#grant me solace and enrichment

[rraaaarrl]

i must follow the right people because with all the tumblr rap discourse floating around, I have yet to see a post on my dash actually saying they don't listen to rap or whatever, just posts about those tumblr users with limited tastes in music lmao. 👍

[cielettosa]

The Attack on Titan anime did better job than the manga:

As a devoted fan of Attack on Titan, both the series and its manga, I must emphatically assert that the anime transcended the source material in certain key aspects. It's not about drastic alterations, but rather the subtle nuances that granted the anime a heightened level of clarity.

In the manga, there were lines that managed to infuriate the readers. Take, for instance, that moment when Armin expressed gratitude to Eren "for being a mass murderer for our sakes." It was a glaring misfit with Armin's genuine sentiments about the Rumbling. However, the anime rectified this by replacing it with the poignant dialogue about their reunion in the afterlife. Notably, the manga seemed less explicit about the fact that Eren "had no choice," leaving room for substantial criticism regarding his actions, his tears for Mikasa, the tragic demise of his mother, and the grim reality of only eliminating 80% of humanity. The anime, on the other hand, masterfully conveyed the inescapable nature of Eren's path, illuminating that no matter how hard he struggled, the outcome remained unchanged. Those like me who harbored disdain for the manga's conclusion primarily had their qualms rooted in the dialogue of that pivotal chapter. It's baffling that the "10 years at least" line persisted, but I digress, for the anime handled this with remarkable finesse.

I won't claim to adore the ending, but neither do I hate it. The anime, through its presentation, managed to mitigate some of the cringe factor, and the music, as always, elevated the emotional depth. It faithfully adhered to the source material, whether we found solace in its culmination or not. It's a testament to the anime's prowess that it took the source material and, for better or worse, enriched the experience.

[bohoteacher]

Life Lessons from Aziraphale

(My whole life books have been my solace, my friends, my parents and my guides. This character has been with me for decades until he has become a part of me. I grant that our angel is an imperfect being, but I have learned much from him and his choices. Lessons that have helped me change my life in positive ways. And that means something...fictional character or not)

Embrace Your individuality: Aziraphale is quirkily, unapologetically himself. Whether through showing his love of prestidigitation, learning French the hard-way, or lack of enjoyment in "be-bop" he is always uniquely his own quirky self. This encourages us to embrace our own individuality and be true to ourselves.

Value Lifelong Learning & Curiosity: Aziraphale's love of books and knowledge highlights that he values lifelong learning. Continually seeking knowledge and understanding enriches our lives far beyond the physical plane of our existence.

Appreciate the Small Things in Life: Aziraphale enjoys simple pleasures such as music, tea, good food, and books. Enjoying small joys can lead to a more fulfilling life.

Compassion Helps Us Learn & Grow: Although he still has a long way to go to undo his early programming; he changes and grows through love, caring and compassion. Showing compassion and keeping an open mind toward what one clearly does not understand (such as Aziraphale's lack of understanding of resurrectionists) is an important part of being human and being fallible.

Embrace the Journey: Aziraphale millennia-long journey on earth has been filled with ups and downs, yet he finds meaning and joy in the journey itself. This teaches us to embrace our own journeys finding value in the experiences and growth along the way.

working on one for Crowley....

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Friday, February 10, 2023

february 10_february 28

St EPHRAIM THE SYRIAN (373)

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me a spirit of despondency, sloth, love of money, and idle talk. But give to me, your servant, a spirit of sober-mindedness, humility, patience, and love. Yes, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own sins and not to judge my brother, since you are blessed to the ages. Amen.( St Ephrem the Syrian) 

Saint Ephraim the Syrian, a teacher of repentance, was born at the beginning of the fourth century in the city of Nisibis (Mesopotamia) into the family of impoverished toilers of the soil. His parents raised their son in piety, but from his childhood he was known for his quick temper and impetuous character. He often had fights, acted thoughtlessly, and even doubted God’s Providence. He finally recovered his senses by the grace of God, and embarked on the path of repentance and salvation.

Once, he was unjustly accused of stealing a sheep and was thrown into prison. He heard a voice in a dream calling him to repent and correct his life. After this, he was acquitted of the charges and set free.

The young man ran off to the mountains to join the hermits. This form of Christian asceticism had been introduced by a disciple of Saint Anthony the Great, the Egyptian desert dweller Eugenius.

Saint James of Nisibis (January 13) was a noted ascetic, a preacher of Christianity and denouncer of the Arians. Saint Ephraim became one of his disciples. Under the direction of the holy hierarch, Saint Ephraim attained Christian meekness, humility, submission to God’s will, and the strength to undergo various temptations without complaint.

Saint James transformed the wayward youth into a humble and conrite monk. Realizing the great worth of his disciple, he made use of his talents. He trusted him to preach sermons, to instruct children in school, and he took Ephraim with him to the First Ecumenical Council at Nicea (in the year 325). Saint Ephraim was in obedience to Saint James for fourteen years, until the bishop’s death in 338.

After the capture of Nisibis by the Persians in 363, Saint Ephraim went to a monastery near the city of Edessa. Here he saw many great ascetics, passing their lives in prayer and psalmody. Their caves were solitary shelters, and they fed themselves with a certain plant.

