#every revolution begins with a spark

[invisibleicewands]

Bringing revolution to Port Talbot - by Michael Sheen

On a recent February morning, I woke up to find I was wrong. Not a particularly uncommon experience in itself, but unusual to discover that on this occasion I was being publicly accused of it by the Secretary of State for Business and Trade. “Michael Sheen has said that ‘the people of Port Talbot have been let down’,” Kemi Badenoch wrote in the Daily Mail. “But he is wrong.”

It was a big day. I spent all of last year directing a three-part drama series for the BBC called The Way, which was to air that night. It begins in my hometown of Port Talbot, where a strike at the local steelworks becomes the spark that ignites a violent descent into national chaos. Clearly, Ms Badenoch had been given a sneak peek of the series before forming quite a strong opinion on it. But no: reading her article, Ms Badenoch admits that she hadn’t watched it at all. Why let a total lack of information prevent a full-throated denouncement, eh? Presumably, she also assumes that we managed to write, film and edit the entire series after Tata Steel announced the imminent loss of some 2,500 jobs at the steelworks mere weeks ago.

While the winds of change have only been blowing in one direction for many years, the events in our story were dreamed up some years ago and act as a fictional catalyst for all that follows. Surely even Tory ministers understand there is no VIP fast lane for making a TV series. This isn’t a PPE contract, after all…

Nothing to see here

After that episode aired, it occurred to me that such shenanigans in the right-wing press could have been about a couple of things. Since the ITV drama about the Post Office scandal, Mr Bates vs The Post Office, caused public outrage, I imagine the government has a new fear of the impact a TV show can have. A pre-emptive strike against a series it perceives to be criticising its actions around the steel industry must have seemed a useful tactic. And, having seen Breathtaking – based on Rachel Clarke’s memoir of how the Covid crisis unfolded in the NHS, which aired on ITV the same night as The Way – I wonder if her piece was an attempt to distract attention away from more dangerous territory.

It gave Ms Badenoch a chance to trot out her line about how the people of Port Talbot should be grateful for all that the government is doing to save the steel industry, not moaning about the impact job losses will have on their community. But the people of Port Talbot have been let down, no matter what Ms Badenoch wants us to think. Not by any single entity, but by years of neglect. That she immediately assumed my comments referred to her and her government tells its own story. In the words of a much older drama than mine: the lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Then and Nye

“This crisis is a privateering racket with your friends lining their pockets!” No, not an accusation against Boris Johnson, but something I currently say to Winston Churchill every night. We opened a new play called Nye at the National Theatre this week. I play Aneurin (“Nye”) Bevan, who attacks the prime minister for turning a wartime crisis into a money-making scheme for him and his cronies. It’s one of many moments in the play that seem to speak to past and present at the same time.

The entanglement of “now” and “then” is heightened by the fact that I am wearing pyjamas. Nye is lying unconscious in his hospital bed at the end of his life, and we follow him through a dream of his past. He wanders from childhood memories of overcoming his stutter in Tredegar library to his meteoric rise through local politics, to becoming the youngest member of Clement Attlee’s pioneering postwar cabinet. And, of course, as minister for health, his tumultuous birthing of the NHS on 5 July 1948. It’s an extraordinary, surprising and moving experience telling this story on stage each night. That shared space between actors and audience, where all is felt but unseen, crackles with electricity.

Once more, with feeling

It seems that exploring the motives of politicians, the uses and abuses of political power, and the quest for justice that saw the creation of the NHS taps into deep wells of emotion. Like the pockets of gas that miners feared within the coal seam, their release brings risk and reward. At a recent show, we had three instances of people needing to be helped out of the theatre, the final one forcing us to pause the show moments from its end. Thankfully, it was nothing more serious than someone fainting. But emotions are running high.

I’m more than happy to invite Ms Badenoch to a performance. But I realise, of course, there’s no guarantee she would make it to the end.

[corvuserpens]

Theory for what happened between the conclusion of Black Sails and the beginning of Treasure Island: part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

So. Billy inherits Flint's treasure map. Against all odds, he is now the sole heir of Flint's legacy, and... He doesn't know what to do with it. He has no interest in the cache, not anymore. But it wasn't just the map Billy left Savannah with.

Because ultimately, Flint's apology doesn't matter. It's too late now. The damage was done and there was no repairing it. Getting the treasure wasn't going to turn back time and restore Billy to whom he used to be. It wouldn't heal the wound in his heart. It wouldn't bring Gates or his brothers back. It sure as shit wouldn't redeem him for the immoral things he did.

Knowing he is the only person in the world who knows where the treasure is now, and knowing it's still there in Skeleton Island, ripe for the taking, changes absolutely nothing. All it does is add one more weight to an already heavy conscience. One more stone on the pile he will be dragging behind him for the rest of his life. And although Flint has deemed him his rightful heir, Billy hates him more than ever.

To quiet the voices of regret, guilt and self-loathing, he turns to drinking. With each passing year, he grows more irascible, more cruel, more ruthless. By the time he turns forty, everyone willing to put up with him has left. Ben Gunn is the last to abandon him. Billy returns to England, always on the move, never settling in one place too long because if he does, he'll be discovered by a nightmare of a man with only one leg. He never stops moving and he never stops drinking.

Billy Bones dies somewhere in England, on a small roadside inn called The Admiral Benbow, from an apoplexy caused by excessive drinking. He dies a bitter, angry old man, afraid and utterly alone, without a single soul in the world to mourn him or even care that he's gone.

Meanwhile, Silver receives a visit some years after Flint died from a certain Benjamin Gunn. He tells him about his disenfranchising with Billy Bones and how he was looking for a job on a ship, would Silver please take him on as a sailor? For old times sake?

Except Silver isn't a pirate anymore. He has Madi to consider, their relationship is being chaffed to tatters as it is and so he has to fight with everything he has to keep it intact for as long as possible before their bond inevitably snaps for good. He's too busy trying to make it last just another year, another month, another day, and appreciating every second he gets to spend with her, before it's all over.

Of course, he doesn't tell Ben Gunn any of this; only that he has retired and won't be returning to sea again. Not for a long time, at least. But before Ben departs, he reveals something that might interest Silver, something that he feels someone should know in the eventuality of Billy's demise: Flint has gifted the map to the treasure to none other than Billy Bones.

And Silver is MAD. OH, HE'S SO ANGRY HE FLIPS TABLES, SMASHES THINGS WITH HIS CRUTCH, HE RAGES LIKE A SPOILED CHILD BECAUSE HE KNEW!! HE KNEW FLINT WAS LYING!!!!!

Fuck that old man. Fuck that asshole, who even at death's door managed to find a way to send him a final "fuck you" from beyond the grave!!

After he calms down though, the gears in his head start turning. There is a map to the location of the treasure. A treasure that could spark a new revolution. A treasure that might be his only hope of ever doing right by Madi and patch things up for good. This... This might just be exactly what he needed to fix everything.

If he could get his hands on that map.

He tells Madi all about it, enlists the help of his old friend Israel Hands, and they set off to track down Billy.

It's not easy to find him. Despite his hate for Flint, Billy hated Silver just as fiercely, and took Flint's last request to heart. For as long as he lived, he would never let it fall into Silver's hands.

But, eventually Silver and his band of ragtag thieves, drunk on the idea of getting their filthy little fingers on Flint's treasure, catch up to him at the Admiral Benbow. Just in time to deliver him the Black Spot, just in time for his heart (and his liver) to finally give out, and just in time for a young boy named Jim Hawkins to find the Captain's treasure map and set off on his own adventure.

And hence, Treasure Island begins.

The End.

[sidraofthewildflowers]

Wait cause like district 10 aesthetic… they’re ranchers and it’s hot there 🫣

Panem, District 10:

"No one has a right. You have to take a right. Or stop it from being taken from you."

"Every revolution begins with a spark".

.

.

