo mollassero perché era troppo buono e democratico. L’ex direttore del Corriere Paolo Mieli si pente in diretta dell’unico scoop della sua vita, sull’invito a comparire del ’94 a B. per le mazzette alla Guardia di Finanza, accusa i pm di non averlo torchiato a dovere per estorcergli le sue fonti che lui avrebbe senz’altro spiattellato in barba alla deontologia professionale, e comunque si scusa pubblicamente per aver pubblicato una notizia vera. Renzi, un Berlusconi che non ce l’ha fatta, saltella da una rete all’altra per leccare la bara a distanza, sperando di ereditare qualche briciola dal desco del caro estinto, peraltro invano (a parte i processi). Il rag. Cerasa, un Sallusti che non ce l’ha fatta, dipinge sul Foglio col pennino intinto nella bava il leader più estremista e populista mai visto in Europa come “argine all’estremismo e al populismo” e, siccome era culo e camicia con Putin, pure come “seduttore atlantista”. Attori, registi e soubrette “de sinistra” spendono capitali in necrologi piangenti per l’amico Silvio, sperando che pure gli eredi si ricordino degli amici. Francesco Gaetano Caltagirone svela finalmente chi fa i titoli e gli editoriali del suo Messaggero, firmandone finalmente uno al posto dei soliti nom de plume: “Un uomo che ha lasciato un’orma profonda”. Più che altro, un’impronta digitale. E un vuoto incolmabile nelle casse dell’Erario.

Il Corriere fa rivoltare nelle tombe Montanelli, Biagi e Sartori col titolo cubital-vedovile “L’Italia senza Berlusconi”, presidiato da una schiera di lingue erette sul presentat’arm e seguito dalla doverosa intervista all’editore Cairo, che parla alla sua tv ma anche al suo giornale, casomai qualcuno pensasse che il berlusconismo è morto con B.. La Moratti assicura che la sua Rai del ’94 era liberissima perché B. l’aveva nominata presidente, ma poi non fece mai pressioni (non ce n’era bisogno), così lei poté nominare direttori i berlusconiani Rossella, Mimun e Vigorelli a sua insaputa. Le Camere Penali smentiscono persino Coppi (“B. perseguitato dai pm? Mai pensato”) e piangono comprensibilmente il cliente più illustre e munifico della categoria, “oggetto di una aggressione politico-giudiziaria che non ha precedenti nella storia della Repubblica”, visto che ha subìto “decine e decine di indagini e processi, con accuse fino alla collusione mafiosa e al ruolo di mandante di stragi, conclusesi con una sola condanna per elusione fiscale”. A parte il fatto che non fu per elusione né per evasione, ma per una frode fiscale pluriaggravata da 368 milioni di dollari, di cui 360 prescritti (come altri nove processi per gravissimi reati accertati, ma rimasti impuniti perché l’imputato aveva dimezzato i termini di decorrenza, senza dimenticare i fedelissimi finiti in galera al posto suo e i soldi alla mafia consacrati dalla sentenza Dell’Utri), le Camere Penose potrebbero vergare una nota identica per Al Capone: perseguitato con accuse di mafia, ma condannato “solo per elusione fiscale”.

Un solo beneficato, Vittorio Feltri, ha il coraggio di dire la verità: “Non posso parlarne male perché mi ha fatto ricco”. Tutti gli altri ammantano le pompe funebri di “rivoluzione liberale” che “ha cambiato l’Italia”, anche se si scordano le 60 leggi ad personam e non riescono a citare uno straccio di sua riforma che abbia migliorato la vita di qualcuno che non fosse lui. Infatti vanno forte le corna a Caceres, il cucù alla Merkel, lo sguardo lubrico alla Obama e la spolverata alla sedia, come se uno statista si misurasse dal numero di guittate. Ma il ridicolo eccesso santificatorio non si deve solo al fatto che B. s’è comprato mezza Italia che conta e l’altra mezza avrebbe pagato per vendersi. Chi ha retto il sacco a un bandito per decenni ora deve dimostrare che era cosa buona e giusta. E chi vorrebbe delinquere anche lui in santa pace, avendo perso il grande alibi, cerca almeno un lasciapassare e un santo patrono. Oscar Wilde diceva che “certi uomini migliorano il mondo soltanto lasciandolo”. Ma, ora che ha raggiunto il paradiso (fiscale), possiamo dire senza tema di smentita che il padrone morto era molto meglio dei servi vivi.

Il Fatto Quotidiano