He became especially close to the ascetic Julian (October 18), who was of one mind with him. Saint Ephraim combined asceticism with a ceaseless study of the Word of God, taking from it both solace and wisdom for his soul. The Lord gave him a gift of teaching, and people began to come to him, wanting to hear his counsel, which produced compunction in the soul, since he began with self-accusation. Both verbally and in writing, Saint Ephraim instructed everyone in repentance, faith and piety, and he denounced the Arian heresy, which at that time was causing great turmoil. Pagans who heard the preaching of the saint were converted to Christianity.

He also wrote the first Syriac commentary on the Pentateuch (i.e. “Five Books”) of Moses. He wrote many prayers and hymns, thereby enriching the Church’s liturgical services. Famous prayers of Saint Ephraim are to the Most Holy Trinity, to the Son of God, and to the Most Holy Theotokos. He composed hymns for the Twelve Great Feasts of the Lord (the Nativity of Christ, the Baptism, the Resurrection), and funeral hymns. Saint Ephraim’s Prayer of Repentance, “O Lord and Master of my life...”, is recited during Great Lent, and it summons Christians to spiritual renewal.

From ancient times the Church has valued the works of Saint Ephraim. His works were read publicly in certain churches after the Holy Scripture, as Saint Jerome tells us. At present, the Church Typikon prescribes certain of his instructions to be read on the days of Lent. Among the prophets, Saint David is the preeminent psalmodist; among the Fathers of the Church, Saint Ephraim the Syrian is the preeminent man of prayer. His spiritual experience made him a guide for monastics and a help to the pastors of Edessa. Saint Ephraim wrote in Syriac, but his works were very early translated into Greek and Armenian. Translations into Latin and Slavonic were made from the Greek text.

In many of Saint Ephraim’s works we catch glimpses of the life of the Syrian ascetics, which was centered on prayer and working in various obediences for the common good of the brethren. The outlook of all the Syrian ascetics was the same. The monks believed that the goal of their efforts was communion with God and the acquisition of divine grace. For them, the present life was a time of tears, fasting and toil.

“If the Son of God is within you, then His Kingdom is also within you. Thus, the Kingdom of God is within you, a sinner. Enter into yourself, search diligently and without toil you shall find it. Outside of you is death, and the door to it is sin. Enter into yourself, dwell within your heart, for God is there.”

Constant spiritual sobriety, the developing of good within man’s soul gives him the possibility to take upon himself a task like blessedness, and a self-constraint like sanctity. The requital is presupposed in the earthly life of man, it is an undertaking of spiritual perfection by degrees. Whoever grows himself wings upon the earth, says Saint Ephraim, is one who soars up into the heights; whoever purifies his mind here below, there glimpses the Glory of God. In whatever measure each one loves God, he is, by God’s love, satiated to fullness according to that measure. Man, cleansing himself and attaining the grace of the Holy Spirit while still here on earth, has a foretaste of the Kingdom of Heaven. To attain to life eternal, in the teachings of Saint Ephraim, does not mean to pass over from one realm of being into another, but rather to discover “the heavenly,” spiritual condition of being. Eternal life is not bestown on man through God’s one-sided efforts, but rather, it constantly grows like a seed within him by his efforts, toils and struggles.

The pledge within us of “theosis” (or “deification”) is the Baptism of Christ, and the main force that drives the Christian life is repentance. Saint Ephraim was a great teacher of repentance. The forgiveness of sins in the Mystery of Repentance, according to his teaching, is not an external exoneration, not a forgetting of the sins, but rather their complete undoing, their annihilation. The tears of repentance wash away and burn away the sin. Moreover, they (i.e. the tears) enliven, they transfigure sinful nature, they give the strength “to walk in the way of the the Lord’s commandments,” encouraging hope in God. In the fiery font of repentance, the saint wrote, “you sail yourself across, O sinner, you resurrect yourself from the dead.”

Saint Ephraim, accounting himself as the least and worst of all, went to Egypt at the end of his life to see the efforts of the great ascetics. He was accepted there as a welcome guest and received great solace from conversing with them. On his return journey he visited at Caesarea in Cappadocia with Saint Basil the Great (January 1), who wanted to ordain him a priest, but he considered himself unworthy of the priesthood. At the insistence of Saint Basil, he consented only to be ordained as a deacon, in which rank he remained until his death. Later on, Saint Basil invited Saint Ephraim to accept a bishop’s throne, but the saint feigned madness in order to avoid this honor, humbly regarding himself as unworthy of it.

After his return to his own Edessa wilderness, Saint Ephraim hoped to spend the rest of his life in solitude, but divine Providence again summoned him to serve his neighbor. The inhabitants of Edessa were suffering from a devastating famine. By the influence of his word, the saint persuaded the wealthy to render aid to those in need. From the offerings of believers he built a poor-house for the poor and sick. Saint Ephraim then withdrew to a cave near Edessa, where he remained to the end of his days.

St ISAAC THE SYRIAN, BISHOP OF NINEVEH (7th c.)