For @fatherforgivethem 🫡🫡✨✨

[ceekbee]

(An editorial I wrote on the Trump election for Policy Magazine)

Orwell Redux: 1984 has Arrived, Just a Little Late

It took 40 years, but 1984 has finally arrived, with red MAGA hats replacing Orwell’s drab, totalitarian grey. But make no mistake, Donald Trump’s massive win was a Triumph of Orwellian slogans over democratic engagement. It was driven by an apparent longing for manipulative simplicity in the face of complex global realities.

Having grown up in the 1980s, I thought I knew something about Orwell’s 1984 vision of a future of mass surveillance and strongman control. But Big Tech promised to liberate us from this nightmare future. What was clear on election night, however, is that Big Tech money and technology toxified democratic engagement and drove the agenda of a faux-populist grifter.

Are you old enough to remember that night in January, 1984, when a small-time California computer company called Apple went all-in with a Super Bowl ad directed by Ridley Scott? The ad brilliantly played on our 1984 fears with a crowd of shorn cyberslaves mesmerized by Big Brother brainwashing them on a jumbotron. The defining moment comes when a female athlete appears in vivid colour and hurls a sledgehammer at the screen, shutting down the propaganda feed amid a shower of sparks.

And then the punch line, “You’ll see why 1984 won’t be like 1984.”

We were sold. I know I was. The dystopian future could be beaten. Silicon Valley promised a future of connectivity, individual autonomy and freedom. All we had to do was buy the gadgets.

And then more gadgets. And then more.

In the 80s, 90s and for good parts of the 2000s I was one of the many believers in the premise that if people had the power to do their own research, create networks of increasingly large groups who only knew each other through their digital IP address it would inevitably lead to spreading creativity and democracy. How could it not make people smarter and more engaged?

The Silicon Valley pioneers presented themselves as idealistic mavericks willing to move fast and break the stodgy political, economic structures holding us back. But that wasn’t the real story of the Big Tech revolution. It was born as a project of the US military. And from the beginning, the digital revolution was driven by a culture of toxic alpha-male libertarianism. By the time it exploded onto the world stage in the mid 1980s, author Max Fisher writes in The Chaos Machine that it was deeply rooted, in “the unashamed capitalism of the Reagan ’80s.” These “mavericks” believed that they had the right to arbitrarily rewire democracy and society.

What could possibly go wrong?

The 1984 Mac ad promised individual autonomy in the face of looming mass conformity and state surveillance. What we failed to grasp is the cost that came from allowing a few tech giants to rewire everything from democracy to our personal relationships. We paid little attention as our every online move was tracked by ever more-powerful machine-driven AI. Few noticed when our online “experiences” were siloed into increasingly isolated chambers of information. And only the tech giants knew that the secret sauce of the digital revolution was that disinformation and rage was the most powerful driver to keep our eyes locked on our screens.

I write this as a recovering digital utopian. Our global economies have been rewired to the benefit of libertarian capitalists and our addiction to gadgets has led to measurable breakdowns in social trust and rising online hate.

My Facebook feed has become a swamp of ugly and vicious memes generated by AI and Bot farms attacking the prime minister, climate action and “woke” individuals who dare express concern for environment or minority rights. As an elected official who has dealt with relentless harassment, I just recently received my first AI-generated death threat. It is such a far cry from those idealistic, Google “Don’t be evil” days when we believed internet interactions would inevitably build community, not tear them down. For a few years, it worked.

We looked to defy an Orwellian future defined by lies. But what we learned is that in a 140 (or even 280)-character world, slogans move quicker than truth. And what has driven the right-wing power of Trump, Bolsanaro and other propaganda actors is the exploitation of the immediacy and seduction of the internet to weaponize thought in the form of slogans that tap into a proud, defiant, terrified vulnerability.

How does democracy compete with that?

The connection between Trump and Silicon Valley goes deeper than how the Steve Bannons of the world broke the political code on rage algorithms. Huge amounts of money were used to ensure Trump’s election because right-wing tech billionaires understood the irresistible connection between the rise of AI, profits and undemocratic government power. Ben Tarnoff, writing in the New York Review of Books, states that Silicon Valley venture capitalists see Trump as key to the “linkages between the public and private sectors…in which tech companies would partner with the state to strengthen its coercive capacities at home and abroad.”

It took four decades, but 1984 finally arrived. It isn’t the grey world of military strongmen but an ugly marriage of toxic AI, billionaire capitalists and grifter politicians. What is perhaps the most dystopian factor of all, is just how cynical and mean it is.

I know that there are other lessons from the 80s to show us a better way. They are the pre-millennial memories that can help unwire our lives into a more sustainable future.

Policy Contributing Writer Charlie Angus is the MP for Timmins-James Bay and frontman for the band Grievous Angels. His new book Dangerous Memory Coming of Age in the Decade of Greed is published by House of Anansi Press

[sweet-nothings-in-the-library]

⇱⇲ "Pearl Of The Sea"

Pearl of the sea, at the edge of the horizon’s sun Burning flames, with embers touch Of silken threads did the sea dragon devour the moon's silken spun Lover’s gaze, swaddled by the sea’s cradled pouch So hear me now that you're near me Come to my shores of golden sand caressed by love Jolly sailor, flying by the waves on the wings of a white dove Time wages on, like waves raging on the coast It pulls and pushes like a memory of the old past The light tower is forever a guide to what we truly love most But the pulls between threads of a raging storm, a gloved hand, and the eternal sun will never last So here comes the memories of untold wishes of a thousand unsaid laughs Of the dam breaking, where it surges on with our hearts on poorly made rafts And now we’re at the edge of a long-begotten wish But like every card given by fate, the price we paid is as bountiful as the land’s giving rich A thousand sons and daughters lost to time Lives given, and blood spilled to make a world built by sorrows unend The threads have snapped, the boy who became the general is lost and there will be another who will die For the pearl of the sea, a dream that will become a reality will be our freedom to make amend, finally So there, look, when travelers are lost, the liars are gone, and the sun has set. And in our veins, the spark of revolution arises like when the sun and moon inevitably met. And there at the very edge, a star we can reach if we spread our wings and jump off the cliff. No longer are we dogs leashed and beaten with a stick and never eaten our fill Let us not fall from our rise of grace Let us not be a ship that sinks in the deep blue waves For we paint ourselves with the red of our blood, and the blue of the misery we face Let us sully the web that binds our wings, let us pierce the hearts of the heartless knaves And now the sun is sky high, the pearl is shown, and the sea is we This is now our freedom, our love, our unity Where we are Atlas that has knelt and risen Finally a river, free from its stone prison. The chains have been broken. The dreams of countless souls are now a certainty The scars of uncountable lashes, and the fear that we bear is now forsaken And here we are now, you and I, and that it shall forever be A sun, a star, a people, a home That is the fate, we carved in stone Our fate is ours, a story we write from beginning to end We shall not falter, we shall not break, and we shall never bend

- Sweet Nothings In The Library

"While I am not big with words, I am big and bold in my dreams and vision"

⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲⇱⇲

[casanovawrites]

SENTENCE PROMPTS FROM VARIOUS TV SHOWS

while we’re trying not to die, we still need to live.

dress code is creative black tie. 

in this world, you kill or you die. or you die and you kill.

people like us, we will never save enough lives to make up for the ones that we take.

i've always wanted to kill someone with my knitting needle.

when i'm with you, i feel like i am home.

you can save people’s lives, but you cannot save them from life.

i said i was fine, didn’t i?

i need a life away from death. we should all just let ourselves be a little boring again.

i stabbed him, and now he’s dead.

ew. don’t touch the dead body.

i don't know. just be hot.

my whole life has been defined by this crap. death, walking around blood.

being alone in life is making you a little weird.

from now on, we fuck everything up together.

i couldn’t be with someone who didn’t make me feel electric.

you were always mean when you got scared, you know that?

i know when you look at me, you don’t see someone you should be afraid of. but you’re wrong.

have you been practicing? or did you just suddenly get super human reflexes?

everyone lies a little. i lie.

women who knock rarely make history.

i get night terrors. i usually don’t remember them.

too nice a night to spend it dying slow, don’t you think?

i hope you find whatever it is you need.

don’t tell me i would be safer with someone else, because the truth is, i would just be more scared.

you’re with the bad guys. 

i don't want my life to be all about the worst parts of it. i have more to offer than that.

i think what you’re feeling right now is what it’s like right before you do something brave.

i am the bad guy, because i did a bad guy thing.

there aren’t going to be any good or bad guys, it’s either going to be dead or alive. i want to be alive, don’t you?

stay alive with me.

pushing things away never really worked for me.

escaping to your dreams is easier than living with your memories.

you’re so hot when you talk shit like that.

they were just assholes killed by other assholes.

it doesn’t matter how shitty they are. it still fucks you up when they’re gone.

i can’t just say i’m sorry. i feel like i have to do something.

i’m completely, totally panicking.

don’t choke. again.

every revolution begins with a spark.

i was in love. like out of my mind in love. what was i supposed to do?

we took a look, and what i saw was crazy.

people like me need people like you to save our asses. i need you.

you’re too smart to need anyone. it’s the smart ones who always survive.

i keep feeling like these pieces are missing. like there are holes in my memory.

no one doubts you.

i used to live around here.

blame yourself, fine. but that doesn’t mean you have to let it follow you around.

you took a risk. we took a risk, but it was the right thing to do.

i believe in you.

i don’t think i could ever get over you.

whenever i talk to you, i’m just happy. 

you haven’t changed.

i like beginnings. sunsets are like the end.

some things last forever. like a zombie.

DNA doesn’t make a family. love does. 

standing in front of you right now, it’s torture not being able to kiss you.

we need a plan. 

i know what it’s like. the numbness, the paranoia. sometimes i look at the world around me and it’s like all the light has just gone out of it.

this is a mixtape for the enemy?

now i get you forever.

you don’t grow. you rot.

what if the truth is that we’re all fucked in the head because of what happened to us?

who died? no seriously, who is this guy?

it’s not like i woke up today and thought i’d stab him to death.

i don’t want to be loved like this.

it’s just like riding a gross, really fucked up bike.

i can’t keep starting over because clearly it is not working.

it’s time we get our own shot at happiness.

you trust me to decide the rest of your life?

you have a sense of direction.

you don’t have to keep creating these tragic love stories.

you raised me from the dead. 

wait, you have a crush on me?

i’m so done with trying to be more. this is it. it should be enough.

maybe we can die alone together. 

if this is you broken, stay broken. 

i feel like i can’t say anything right to you at this point.

i mean, you already know i’m bad at lying.

paying attention to things, it’s how we show love.

you’re like a book, but still in the shrink-wrap. 

secrets are poison.

you can come from anywhere and still have a sad story.

sometimes miracles also have miseries.

shouldn’t you be taking it easy?

the woods don't give a shit.

everyone i have cared for has either died or left me.

are you so scared of failing you won’t even try?

you’re the best with the knife. clearly.

i lost everything, but i’m still trying.

do whatever you want to do. i’m done caring about you.

compassion don’t make me soft.

sometimes it’s important to say what you need to say face to face, so that the person can see that you really mean it.

you have the prettiest smile i’ve ever seen. your whole face just lights up.

[kostevysen]

Okay so, this is going to be one of my longer, more detailed posts. No, I don’t have anything personal against the previous anon (from this post), this is just me, and myself inside my head after thinking about it for a little bit. No, I’m not angry or upset that someone called me out for not giving the right/correct credits to my banner, honestly, I must applaud anon, who knows how many more weeks it would have taken me to notice?

TLDR: Kost goes on a long ramble about Traditional and Digital Art Theft.

(Though I would be very thankful if you’ll read through everything that I have to say.)

Anyway, let’s start.

To begin, let’s talk about Traditional Art Theft. And before anyone tries to get clever—no, it’s not like taking a pencil from a classroom or borrowing a book for a little too long. Traditional Art theft is on another level entirely. We’re talking about stealing someone’s time, effort, and, really, a piece of their soul. Dramatic? Maybe. True? Absolutely.

So, what’s the big deal? And I know I will repeat myself several times in this post. Why should anyone care if some rich person’s fancy painting gets nicked out of a gallery? It’s not like they’ll go hungry, right? Well, here’s the thing—art isn’t just for the rich, and it’s not just some “thing” on a wall. Art is personal. It’s an expression, a story, and sometimes even a protest. When someone spends weeks, months, or even years on a piece, pouring in every ounce of their energy, only to have it stolen—well, that’s not just robbery; it’s a complete disregard for the artist’s voice. That’s why I don’t support it. Not now, not ever. Even if I had accidentally committed such a deed, it is my duty to spread awareness, both for my misdeeds and to support artists of all kinds.

You see, when people steal art, they aren’t just taking a painting or a sculpture. They’re snatching away the artist’s ability to control their work’s legacy. And yeah, maybe the artist already got paid, but think about it: art doesn’t really belong to one person after it’s made, right? It’s shared, experienced, meant to inspire or provoke. Theft takes that away. The whole point of art is to be seen as it was meant to be seen—where the artist intended it, in the space they designed it for, under their terms. And if you can’t respect that, do you even get what art is?

Now, some people might say, “But isn’t art theft kind of romantic?” You know, the old heist movie trope, with the stealth and the tech and the thrill. No, it’s not romantic. It’s selfish. Every time a piece goes missing, the public loses access to it. Think of the paintings that sit in private collections, locked away from everyone. Those works were meant to be seen, discussed, maybe even argued over. Art can spark revolutions or quiet someone’s soul, but only if it’s out there. Keeping it hidden because you felt like taking it? That’s downright petty.

Onto what you’ve been waiting for, Digital Art Theft. Something I’ve accidentally done somewhat, and I’m not afraid of saying I am sorry for it.

Digital art is something that people seem to think they can just click, save, and claim as their own. Like it’s a recipe they found online or a song lyric they can throw into a caption. Spoiler alert: it’s not. Digital art theft is real, just like traditional art theft, it’s damaging, and I don’t support it either—not even a little.

People might think, “It’s just pixels, right?” Wrong. Digital art may not be a canvas you can touch, but that doesn’t make it any less valuable. Artists spend hours crafting these pieces. Just like traditional artists, they’re putting their skills, creativity, and vision into something that ends up on a screen. It’s not just a picture—it’s their work. And when someone comes along, screenshots it, reposts it, or even slaps it on merch without permission, it’s like slapping the artist in the face.

What’s worse is that digital art is especially vulnerable. Unlike a physical painting, which takes a lot of effort to steal, digital art can be copied with two clicks. That ease makes people forget (or ignore) that this is someone’s livelihood. And similarly to Traditional artists, digital artists often rely on commissions, views, and likes – metrics that help them get noticed, get work, and grow their audience. Stealing their art isn’t just disrespectful; it’s actively damaging their ability to make a living. Imagine working hard to get noticed, only to have someone else post your art on their page without credit. Suddenly, that work you put all your time and energy into is getting someone else’s likes, someone else’s comments, and they didn’t lift a finger to make it.

Let’s talk about credit, too, because some people think that a little “credit to the artist” makes it okay to repost. Here’s the thing—it doesn’t. Artists don’t just want credit; they deserve control over where and how their work is shared. A lot of digital artists post their work with watermarks, signatures, or specific dimensions. They set these boundaries because they want to protect their art. Taking that away is like ignoring the “Do Not Touch” sign in a museum and handling a priceless artifact just because you want a closer look. It’s selfish, plain and simple. Use your common sense to think about it.

Digital art is everywhere now, and that’s amazing. But with that visibility comes responsibility. If you like a piece, appreciate it, share it (if the artist allows it), support the artist, maybe even commission something. But don’t just take it. Digital art may exist on a screen, but it’s just as real as anything hanging on a gallery wall. And if we don’t start respecting it that way, we’re going to lose a lot more than just pretty pictures. We’ll lose the artists who create them.