Saint Isaac the Syrian, Bishop of Ninevah, lived during the sixth century. He and his brother entered the monastery of Mar Matthew near Ninevah and received the monastic tonsure. His learning, virtue, and ascetic manner of life attracted the notice of the brethren, and they proposed that he head the monastery. Saint Issac did not want this burden, preferring a life of silence, so he left the monastery to live alone in the desert.

His brother urged him more than once to return to the monastery, but he would not agree. However, when the fame of Saint Isaac’s holy life had spread, he was made Bishop of Ninevah. Seeing the crude manners and disobedience of the inhabitants of the city, the saint felt that it was beyond his ability to guide them, and moreover, he yearned for solitude.

Once, two Christians came to him, asking him to settle a dispute. One man acknowledged that he owed money to the other, but asked for a short extension. The lender threatened to bring his debtor to court to force him to pay. Saint Isaac, citing the Gospel, asked him to be merciful and give the debtor more time to pay. The man said, “Leave your Gospel out of this!” Saint Isaac replied, “If you will not submit to Lord’s commandments in the Gospel, then what remains for me to do here?” After only five months as bishop, Saint Isaac resigned his office and went into the mountains to live with the hermits. Later, he went to the monastery of Rabban Shabur, where he lived until his death, attaining a high degree of spiritual perfection.

From the early eighth century until the beginning of the eighteenth century, nothing was known about Saint Isaac of Syria in Europe except for his name and works. Only in 1719 was a biography of the saint published at Rome, compiled by an anonymous Arab author. In 1896, more information on Saint Isaac came to light. The learned French soteriologist Abbot Chabot published some eighth century works on Syrian history by Iezudena, bishop of Barsa, where the account of Saint Isaac the Syrian was found.

Source, all texts: Orthodox Church in America_OCA

MARK 14:3-9 

3 And being in Bethany at the house of Simon the leper, as He sat at the table, a woman came having an alabaster flask of very costly oil of spikenard. Then she broke the flask and poured it on His head.4 But there were some who were indignant among themselves, and said, "Why was this fragrant oil wasted? 5 For it might have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor. And they criticized her sharply. 6 But Jesus said, "Let her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a good work for Me. 7 For you have the poor with you always, and whenever you wish you may do them good; but Me you do not have always. 8 She has done what she could. She has come beforehand to anoint My body for burial. 9 Assuredly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be told as a memorial to her.

1 JOHN 2:7-17 

7Brethren, I write no new commandment to you, but an old commandment which you have had from the beginning. The old commandment is the word which you heard from the beginning. 8 Again, a new commandment I write to you, which thing is true in Him and in you, because the darkness is passing away, and the true light is already shining. 9 He who says he is in the light, and hates his brother, is in darkness until now. 10 He who loves his brother abides in the light, and there is no cause for stumbling in him. 11 But he who hates his brother is in darkness and walks in darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes. 12 I write to you, little children, Because your sins are forgiven you for His name's sake. 13 I write to you, fathers, Because you have known Him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, Because you have overcome the wicked one. I write to you, little children, Because you have known the Father. 14 I have written to you, fathers, Because you have known Him who is from the beginning. I have written to you, young men, Because you are strong, and the word of God abides in you, And you have overcome the wicked one. 15 Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. 16 For all that is in the world-the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life-is not of the Father but is of the world. 17 And the world is passing away, and the lust of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever.

[canarycolemine]

Arrival of Ostara

(picture from pinterest) 

Summary: Sister Evie is a gentle and nurturing Sister of Sin. As the end of year examinations arrive, Evie confronts her lack of lustful activities and her future role in the Church of Satan.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45830722/chapters/115341139

my first fic :*) 

Word Count: 3284

________________________________________________________________

Chapter One:

Springtime at the ministry arrived like a warm embrace. Mornings still cold enough to make a Sibling of Sin remain in the comfort of their bed; afternoons just warm enough to tickle their skin so pleasantly. Comfortable, pleasant, nestled in between in the extreme seasons.

All the less pleasant was the yearly exams. All lower level clergy members were required to pass 4 years worth of exams in order to be officially advanced in the clergy. After the first year, most novices would expect to be fully baptized, given they were over the age of 21. In addition to the tasks, jobs and chores each sibling was assigned, studying for exams could inspire sloth in even the most faithful.

For the two weeks leading to exams, the Abbey was eerily quiet - haunted even. The infirmary had a historically low week of condom distribution. Siblings of Sin huddled in the libraries into the even quieter hours of the night. Meals kept simple to lessen the load on the siblings assigned to kitchen duties. Sister Imperator was even gracious to the sisters of the infirmary to grant them reduced hours; graduated siblings assumed more menial tasks all to the betterment of the younger ones.

A sense of dread followed the third year siblings during these deceptively sweet weeks of spring. It was well known that the third year test was by far the most difficult. Latin, Demonology, History of the Occult, and Numbers and the Mystic Virtues Index, by far more topics than any year, by far the most challenging. While the ministry did not hold individuals back from living in the Dark Faith due to poor grades, they certainly improved a siblings’ chances of promotion within the faith and ability to participate in advanced rituals.

Sister Eve and her fellow pack of third year sisters followed suit to the feeling of dread. Evie, as she preferred to be called, had the highest marks of any fellow sibling in her year. Whatever pride she felt from her work, she did her best to help tutor her sisters and brothers. Her teaching was supportive and kind; she believed in the innate intelligence of all of her siblings, regardless of their performance on exams. She believed in the good of the flock.

This year’s exam period, however, was different. How Evie wished could have felt the sweet morning sun warm her skin for early morning studying, how she wished she could sit with a fellow sibling to help them understand all manner of dark arts, and more than all, she wished she could give back to her beloved church.

She nearly sobbed asking Sister Imperator to reduce her hours at the infirmary; Evie loved to nurture other siblings back to health. She also loved hearing all the juicy details of their lustful escapades, in what she described her favorite reality television show - “Sex Sent Me to the Ministry’s ER.” She was far too shy in intimate affairs to seek out lust of her own. At least, that’s what she told everyone. So, she kept those intimate secrets in a darker part of her mind, only to be brought out in the solace of her bedroom at night. Quietly, she would sliver her hand down to her most private places to pretend she, too, shared the sweet sin. She did not want to admit it, but she felt envy at the others.

But at least during exam season, Evie wouldn’t have to dwell on the enriching stories her fellow sisters gave her.

The days were long, the nights even longer. Heaviness set in the young siblings’ eyes, more each day. Evie was no expectation, despite her standings in grades.

The night before the exams were to begin, the third year siblings gathered in the library’s study rooms, holding each other accountable to go to bed at a reasonable time.

“I feel like I haven’t fucked in ages. I’m getting all antsy!” Sister Francesca blurted out during a break. “Going this long without an orgasm makes me feel like I’m gonna burst.”

“You haven’t even, um, ‘taken care of business’ by yourself, Frankie?” Evie questioned.

“We share a room, Evie, you would know if I ‘took care of business.’” Francesca teased back.

“I suppose that’s true.”

The group sat in the ever darkening room for a few moments, simply enjoying the stillness.

“When all the exams are done, I’m running tits first to Papa III’s office. I don’t care if he’s in a meeting, on the phone, or communing with Satan, he’s gonna fuck the smart right out of me.” Franceseca sighed out.

Fellow sisters mumbled their agreements.

“He’s gonna run out of sperm, poor guy.” Sister Katie shook her head. “Cause he’s gonna have to fuck us all.” A pause. “Maybe except Evie.”

Evie suddenly looked sadly at Katie, “Huh? I’m not a hottie?” She jutted out her lower lip to hide her slightly hurt feelings.

“No, no Evie, you’re a total hottie. But you know what I mean, you don't have sex, it's no big deal, right?.” Katie reassured, taking a sip of her water. She cleared her throat. “I mean, anyone would have sex with you, but you just, you know, never ask anyone.”

“Don’t think Papa III wouldn’t fuck you, too. I know he would! I’ve seen the way Papa III looks at you, Evie. He practically drooled over the desk, when you read your poem about Eve last month.” Frankie chimed in. “If I remember correctly, he said something along the lines of ‘Ah! Sorella, such a sweet story about the mother of sin, Eve, just like-a you! You could take a bite of me, like I was the apple that led you astray.’' Frankie said with her strongest Italian accent, with a gratuitous amount of chef’s kiss hand gestures.

Evie chuckled at the memory. “Yes, I do recall the look in his eyes when I spoke about Eve and the serpent sharing an, ahem, intimate moment.”

“But after class, we walked out together. Papa asked you to spend the evening with him, but you said no!” Katie interjected.

“Hey!! But I also said that you were free for the evening, and if I recall correctly, I heard you screaming his name from the sibling’s dorms basically all night.”

“Oh, I remember, and thank you for that. '' Katie said with a smile, her serious demeanor returned. ”But my point still stands: we all know you want to fuck and that is certainly in no short supply here.”

“Fair enough.” Evie breathed out. “I guess, I don’t know, I’ve been busy? Okay, maybe that’s a lie. But I am busy.” Starting an internal debate in her mind, clearly showing by the rapidly changing facial expressions, Evie continued. “I don’t know. I guess I want to wait for the moment to be right, with the right person. I love Papa III, but I just don’t know if that’s right.” In her heart, she knew exactly who was the right person, but her mind knew she could never say it out loud.

“Well, you think on that, hon.” Frankie said with a yawn. “In the meantime, I think if Numbers of the Mystic Index isn’t ingrained in our brains by now, it probably never will be. I vote we call it a night, and leave it in Satan’s hands.”

The group nodded in agreement. Sleep would be for the best, even if it never came.

Not a single third year sibling slept more than a few minutes that night. Morning arrived painfully, each sibling aware of its presence and their lack of sleep.

The third years silently made their way to the dining hall for a zoned out breakfast. Blank stares, hot coffee. If not for lack of sleep, most siblings would certainly be having some form of anxiety attack.

Evie, herself, recalled sitting down with a full plate of food and then she looked down to an empty plate, what felt like mere moments later. She had no recollection of eating, only knowing a full feeling in her stomach.

It was going to be a long day.

And a long day it was! An exam, lasting no less than six hours, filled the day.

The night was filled with slightly more sleep and a slightly less full feeling brain. The next three days were much the same. The group of sisters shared no words, simply silenced by lack of sleep and overworking of their brains.