So, in short, here’s why I don’t support art theft of both traditional and digital art– it is selfish, it is disrespectful, and it is harmful to everyone. Art is meant to be shared, appreciated, and experienced, not locked away by some entitled thief who thinks they know better than the artist who made it. If you can’t respect the work, then maybe art just isn’t for you. Because at the end of the day, every stolen piece is a loss for all of us—one less chance to connect, one less story to hear. If we don’t start respecting artists and their art, we risk not only losing amazing artwork but the artists themselves. Because why would anyone keep creating in a world that takes what they make without giving anything back? And if that doesn’t make you think twice, then maybe you need to check your own values.

Thanks for reading, I have no qualms if this blows up, this is my discussion, with myself, my head and a few different mutuals. If you want to send me hate (anon or whichever, once again, I'm not talking about the anon who made me realize my mistake in the first place) or argue about it, go ahead, I won't stop you, but be brave about it and explain why. You don't have to show yourself, you don't have to reveal who you are or feel embarrassed about it, you just have to be brave and explain. I won't mind. I appreciate criticism, I appreciate being called out for an honest mistake, or in my words "a silly little mistake I wouldn't have noticed without someone calling it out". Trust your gut feelings if something feels wrong, it can make a difference.

Please, check out this blog post, it holds a place in my heart.

Thank you once again for reading this. Have a great day/afternoon/evening!

[esotericfaery]

Pluto in Aquarius is Beginning Within my Uranus Opposition, and Here’s a Fun Aquarian Impression

Sometimes people wonder why I don’t talk much anymore about the news and truther stuff. It’s not my general focus anymore, and it’s time management. I’m not built for fighting with algorithms either. I do discuss that stuff in dm sometimes.

Pluto was last in Aquarius two-hundred years ago. He presided over the Industrial & French Revolutions, the American Civil War, and a period of intellectual-based focus called The Age of Enlightenment.

For now I can only sum up thoughts about Pluto (death, regeneration, rebirth) in Aquarius (humanitarianism, innovation, social and political co-ordination), over the next twenty years, what with Aquarius’ native association with Uranus (shock, independence, technology, long-term disruptive processing), as the following.

Yes, society will change in ways that many haven’t imagined, or even allowed themselves to consider that it might in their lifetimes.

With Aquarius for necessary hippie sensibility. Cause also, remember that there are still all of the other planets, asteroids, points, angles, and fixed stars. There are plenty of transits every year; plenty of opportunities for all of the beautiful things we’ve always enjoyed in life to continue, should we take wise actions - along with enjoyable new learning experiences.

You will be confronted with what have always seemed to you to be eccentric traditions and lifestyles, which you will be pushed to re-assess your attitudes and your actions in regards to.

Astrology is probability prediction. When we’re not assessing our probabilities in some way, and allowing emotional, spiritual and mental shell-shock to rule over us rather than living a conscious lifestyle, then at the end of each life, each spirit spark of the Divine has failed to resolve at least some of the collective karma which we were sent here to.

Transit examples: trines are just harmonic energies that we don’t have to do anything to benefit from (as long as we don’t allow them to make us complacent & lazy). Sextiles are similar to trines, only we do need to motivate ourselves just a little bit to benefit from them. They both help alongside the more difficult or intense aspects; squares, oppositions, and the most important, conjunctions.

That’s all I can really say about Pluto in Aquarius for now, from within these beginning years of my Uranus (which is in Scorpio in the 8th house) opposition.

Though I’m certain that Uranus will feature in future intimate spiritual diaries I share.

If anyones curious, both my Pluto and Aquarius are 7th house Libra. I also have prominent Libran midpoints.

My asteroid Lilith is in Aquarius and Pluto is in Libra, in the 7th house of one-on-one relationships of all types. Btw, the South Node, is only an angle holding early energies of this life, and not, as social media Astrology misinformation would have you believe, a moveable energy which rules past lives and should be worked with primarily for that purpose. Pluto is the director of the department of karma, including that of all lives. The entire natal chart has functions within karma.

Because, maaaaaan, damn the man. These rich little boomer Astrologers and their sun-sign-only-nonsense, you know what I’m saying man? If you can’t dig it, smoke a doob and let’s pretend your chart ruler conjuncts mine in the 9th house. Nah, I’m set, you go ahead. I don’t need to partake cause my chart ruler’s already Neptune. But I always carry for friends.

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 8.28

Holidays

Bow Tie Day

Crackers Over the Keyboard Day

Criminal Appreciation Day

Crumbs Between the Keys Day

Dream Day Quest and Jubilee

828 Day

Emerati Women’s Day (UAE)

Emmett Till Day

End of the Fairy Tale Day

Giving Black Day (a.k.a. Give 828)

Goldenrod Day

Gone-ta-Pott Day [every 28th]

Grandparents’ Day (Mexico)

Green Shirt Guy Day

Higalaay Festival (Cagayan de Oro, Philippines)

I Have a Dream Day

International Read Comics in Public Day

Makaton International Awareness Day

Manifest 828 Day

Mariamoba (Republic of Georgia)

National Bow Tie Day

National Grandparents Day (Mexico)

Native Hawaiian & Pacific Islander (NHPI) Equal Pay Day

National Over It Day

National Power Rangers Day

National Sport Sampling Day

National Thoughtful Day

Nativity of Nephthys (Egyptian Goddess of Love)

Race Your Mouse Around the Icons Day

Radio Commercial Day

Rainbow Bridge Remembrance Day

Russian Germans Day (Germany)

Scientific American Day

Significant Historical Events Day

Speeding Ticket Day

Tan Suit Day

Tom Thumb Locomotive Day

Watermelon Day (French Republic)

World Day of Turners Syndrome

Food & Drink Celebrations

National Cheese Sacrifice Day

National Cherry Turnover Day

National Red Wine Day

New England Apple Day

Stuffed Green Bell Peppers Day

Subway Sandwich Day

Independence & Related Days

Holy Empire of Reunion (Declared; 1997) [unrecognized]

Kingdom Proclamation Day (Montenegro)

Luana (Declared; 2019) [unrecognized]

Moldova (from USSR; 1991)

Ohio Empire (Declared; 2008) [unrecognized]

Popular Consultation Anniversary Day (East Timor)

4th & Last Wednesday in August

Hump Day [Every Wednesday]

La Tomatina (World’s Biggest Food Fight; Buñol, Spain) [4th Wednesday]

National Meals on Wheels Day (Australia) [Last Wednesday]

Tug-of-War Day [Last Wednesday]

Wacky Wednesday [Every Wednesday]

Website Wednesday [Every Wednesday]

Weird Wednesday [4th Wednesday of Each Month]

Whatever Wednesday [4th Wednesday of Each Month]

Whole Grain Wednesday [Last Wednesday of Each Month]

Willing-To-Lend-A-Hand Wednesday [Wednesday of Be Kind to Humankind Week]

Wishful Wednesday [Last Wednesday of Each Month]

Weekly Holidays beginning August 28 (4th Full Week of August)

Paralympic Summer Games (Paris, France) [thru 9.8]

Festivals Beginning August 28, 2024

Apollonia Festival of Arts (Sozopol, Bulgaria) [thru 9.7]

Best in the West Rib Cook-off (Sparks, Nevada) [thru 9.2]

Halifax Fringe Festival (Halifax, Canada) [thru 9.8]

Johnson County Fair (Clarksville, Arkansas) [thru 8.31]

La Tomatina (Buñol, Spain)

South Dakota State Fair (Huron, South Dakota) [thru 9.2]

Sweet Corn Festival (Millersport, Ohio) [thru 8.30]

Twin Falls County Fair and Magic Valley Stampede (Twin Falls County, Idaho) [thru 9.2]

Venice International Film Festival (Venice, Italy) [thru 9.7]

Walla Walla Fair & Frontier Days (Walla Walla, Washington) [thru 9.1]

Feast Days

Alexander of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Andraste (Celtic Book of Days)

Assumption Day [Roman Catholic] (a.k.a. ... 

Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Abkhazia)

Falling Asleep of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Canada)

Feast of the Assumption (Christian)

Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Anglican)

Ferragosto (Italy)

Dormition of the Most Holy Mother of God (Eastern Orthodox)

Mary, Mother of Our Lord (Lutheran)

The Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Sacred Heart)

Augustine of Hippo (Christian; Saint) [brewers] *

Ayyankali Jayanti (Kerala, India)

Constant Troyon (Artology)

Edmund Arrowsmith (Christian; Saint)

Edward Burne-Jones (Artology)

Feast of the Mother of God (Georgia, Macedonia, Serbia)

Festival for Luna (Ancient Rome)

Festival for Sol (Ancient Rome)

Festival of the Neon Revolution

First Onam (Rice Harvest Festival; Kerala, India)

Frank Gorshin Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Hermes of Rome (Christian; Saint)

Jack Kirby (Artology)

Jack Vance (Writerism)

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (Writerism)

John Betjeman (Writerism)

Julian (Christian; Saint)

Junipero Serra (Christian; Saint)

Kanō Motonobu (Artology)

L. B. Cole (Artology)

Marimba (Virgin’s Assumption; Georgia)

Mariotte (Positivist; Saint)

Media Aestas III (Pagan)

Michael Craig-Martin (Artology)

More Rum Day (Pastafarian)

Morris Graves (Artology)

Moses the Black (Christian; Saint)

Norse Harvest Festival (Everyday Wicca)

Pebble Memento Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Rita Dove (Writerism)

Robertson Davies (Writerism)

Tony Husband (Artology)

Uncle Norton the Elephant (Muppetism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Umu Limnu (Evil Day; Babylonian Calendar; 40 of 60)

Premieres

Animal Crackers (Film; 1930)

The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are, by Alan W. Watts (Spiritual Book; 1966)

Cain's Jawbone, by E. Powys Mathers (Novel/Puzzle; 1934)

Come Clean, by Puddle of Mudd (Album; 2001)

The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas (Novel; 1844)

Do the Evolution, by Pearl Jam (Animated Music Video; 1998)

54 (Film; 1998)

Flying Leathernecks (Film; 1951)

Gallipoli (Film; 1981)

Get Rich Quick Porky (WB LT Cartoon; 1937)

Honeymoon in Vegas (Film; 1992)

I Have a Dream, by Martin Luther King Jr. (Speech; 1963)

Let’s Get It On, by Marvin Gaye (Album; 1973)

Little Ol’ Bosko and the Cannibals (Happy Harmonies MGM Cartoon; 1937)

Lohengrin, by Richard Wagner (Opera; 1850)

Mary of Scotland (Film; 1936)

Mickey’s Follies (Disney Cartoon; 1929)

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers (TV Series; 1993)

Narcos (TV Series; 2015)

The New Mutants (Film; 2020)

Perri (Disney Film; 1957)

Personal, 19th Jack Reacher book, by Lee Child (Novel; 2014)

Pesty Guest (Chilly Willy Cartoon; 1965)

Phineas and Verb the Movie: Candace Against the Universe (Animated Film; 2020)

Pink Pranks (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1971)

Private Lessons (Film; 1981)

Q. Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!, by Devo (Album; 1978)

Rope (Film; 1948)

Sink or Swim (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1952)

Smile, by Katy Perry (Album; 2020)

Song of the Thin Man (Film; 1947)

Studio 54 (Film; 1998)

Tease for Two (WB LT Cartoon; 1965)

Travelling Without Moving, by Jamiroquai (Album; 1996)

The Truth About Mother Goose (Disney Cartoon; 1957)

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (Film; 1992)

Victoria (TV Series; 2016)

Walk This Way by Aerosmith (Song; 1975)

Yankee Doodle Bugs (WB LT Cartoon; 1954)

Today’s Name Days

Adelinde, Aline, Augustin (Austria)

Augustin, Tin (Croatia)

Augustýn (Czech Republic)

Augustinus (Denmark)

August, Gustav, Kustas, Kustav, Kusti, Kusto (Estonia)

Tauno (Finland)

Augustin, Elouan (France)

Adelinde, Aline, Augustin, Vivian (Germany)

Damon (Greece)

Ágoston (Hungary)

Agostino, Ermete (Italy)

Auguste, Guste, Ranna (Latvia)

Augustinas, Patricija, Steigvilė, Tarvilas (Lithuania)

Artur, August (Norway)

Adelina, Aleksander, Aleksy, Augustyn, Patrycja, Sobiesław, Stronisław (Poland)

Augustín (Slovakia)

Agustín (Spain)

Fatima, Leila (Sweden)

Agustin, August, Augusta, Augustina, Austen, Austin, Austina, Austyn, Gus, Gustava, Gustavo (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 241 of 2024; 125 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 3 of Week 35 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Coll (Hazel) [Day 26 of 28]

Chinese: Month 7 (Ren-Shen), Day 25 (Jia-Zi)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 24 Av 5784

Islamic: 22 Safar 1446

J Cal: 1 Gold; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 15 August 2024

Moon: 27%: Waning Crescent

Positivist: 17 Gutenberg (9th Month) [Worcester]

Runic Half Month: Rad (Motion) [Day 6 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 70 of 94)

Week: 4th Full Week of August

Zodiac: Virgo (Day 7 of 32)

Calendar Changes

Gold (Month 9 of 12; J Calendar)

[planetpixar]

Hi. I'm James. I worked for Pixar. I was not an animator. I am posting a Chapter from my upcoming book called "The Fall"

Have a read if you like.

Chapter 3: A galaxy, far far away

10 years old. San Francisco. A flickering screen pulsates with the now-iconic blue letters: "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..."  This wasn't just a movie; it was a portal. Twenty-one Fridays in a row, I found myself transported to that galaxy, mesmerized by the dazzling visuals, the thrilling adventure, and the timeless story.  Star Wars ignited a spark in me – a burning desire to create worlds, weave stories, and make audiences feel the magic of cinema.

Fast forward two decades.  I found myself in a different kind of wonderland – the Palo Alto Apple Store. The year was 2004, and I was a Mac Genius, a frontline soldier in the Apple revolution. Apple Retail was just beginning and the energy was electric, the technology cutting-edge.  Little did I know, my path would take an unexpected turn, one with echoes of that childhood dream ignited by a galaxy far, far away.

Steve Jobs, the visionary co-founder of Apple, was a frequent visitor to our store. Steve, and the head of Apple's Retail division, Ron Johnson, would stop by the store and make their way over to the Genius Bar every couple of weeks. Steve was incredibly intelligent and let me say that again, Steve was incredibly intelligent, and straightforward, and he had this way of looking through you and biting at you. If he asked one of us a question, which he often did, each one of us knew that the answer given had better be correct, concise, and articulate. In retrospect, I now know that Steve already knew the answer to the questions he asked. He wanted to see if we had the requisite knowledge to stand behind that Genius Bar. He wanted people that were not full of shit. We were the public face of Apple's Retail business and his passion for design, innovation, and creating delightful customer experiences was of the utmost importance. It was all that mattered. The slogan at Apple was surprise and delight, which was far beyond just going above and beyond. Steve wanted to return to retail and Mac Geniuses were the primary vehicles he used to achieve that aim.

His passion for the Apple Retail division reminded me of the spirit I witnessed onscreen in Star Wars. 

Working at Apple was an incredible experience, but the pull of that childhood dream remained strong.

Then, in 2006, fate intervened.  One of my customers, Erik Foreman, the Mac OS X team manager at Pixar, noticed my technical expertise and perhaps even a hint of that Star Wars-fueled passion in my eyes.  He saw potential and offered me an interview – not as a filmmaker (yet!), but as a Mac OS X Systems Administrator at Pixar Animation Studios. I accepted, and after three months of interviewing at Pixar, I was chosen.