The final exam was on Numbers of the Mystic Index, by far the most complicated subject. Walking out of the exam in the twilight of the day, many third years shared silent, exacerbated facial expressions that simply said “why the fuck was that exam the last one?”

Brains empty, bodies nearly giving out. All of the abbey’s students proceed to their dormitories. They would be celebrating the end of their exams, as they had planned, but no sibling was in a state to continue being awake.

The upper clergy was gracious to suspend the typical morning wake up call for the students, in a celebration of the end of exams. Most siblings slept dreamlessly through the night, waking up according to their bodies' satisfaction.

Evie came into consciousness slowly, peering over at Francesca, who was similarly coming to.

“Frankie?”

“Ungh?”

“Do you wanna know what my favorite sin will be today?”

“Ungh?”

“That’s right. Sloth.”

“Ungh.” Frankie grunted before drifting back into a patterned breathing, slipping back into sleep.

The morning was peaceful. Most siblings were able to take in the soft spring sun for the first time in the season. The birds of the abbey cheerfully sang, as laughter and chatting filled the old walls once again.

Evie took the opportunity to walk by herself throughout the property. Walking over to the gardens, smelling the new blooms. It was nearly noon when she made her way back inside. She wandered the various halls of the abbey. Mindlessly, she walked through the upper clergy office. She found a large bay window that could oversee most of the abbey’s expansive property - the gardens, the square, the forest lawn where most siblings sat under the trees, now at ease. She let out a breath that felt like it was kept in for a fortnight. She was at home.

“Sister Eve!” boomed a domineering, feminine voice behind Evie.

Evie snapped her head to follow the sound of the call. Sister Imperator was standing on the staircase next to the window. Evie curtseyed politely to her superior.

“Hello Sister!” she smiled at the older woman. Sister Imperator was a hardened woman, but little Evie always melted a part of her heart. She could never be too harsh to Evie.

“Evie,” Imperator corrected herself, to address the inferior by her preferred nickname. It suited her better anyway. “How are you doing, following your exams?”

“Better now that they’re finished. I feel like I can breathe again.” Evie chuckled. “But by Lucifer, that Numbers exam nearly sent me to the grave.” Evie attempted to joke. When Imperator didn’t respond or laugh in return, Evie flashed a large toothy smile.

Again, Imperator broke her hardened façade at the sweet sibling. “Oh Evie, what are we going to do with you?”

Evie relaxed. She was somewhat aware of the effect she had on Imperator, although she was not aware of how dearly she was regarded by the older woman.

“Now, Evie, I understand that you are taking the day to recover. However, we did need to have a discussion with you, immediately.” Sister suddenly serious.

“We?” Evie tilted her head.

From behind her, Papa I appeared. His aged face, freshly painted in papal fashion.

“Oh! Hello Papa!” Evie said kindly.

Followed quickly, Papa II appeared. His harsher skull paint made him look all the more intimidating.

“Hello Papa!” Evie said, undeterred by the imposing man.

Imperator grinned at the girl, as Papa III strutted into view, his dandy features enhanced by the sharpness of his papal paints.

“Hello Papa!” Evie’s smile, ever growing.

Her superiors fondly gazed down at her from the top of the staircase, each quietly chuckling to themselves. The new Papa IV appeared, face painted as a rat’s skull.

“Hello Papa!” Evie continued her sweet cadence.

“Hello Eve!” The four men smiled at her.

Evie looked at Sister Imperator before focusing back on the leaders of the church. “You can call me Evie, that’s what my friends call me!”

“Ah, Evie! That is what they call you, I remember.” Papa I said nearly to himself. “A pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance, Sister.” A small nod of acknowledgement from Papa II at the new name. Evie could almost see a ghost of a grin appearing on the older man’s face.

“Thank you, your Dark Excellencies, the very same to you!” Evie politely returned.

“Mio fratello, I know this one! She gave an excellent oral presentation not long ago. I had the privilege of seeing it first hand.” Papa III winked at Evie, the innuendo not lost on him. “A poem, I should say, for her prose project. Simply remarkable work.”

Papa IV smiled, but he remained quiet, eyes transfixed on the sister below.

Evie scrunched her nose at the compliment but smiled nevertheless. “Thank you, Papa!”

“Thanks is mine, little one.”

Sister Imperator cleared her throat, indicating a transition in discussion “Now Evie, we needed to speak with you. Would you be able to meet with us now?”

“I suppose that depends, Sister” Evie gazed, wide eyed at her. “Do you have tea?”

“Yes, we have tea, Evie.”

“Okay, I could be persuaded.”

“Come along, then, follow us.”

Evie made her way up the stairs, her heart rate growing faster by the moment. She had never been this close to any of the other Papas, let alone speak with any of them privately. A simple nod at mass, or Papa III’s attempt at seducing her - all public niceties.

Finally at the top of the stairs, Evie was eye level with the highest clergymen of the church. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. Looking to the ground, slightly overwhelmed by the realization, her small smile returning again.

Reaching out to grab her hand, Papa IV began his introduction with a small kiss on her knuckles. “Sister, we go to my office, eh?” Looking at the fellow leaders for approval, Papa IV moved his arm to lock with Evie’s, as if he was her personal escort.

No matter the subject of discussion, Evie could die happy right now.

The upper clergy offices were larger but no more decadent than clergy members in lower standards. This was the satanic church, there was some level of equality they wanted to maintain.

Evie was nonetheless taken aback by her current situation. She was fairly confident she was beet red and everyone could hear her heartbeat. She stole a glance at the man, walking her in stride. He glanced back at the young woman, winking and grinning ever slightly. Papa IV was certainly striking in his features. Classically handsome, but easily decades older than her, she felt an unfamiliar feeling. One that she quickly tried to put away in her mind. “No, Evie, this is the highest ranking member of the church, don’t think about him like that, at least not right now,” she thought to herself.

The small group arrived at a large wooden oak door at the end of the hall. Sister Imperator opened the door for the group, allowing the older three Emeritus brothers entrance into the current Papa’s office.

Evie, still locked arms with Papa, took in the sight of the office. The ceilings are much higher than most other offices, filled with bookshelves, a small sitting area with a fireplace, currently extinguished. One large window let the sun shine through the room. Evie looked, open mouth at the academic, rustic qualities of the office. It was not opulent; it was studious, organized, but so very comfortable.

The young sister had not noticed how fondly Papa IV gazed at her, while she took the space in. After sufficient time spent in his view, he led her over to a leather chair, sitting in front of his own large desk. Evie unlocked her arms, however reluctantly, and curtsey to her superior before sitting the firm brown leather.

All very suddenly, the young woman was pulled out of her haze. “Evie, we needed to speak with you in regards to your exams.” Evie’s heart nearly dropped at the sentence.

“Oh. Is… everything okay?”

Sister Imperator elected to stay standing, while the Emeritus brothers scattered themselves among the other chairs of the room. The older woman’s posture straightened. “Evie, I’m sure you are aware that the third year exams are designed to be the most challenging, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Evie felt unfamiliarly nervous about her grades.

“These exams are critical to determining your future here. You know this well.” The Imperator's tone had suddenly taken a deadly serious tone. It’s effect on Evie now causing a lump to form in her throat. “In fact, it was designed this way. We need to test all Sibling’s dedication to the faith, will they stay or will they stumble? In this regard, the grade is inconsequential.”

“Can’t you see the poor girl is nearly trembling, spare her the anxiety, Imperator.” The Second Emeritus brother cooly said.

“Evie, the third year exams are made to be impossible to pass.”

The young woman’s eyes scanned the room in confusion, the Sister’s message unclear to her. After a moment, Evie squeaked out, “So I failed?”

“No.” The Imperator's tone was still serious, however, now softening at the revelation. “Evie, you got nearly a perfect score on an examination that’s damn near impossible for a Papa to pass.”

“Oh!” the young woman quietly chirped.

“I know you well, your dedication to your learning, to the Church and to your siblings has never been lost one me. You are a sinner with so much integrity, sister.” Imperator continued, “We needed to discuss your future here, directly with you.” The older woman peered over to the currently reigning Papa, who was now seated behind his desk. “Papa?”

“Sorella,” started the rat-skull painted man, “you will be treasured here, as long as you are willing to stay.” His small affirmation brought further peace to Evie. “It is our belief that you will be a valuable asset to the upper clergy. I would like for you to personally assist me in a ritual arriving soon.”

Evie was sure that she had died and gone to Hell. After a moment of disbelief, she probed, “what kind of ritual?” She tried to sound as innocent as possible, but the voice in the back of her mind had hoped it was of a particular nature.

“Summoning.” Papa IV said calmly. “I do not want to frighten you, little one, but you have shown yourself to capable of so much. I want to know how much you are capable of." Evie attempted to maintain an unchanged face, but deep down, her soul was burning at the older man's words. She tried her best to burn this moment into her memory, forever. "It is of a highly complex nature, so you would need to study with me nearly daily. I understand that you have finished your examinations, but the ritual is needing to be completed on the Spring equinox. This is arriving soon.”

“I ask too much of you, Sister?” Papa IV paused.

Evie paused. Mentally, she thanked Satanas and Lilith and, fuck it, Jesus Christ, she would finally be alone with the only man she ever wanted.

“No. My body and mind are willing.”

[6peaches]

Ae Hee Lee - Green Card :: Evidence of Adequate Means of Financial Support

I needed money. There’s no poetic way to say this. Even so, when you touched my face, brought my cheeks to the nook of your neck, I burrowed into it— a firefly seeking shelter from winter, far underground. Then,

         you told me there’s no application form that can hold          the entirety of a life, because our days constantly spill like wine.          Imagine that, you said, apricot tones all over the page!

         you told me about your ferns, bejeweled with jade dew,          their coiled fiddleheads full of unfulfilled,          twirling futures, and I forgot about my fixation with earning          people’s respect, among other things for which          I’d been told it was proper to plead          until granted.

         you told me, if immigrants could enrich a country,          you didn’t want to know          our melting point and whether we would shine          brighter than gold.

         you told me how I could stop confusing belonging          with belongings,  good with  goods, by sharing          the way our hearts continue to beat          resilient, even without an assurance of worth.

         you told me there can be solace in a dead end, in knowing the sea          still collapses, still runs and soars carrying its broken          shells, somewhere out there. And then,

                     you buried a kiss in the dark                      earth of my hair. I believed it all.                      What else could I do?