Pixar, I soon discovered, had its connection to the galaxy far, far away.  Founded by John Lasseter and Ed Catmull, the studio emerged from Lucasfilm, the very birthplace of Star Wars.  It was a full-circle moment, a chance to be part of the creative legacy that had so inspired me as a child.

Walking through the doors of Pixar on my first day of employment, was like stepping onto a movie set, except the sets were real, alive with creativity and a playful spirit.  While I wasn't directly involved in animation, my role was crucial.  Maintaining the Mac OS X desktops, laptops, and servers ensured a smooth workflow for the talented artists, animators, and storytellers who brought these incredible worlds to life. I was still helping to build a galaxy, albeit a digital one.

Every day at Pixar was a reminder of the power of imagination and the pursuit of a dream.  It was also a masterclass in storytelling.  Witnessing the meticulous detail, the collaborative spirit, and the unwavering dedication to excellence that went into each frame was an education in itself.

Being at Pixar wasn't just a job; it was a return to that childhood spark, a chance to be a part of the magic I had witnessed on screen years ago. The next chapter will explore how the lessons learned at Pixar, coupled with the practice of mindfulness, empowered me to take the next step on my creative journey, and eventually my demise.

End of Chapter 3

Wanna read more? Chunk on the link

[nicklloydnow]

“You are taking over the rule of the world, and it makes you tremble with fear. For centuries to come, you will murder your friends and will hail as your masters the Führers of all peoples, proletarians and all the Russians. Day after day, week after week, decade after decade, you will praise one master after the other; and at the same time you will not hear the plaints of your babies, the misery of your adolescents, the longings of your men and women, or, if you hear them, you will call them bourgeois individualism. Through the centuries, you will shed blood where life should be protected, and will believe that you will achieve freedom with the help of the hangman; thus, you will find yourself again and again in the same morass. Through the centuries, you will follow the braggarts and will be deaf and blind when LIFE, YOUR LIFE, calls to you. For you are afraid of life, Little Man, deadly afraid. You will murder it, in the belief of doing it for the sake of "socialism," or "the state," or "national honor," or "the glory of God." There is one thing you don't know nor want, to know: That you yourself create all your misery, hour after hour, day after day; that you do not understand your children, that you break their spines before they have had a chance really to develop them; that you steal love; that you are avaricious and crazy for power; that you keep a dog in order also to be a "master." Through the centuries you will miss your way, until you and your like will die the mass death of the general social misery; until the awfulness of your existence will spark in you a first, weak glimmer of insight into yourself. Then, gradually and gropingly, you will learn to look for your friend, the man of love, work and knowledge, will learn to understand and respect him. Then you will begin to understand that the library is more important for your life than the prize-fight; a thoughtful walk in the woods better than parading; healing better than killing; healthy self-confidence better than national consciousness, and modesty better than patriotic and other yelling.

You think the goal justifies the means, even the vile means. You are wrong: The goal is in the path on which you arrive at it. Every step of today is your life of tomorrow. No great goal can be reached by vile means. That you have proven in every social revolution. The vileness or inhumanity of the path to the goal makes you vile or inhuman, and the goal unattainable.

"But how, then, shall I reach my goal of Christian love, of socialism, of the American constitution?" Your Christian love, your socialism, your American constitution lie in what you do every day, what you think every hour, in how you embrace your mate and how you experience your child, in how you look at your work as YOUR SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY, in how you avoid becoming like the suppressor of your life.

But you, Little Man, misuse the freedoms given you in the constitution in order to overthrow it, instead of making it take root in everyday life.

I saw you as a German refugee misuse Swedish hospitality. At that time, you were a would-be Führer of all the suppressed people on earth. You remember the Swedish institution of smörgasbord? Many foods and delicacies are spread out, and it is left to the guest what and how much he will take. To you, this institution was new and alien; you could not understand how one can trust human decency. You told me with malicious joy how you did not eat all day in order to gorge yourself on the free food in the evening.

"I have starved as a child," you say. I know, Little Man, for I have seen you starve, and I know what hunger is. But you don't know that you perpetuate the hunger of your children a million times when you steal smörgasbord, you would-be savior of all the hungry. There are certain things one just does not do: such as stealing silver spoons, or the woman, or smörgasbord in a hospitable home. After the German catastrophe, I found you half-starved in a park. You told me that the "Red Help" of your party had refused to help you because you could not show your party membership, having lost your party book. Your Führers of all the hungry distinguish red, white and black hungry people. But we know only one starving organism. This is the way you are in small matters.

And this is the way you are in big matters:

You set out to abolish the exploitation of the capitalist era and the disdain for human life, and to get recognition of your rights. For there was, a hundred years ago, exploitation and contempt for human life, and thanklessness. But there also was respect for great achievements, and loyalty for the giver of great things, and recognition of gifts. And what have you done, Little Man?

Wherever you enthroned your own little Führers, the exploitation of your strength is more acute than a hundred years ago, the disdain for your life is more brutal, and there is no recognition of your rights at all. And where you are still trying to enthrone your own Führers, every respect for achievement has disappeared and been replaced by stealing the fruits of the hard work done by your great friends. You don't know what recognition of a gift is, for you think you would no longer be a free American or Russian or Chinese, if you were to respect and recognize things. What you set out to destroy flourishes more vigorously than ever; and what you should safeguard and protect like your own life you have destroyed. Loyalty you consider "sentimentality" or a "petty-bourgeois habit," respect for achievement slavish boot-licking. You do not see that you are boot-licking where you should be irreverent and that you are ungrateful where you should be loyal.

You stand on your head and you believe yourself dancing into the realm of freedom. You will wake up from your nightmare, Little Man, finding yourself helplessly lying on the ground. For you steal where you are being given, and you give where you are being robbed. You confuse the right to free speech and to criticism with irresponsible talk and poor jokes. You want to criticize but you don't want to be criticized, and for this reason you get torn apart. You always want to attack without exposing yourself to attack. That's why you always shoot from ambush.

"Police! Police! Is his passport in order? Is he really a Doctor of Medicine? His name is not in WHO IS WHO, and the Medical Association fights him."

The police won't help here, Little Man. They can catch thieves and can regulate traffic, but they cannot get freedom for you. You have destroyed your freedom yourself, and go on destroying it, with an inexorable consistency. Before the first "World War," there were no passports in international travel; you could travel wherever you wished. The war for "freedom and peace" brought the passport controls, and they stuck to you like lice. When you wanted to travel some 300 kilometers in Europe, you first had to ask for permission in the consulates of some 10 different nations. And so it still is, years after the termination of the second war to end all wars. And so it will remain after the third and nth war to end all wars.” (p. 76 - 81)

[unpluggedfinancial]

How I Force-Fed the Orange Pill and Sent a Friend $50 in Bitcoin

Sometimes, the best way to help a friend is by giving them a push in the right direction—especially when it comes to understanding Bitcoin. Yesterday, I did just that. I crammed the orange pill down a friend's throat (figuratively, of course), made him download Coinbase, and sent him $50 in Bitcoin. Here's how it all went down and why I believe this is the start of something bigger for them.

The Backstory

My friend has always been skeptical of Bitcoin and cryptocurrencies in general. Like many, they've heard about Bitcoin, but the concept seemed too complex, risky, or downright unnecessary. Every time I tried to bring it up, I was met with the same response: "I just don't get it" or "Isn't that just a fad?" But I knew that with a little nudge, they could see the bigger picture.

The Orange Pill Moment

So, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Instead of trying to explain Bitcoin for the hundredth time, I made the decision to give them a taste of the real thing. I told them, "Download Coinbase, and I'll send you $50 in Bitcoin right now." It took a bit of convincing, but eventually, they relented. The key was making it easy for them to take the first step.

Sending the $50 in Bitcoin

Once they had Coinbase set up, I sent over $50 worth of Bitcoin. It wasn’t just about the money—it was about showing them the power of digital assets. That $50 was a tangible representation of the digital revolution happening before our eyes. It was a way to cut through the noise and give them something they could hold (digitally) and watch grow.