- Green Card :: Evidence of Adequate Means of Financial Support by Ae Hee Lee

[cristian-calistru]

Desolate valley

I admire the breathtaking view of the snow-covered hill in the middle of the wilderness, with the forest looming mysteriously in the distance. The wilderness, in its majesty, reminds me of the power and beauty of nature that I often take for granted. It is a place where I find solace and peace, a place where I can connect with my inner self and rediscover my place in the world. The forest, with its dense canopy and enigmatic aura, invites me to explore its secrets and unravel its mysteries. It is a reminder that there is so much I don't know about this world. I must continue to seek understanding and knowledge. Wild nature is a source of inspiration and wonder for me that enriches my life while reminding me of the magic that exists in the world.

www.cristiancalistru.com

[poetryfoundation-potd]

Green Card :: Evidence of Adequate Means of Financial Support

By Ae Hee Lee

I needed money. There’s no poetic way to say this.

Even so, when you touched my face, brought my

cheeks to the nook of your neck, I burrowed into it—

a firefly seeking shelter from winter, far

underground. Then,

you told me there’s no application form that can hold

the entirety of a life, because our days constantly spill like wine.

Imagine that, you said, apricot tones all over the page!

you told me about your ferns, bejeweled with jade dew,

their coiled fiddleheads full of unfulfilled,

twirling futures, and I forgot about my fixation with earning

people’s respect, among other things for which

I’d been told it was proper to plead

until granted.

you told me, if immigrants could enrich a country,

you didn’t want to know

our melting point and whether we would shine

brighter than gold.

you told me how I could stop confusing belonging

with belongings,  good with  goods, by sharing

the way our hearts continue to beat

resilient, even without an assurance of worth.

you told me there can be solace in a dead end, in knowing the sea

still collapses, still runs and soars carrying its broken

shells, somewhere out there. And then,

you buried a kiss in the dark

earth of my hair. I believed it all.

What else could I do?

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/159225/green-card-evidence-of-adequate-means-of-financial-support

Audio Included

[monarhrh]

The Egyptian King having just entered the library, paused for a moment to take in the serene beauty of the early morning light filtering through the paned windows. He had come seeking solace in the written word, but was pleasantly surprised to find himself in the company of another ruler. With a nod of acknowledgment, Ramses approached the Scottish king, his bearing both regal and approachable. "Good morning, your grace," he greeted with a warm smile. "It appears that great minds do indeed think alike. I had hoped to find a moment of quiet contemplation amidst these ancient texts, but it seems fortune has granted me the pleasure of your company instead."

"In truth, I came seeking a particular manuscript on the history of diplomacy," he continued, his tone respectful yet amiable. "However, I find that the opportunity for a conversation with a fellow sovereign is equally enriching. Tell me, what weighs on your mind this morning? Perhaps discussing it might offer some clarity, as often happens when we share our burdens with another." With that, the Shadow King settled into a chair across from Alexander, ready to engage in a dialogue that might provide both solace and insight.

/ Open /

Alexander had just returned from a ride, it was early in the morning and the only light from the library came from the flooding morning rays through the paned window sill. He couldn't stop thinking about her, but he had important letters to return and he'd been wondering where his siblings had run off to or where they were spending their time. Interrupted from his thoughts briefly, he noticed someone walking into what he thought would be his place of solace for at least a few more hours. "It would seem we had the same idea for a morning hide out. Or have you come in actual search of a book?"

[mirroredtranslations]

Sodachi Sisterhood

A short story by Nisioisin in Sodachi's perspective that was included in a Monogatari booklet released for Animate stores in December 2021.

“’Sup, Sodachi-nee-san! Your little-sister-in-spirit Tsukihi-chan has brought emergency supplies to enrich your quarantine life, how about that!?”

I was already struggling with the adjustment to remote classes during this stay-home period mandated by the state of emergency declaration, to the point where I was seriously considering taking time off from school, and my one and only solace was that the resident of the neighboring apartment a.k.a. a rabid dog (or rather, “Ararabid” dog) of a stalker had returned home. Nevertheless, before I had time to relax, the natural enemy that is his little sister had pressed her attack without so much as a call in advance, and was relentlessly knocking on my door—in response I had pretended with all my might to be away from home, and after about an hour of holding out the knocking finally stopped. However, just as my heart stopped racing, I heard the sound of the wooden door being quite literally blasted into smithereens.

“Oh, so you are home, Sodachi-nee-san! I could just tell, you know, from our sisterly bond!”

These fragments look dangerous, so I’ll be coming in with my shoes on—said Araragi Tsukihi as she stepped inside without a speck of hesitation, a bulging shopping bag in one hand and a rock (a rock!?) that she apparently used in place of a battering ram to knock down the door in the other. Just what kind of trauma has she gone through to not think twice about smashing the door to someone’s home?

And “sisterly,” huh. I hate the word “bond” for being so suspect to begin with, and you go and add “sisterly” to it?