Why I Did It

Bitcoin isn't just another investment; it's a fundamental shift in how we think about money, value, and freedom. By giving my friend that $50 in Bitcoin, I wasn’t just sharing an asset—I was sharing a belief in a decentralized future where people have more control over their finances. I wanted them to experience the feeling of owning Bitcoin, even if just a small amount, and to see how it could change their perspective on money.

What Happens Next?

Will this friend dive deep into the Bitcoin rabbit hole? Only time will tell. But now, they have a stake in the game. They'll watch that $50 fluctuate, and with any luck, they'll start asking more questions, doing their own research, and eventually, they'll come to see what I and millions of others see in Bitcoin.

Conclusion

Sometimes, the best way to help someone understand Bitcoin is by showing them rather than telling them. By force-feeding my friend the orange pill and giving them a small amount of Bitcoin, I’ve planted a seed. Whether it grows into a full-fledged understanding of the Bitcoin revolution is up to them—but at least now, they’re on the path.

If you’ve got friends who are on the fence about Bitcoin, consider giving them a little push. After all, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step—or in this case, a single transaction.

Call to Action

Have you orange-pilled a friend? Share your experiences in the comments, or better yet, send them a little Bitcoin and see where it takes them. Let’s keep spreading the word and helping others see the light of financial freedom.

Take Action Towards Financial Independence

If this article has sparked your interest in the transformative potential of Bitcoin, there's so much more to explore! Dive deeper into the world of financial independence and revolutionize your understanding of money by following my blog and subscribing to my YouTube channel.

🌐 Blog: Unplugged Financial Blog Stay updated with insightful articles, detailed analyses, and practical advice on navigating the evolving financial landscape. Learn about the history of money, the flaws in our current financial systems, and how Bitcoin can offer a path to a more secure and independent financial future.

📺 YouTube Channel: Unplugged Financial Subscribe to our YouTube channel for engaging video content that breaks down complex financial topics into easy-to-understand segments. From in-depth discussions on monetary policies to the latest trends in cryptocurrency, our videos will equip you with the knowledge you need to make informed financial decisions.

👍 Like, subscribe, and hit the notification bell to stay updated with our latest content. Whether you're a seasoned investor, a curious newcomer, or someone concerned about the future of your financial health, our community is here to support you on your journey to financial independence.

[wildfallproject]

Campaign Summary's (2/4)

The following is a summary of a finished Campaign of D&D 5e which unfolded within Wildfall...

Wildfall Janus | 32 Sessions + Epilogue

Southern Armagh, temperate, gentle, caring, the land gave and the world took. The Rikash Empire, home of innovation and endless progress formed through the destruction of constant cultural conflict; the scattered peoples of the seven settlements attempted to find intellectual and philosophical happiness through domination of the land not unity. Opus Luminas, thought otherwise, and despite its almost guarantee to fail he offered the worlds leaders a chance to find real sanctuary as one. One Empire. He reasoned, rationed, and divided the lucrative south into beaurcratic systems, cultures diffused and ideals became the plight of one ruling class, a Council of leaders, some elected, some grandfathered. The ancient city of Riti, their awing Aeternum Institute and endless farm fields of the Redtile Ward offered to be the new states Capitol, now a symbol of what the whole continent may become. Bureaucratic levels govern every aspect of life in the city, allowing for the individual to dissolve into its orderly current. However, the current is beginning to show its wear in the old walls of Stone Ward, the forbidden word cut into its reliefs, “Change.” Some think it will come in a philosophical revolution, some think War is on the horizon. But change in Riti is subtle, hiding in the forgotten cracks with its people.

PC's (The Six of Hearts)

Pendragon (Fairytale Human, Glory Paly/Eldritch Fighter)

Silvestri (Tiefling, Twilight Cleric)

Azure (Kobold, Bladesinger Wizard)

Rook (Firbolg, Life Cleric/Mastermind Rogue)

Fiero (Fire Genasi, Phoenix Sorcerer)

Yennefer (High Elf, Eloquence Bard)

When a story ends what is made of its hero's? A question posed at the beging of the campaign. The Empire was promised to be a end of the chaos of the world, the levels of checks and balances ensuring the suffering to be a thing of the past. These characters stories should be over, retired, old, fated and/or doomed. However, fate has pulled them together, drawing them into a Temple to Dragsol now turned nightclub better known as the "Whispered Prayer." Someone has doubled crossed Rook, a once smuggler, who is now themselves double dipping their spying between the Silvereye Smugglers and Marble Consort Governors. The owner of the nightclub, the retired pit fighter Silvestri threatened to have their bar closed once and for all due to such a mishap; pissing off the wrong group of magical investigators, accidentally killing one in the process. This string of bad luck could be called just that, if it were not for the very real threat that has wormed their way into Riti, someone alighting the streets with destructive purpose, a person of destiny it may seem, Vea.

Through an exploration of the self, we turned our attention to the small fates of the small few, wading through the wake of grander fates. Vea, a powerful aasimar, sees themselves as a destroyer, told from birth they were made only for the purpose to hurt, even if they were to run from it or not. Passed that, The Empire has sparked a war with the growing magocracy of Axyindor to the North, bringing into question if the people are those that truly makes the decisions. Our small folk, the Six of Hearts, assist those just as small make their lives the slightest lighter. Heading to the ancestral homes of Azure, the industrialized Torval, and helping those there, family included, lead a proper campaign to succeed from the Empire in good faith. Returning home excited, a new force move overhead, the forgotten sins of the Empire home at last to see it ended.

Elsyvra, The Dustbowl Sovereign, or better known now as Elsie Sov, leader of the Baldur Sov Gang. An Ancient Amber Dragon who once considered herself the protector the Reith badlands, now here to make good a promise. To put down a dying Empire, so that its memory may live in envy not infamy, as a state meant to look up too and not to look down upon. And do, then came the time to make choices, to draw cards. So that The Six of Hearts may ask themselves one last question; are the gods really the ones pulling the strings, or is fate in the hands of those that simply try; or some combination of both.

[poemsbypel]

A Word From A Bird

By PEL

PEL. A Word From A Bird. (London, United Kingdom.) Acrylic.

Sound Effect of blackbird birdsong by Der_Sternfahrer from Pixabay.

Now here is a little and large poem Which we hope, in our hearts will find a home. And if we love it and give it our blessing, It will have the freedom, to roam and roam. Now, to bring it to life, with colour and sound, We found, it's meant to be read or sung aloud. For strange to us, as it may seem, We may get the feeling, we're talking to a crowd. We may get the feeling, we are talking to the unseen. For it carries its own hidden music and rhyme, Which seems to get better and louder in time.

And as we know, we all like good news, Because good news creates more good news. So we have taken care, to use kind and thoughtful words. We listened to our trees and we listened to our birds. We listened to the Oceans and to the free herds. We listened to the Fire, burning brightly. We listened to the Wind, blowing lightly. We listened to the Earth, day after day And here's what they, all have to say.

"Let's forgive the mistakes of the past And stop worrying about the future, For the die has been cast. Just live in the present, to see what it brings. For the times that are coming, will show us, Some amazing new things."

But first a big thank you for the paper, That carries this poem. For we must remind ourselves please, Who really pays without a murmur or a moan. It is not you or me, Nor the birds nor the fish in the seas, But rather, our courageous and caring, terrific trees. Though we give it little thought, our trees pay the price, Every single day, so let's be nice. Let's give them in this poem, one free page, For our fast oncoming Magical New Age. To listen to them, to let them have their say.

And though much of our World Is in such a big and scary shamble. It only takes one with courage, To take a little gamble. To believe the trees; To listen to the breeze within the leaves. And if we believe, their simple little message in this. We may find our life in time, could become just bliss. We may find, we might even fly like a bird. After all, it's only one colour, one note, one word. So why not try it. Test it out. We have nothing to lose, except our pain, And if we don't like it, we can throw it back out, Until we're ready, until it comes around again.

So now it's time, to clean up the Planet. Come on John, it's up to you and Janet. Let's start right now and begin to plan it. There's no time to wait for the rest. First we're going to end starvation, Then it's more conservation, re-forestation and preservation And that's just one solution. We’re so fed up with our own pollution. It's time for our gentle revolution. So come on, it's up to us, let's do our best.

And when we decide just to, let go our Hell, For those that have fallen, for those that fell. And when we decide to let go our fear and sorrow, To create for our children, a safe and happy tomorrow. And when, to our frightened and excited surprise, We begin at last to slowly realise, That sometimes, we are the Devil in disguise And sometimes, we are as bright as Angel's eyes. Then we can help us all, let go the war, As we learn and grow and have some fun, Like we know we did, many times before. After all most of us, are in the dark, travelling blind, Searching for that spark, which one day, we're bound to find, Waiting for our children, to discover their own happy pilgrim.

So attention Trees. Stand at ease God's Grace. Our Grace Hurray, thank you. Now we've had our say. And with no further ado, Here's our little Fairy Story, For us and for you.

PEL. Walpole Park. (London, United Kingdom.) Acrylic.

[wraithclatter]

Obscuring The Martyrs

The fruits of Aion's-old ritual slaughter,

Sacrificial massacres begin

To bud yawning awake in

So early an hour- The flesh

Throbs with the constellations

Made of every hand and ear

Tongue and nerves and brain;

Spinning orbits of flickering bodies,

Coded in it's magnetic attraction grabbing

Those marked-or branded,

Behavioral rhythms as the well of gravity

Inverse, constraining the animated spark,

The confounding of entanglement

In the screaming tapestry- Feverish

Beast-Slaves shuffling, tracing phantom

Foot-paths to the future.

In the Ram's eyes gleaming,

The mirror of the Black Star

Of Anti-patterned Chaos

With it's near-irrisistable seductiveness,

Stains of gore, of battle

Unfocused and territorial to the Ram's face.

The ancient violence of the fox-minded

Cannibals will wrought itself upon the bleating

Hearts of the Earth. Always there is

The cloud of sickness and poison rotting

Out through the Common-Crawlers

Displaying their pervasive saturation,

Deficiencies and maladaptions

Running their circuits in the

Majority of living bodies, becoming

Inflamed in their vicious disintegration,

Pecking at the liver of the confused forgetful

Tribes war-brained from constant strifes

Of interaction, of mingling. The body

Is an instrument, and should be tuned

As such, played as such.

You will know this when you

See through your eyes, and not

Simply with them. To hear through

Your ears, and not simply with them.

To feel the Unnameable,

And not simply numbness.

Obscuring the martyrs-

Their dharmic deeds suppressed,

Censured from the fury of the frenzy;

Seemingly burnt out, leaving only

Phantom cries of an abandoned camp

Held perched within cloud and blue clutches.

But golden with The Mana,

Pierce they, this fragile world

Like a shaft of sun into a murky puddle.

These are the martyrs who still sing silently

Yet deed is known without a voice.

The data is sown of necessity not choice.

Martyrs whose tapestry is the gleaming

Mediums federated and webbed

In the Jaws of Night,

The maw of Untropaeus, un-logic.

The limited space between all things,

Their refuge. Where no sheathed coil

May come to fully baptize themselves

In Incarnation. In those regions of The Dead,

The labyrinth's stringless path is known

By it's heart-beats- And it is these martyrs

Who acquaintance with that world

Is articulated in the intimate interplay

Of sweat and soil, flaming pupils and

Ghostly tread like the Preserver's

3-fated waltz: Empty demarcations

Of the Sole waiting like hungry womb

To be re-trod by worthy limbs.

(3/29/2024)

04/13/24-

Of those obscured Martyrs you may never hear about, or from, just as you may never see them, in person. You may come across their writing, or old symbols they used to advance their brothers and sisters. But their deeds enliven each moment of time as a solitary fact, and as a dynamical influence which shapes your life. Their quiet revolutions actually sing their manifest data each beaded second of your beating heart- their rosarys of inspiration hung like garlands upon your neck, wreath each thought and action in their spirit. You may never know fully of their presence until, one day, whether dimly or more resolutely, you might begin to compute their unionized augmentation of the world around you- and realize they had won the game from the beginning. Just as you have. That there seemed to be a game at all is only a peculiarity of the human mind. That no game, in truth, exists. Yet we make it so. And so the stag-hunt commences all the same: the game-hounds yelping through the trees, mist-clad underbrush anticipating their foot-treads, and the wild and silent king and retinue fly past, horses aflame, while in the distance geese take flight and trumpet the approach of the party.

[fallensnowfan]

Chapter 1099. The chapter was mainly dedicated to showing events we already knew happened, not a groundbreaking chapter by any means, though it does well to tie things back to the present day.

Full post below the cut.

Hi Oden, nice hairstyle! I imagine it takes a lot of maintenance, good thing the Tanuki Triad are on the job! Love seeing the Wano cast on fan requested cover pages. There's something funny about the chapter title being "Pacifist," then an image of Oden right below. A man known for his extreme love of fighting.

In the chapter proper, we see Kuma obtaining his "tyrant" title and becoming a pirate, Dowager Connie, the beginning of Kuma's cyborgification and why VP moved to a new lab, all stuff we could reasonably figure was going to be shown before this flashback's conclusion. What I'm more interested in is Bonney eating her devil fruit not being seen, her Sapphire Scale being cured, and Abdullah and Jeet appearing.

Ooh, the narrator boxes talking about the "Solo Revolution of Sorbet Kingdom," and focus on newspaper articles not being an accurate reflection of the events are a good seed for how things may play out on Egghead in present day too. I bet Morgans wrote that article.

Belo Betty appearance! Her talking about filling the position in the RA Ginny had reminds me of the second division commander spot on Whitebeard's crew remaining vacant for so long. Oden and Ace. Kuma being a figure head for King Bulldog, and Bonney imitating Connie work in some nice ideas about roles too.

Vegapunk is a miracle worker to have cured Bonney, if a bit aloof about how some of his inventions are used, and how easily he's willing to stray into less savory aspects of science. Kind of guy Iceburg would likely hate. Not going to stray off into a side tangent here though.

Bonney being cured! I am glad she isn't a clone, and just gets to be Bonney, the only Bonney. Clone stuff was starting to feel overplayed, I like her being cured much more. And her playing on Sentomaru's axe is adorable.

The technique VP applied to cure Bonney seemingly relies on lineage factor stuff, which has me thinking about the Smile fruits. Toko and the others being able to experience genuine joy by the end of the series, would just be so thematically resonate that I'd be very surprised if it didn't happen in the future. Then Bonney eating her devil fruit being an event we don't see reminds me of Kin and Raizo having done the same, and the potential that Monet's devil fruit may still be around somewhere. Abdullah and Jeet are a nice little reminder of the Grand Fleet, who I'm still calling to appear soon, which includes the Kozuki Clan now. They don't all need to arrive, though I think one or two will be here.

Let's get into what happens during every 100th chapter milestone.

100 - The East Blue crew state their dreams and head towards the Grand Line.

200 - Luffy gets some good attacks against Crocodile.

300 - Party on Skypiea after the battle has concluded.

400 - Crashing the Rocket Man into Enies Lobby.

500 - Rayleigh's introduction and the crew searching for Camie.

600 - The crew reuniting at Sabaody.

700 - Arriving in Dressrosa, beginning the plan to bring down Kaido.

800 - Formation of the Grand Fleet.

900 - Bad End Musical.

1000 - Luffy knocks down Kaido with a Red Roc.

That's a fairly wide range of events, though the crew are always involved in each 100th chapter, often working towards some goal and or being involved in something that sparks some big emotions. The groundwork is definitely there for 1100 to return the focus back to Egghead, a grand victory over Saturn and the fleet surrounding the island would fit in nicely with previous 100th chapter markers. I'm excited for 1100!