“There you go again, getting all embarrassed. It’s fine, I understand, Sodachi-nee-san. Hey, we’re practically like sisters, aren’t we? We were such good friends when we were little. I can give you written evidence of that, if you like.”

It’s true that there was an extremely brief period of time when I was taken into the custody of the Araragi family when I was in elementary school, but she and I were not particularly good friends—at the very least not good enough friends for her to invade my house SWAT-style.

“Staying home is important, but so is proper ventilation. Let’s get rid of this stagnant air, shall we?”

She says, while brandishing a rock… Maybe this is actually a crime scene? A masked intruder did just break into my house wielding a deadly weapon. The sudden appearance of a character who would never appear in “Day to Day”(1) had me trembling with fear. Her gloves started seeming less like a safety measure and more like a way to conceal fingerprints.

“I was rather concerned about the possibility that you had perished in the throes of these turbulent times. As they say, better be a lawbreaker than have to call an undertaker. This was an emergency rescue during the state of emergency. Don’t worry; I’m only a high schooler, they can’t charge me for any crimes.”

Surely no country on Earth grants high schoolers that level of carte blanche. Paying no heed to my comment, however, Tsukihi-chan continued expanding her zone of control, saying, “I’m going to borrow the kitchen, okay? I’m also going to use whatever’s in the fridge, okay?” The fact that she kept asking permission for every little thing annoyed me. Her shopping bag seemed to be primarily full of ingredients, so I supposed the bit about bringing emergency supplies wasn’t just a lie to excuse her breaking and entering. I could make out toilet paper and masks, too. And yet… speaking of high schoolers, hadn’t high school resumed already?

“I took the liberty of skipping school today. Sodachi-nee-san, you’re totes more important.”

How laid-back.

She’s not saying anything about being happy school was back in session, or about how she has a newfound appreciation for the everyday act of attending… Peer pressure must lose all meaning in the face of this girl. I may play at being an independent punk in normal times, but being isolated by this pandemic had my mental health in dire straits—this girl was the opposite. Talk about discovering new modes of living, she wasn’t even following the law. I wanted to ask her what part of being an ally of justice involved breaking so many rules.

“This is justice itself, Sodachi-nee-san. I’m not breaking the rules. What I’m doing transcends the idea of ‘following rules’ altogether.”

Huh? What does that even mean?

“For instance, take this shopping bag I brought with me. These have been scapegoated as part of the microplastics problem, and starting this July we’re going to have to pay for them, right?”

That’s true. Is she trying to say that plastic bags statistically make up less than a few percent of microplastics, so doing away with them won’t help solve the overall issue?

“It’s important to start building from small things—they are “micro”-plastics, after all. But if I had to say something negative about turning down plastic bags to help the environment, it’s that if you think that brand-name bottled water and prepackaged food you stuff into your ecologically friendly personal bag aren’t using any plastic, you’ve got a big misunderstanding on your hands.”

…I see. That is rather negative.

Not something you’d find in a collection of quotes.

I’m not the type who thinks that much about the environment, but speaking of shopping, I feel like those receipts that get automatically printed could have a negative impact when they start piling up, too, regardless of whether you take them or not.

“What would really solve the problem is if someone discovered a cheap plastic that would decompose within a month. It’s natural to be thankful for essential workers and medical staff. But if you want to do something beyond thanking them, then you need to become one yourself. Actually, I’ve taken the opportunity to change my intended course of study to medical school. I want to contribute to vaccine development in the future.”

Scary… She’s talking about going to medical school while skipping classes as naturally as breathing. I hope she changes her mind soon. On the other hand, I could tell that she probably would have barged over here even if I’d been self-isolating due to illness.

“Thinking about what I could do right now, I applied for a job working the register at a convenience store, but I got rejected at the interview. Your other little-sister-in-spirit, Karen-chan, made use of her natural stamina and started working deliveries. She does a hundred in a day.”

In that case, I’d have preferred to receive these emergency supplies from Karen-chan… well, that girl may very well have smashed the door too, let alone the windows; she might have knocked down a wall.

“I considered running for office when I turn 25, but I’m sure the state of emergency will be lifted by then.”

Becoming part of the system that makes laws would certainly “transcend the idea of following rules”—it also transcends the idea of breaking them. In any case, I was glad the interviewer at the convenience store had a sharp eye.

She’s really something, isn’t she. She’d never worry that her own life and existence were nonessential; in a world where the things people can do are getting more and more restricted, she’s finding more things to do than before. Well, Tsukihi-chan’s perspective is a bit extreme, but there are a lot of people like her in the world. So this is no time for me to be depressed—nor should I be coasting on the joy of being free from my stalker for a little while.

There must be something. Something I can do.

“Staying at home and maintaining self-respect are important too. Which is why, until now, I’d been looking after and playing with some elementary schoolers close to where my parents work. But now that schools have reopened, I have some spare time, so I decided to look after you next, Sodachi-nee-san.”

Nadeko-chan’s gone off to the city, so I’ve had motherliness to spare, Tsukihi-chan said. So she came to deliver emergency supplies just to kill time? And, motherliness? That’s not a word I’m very fond of. I had heard Nadeko-chan made it to Tokyo, though… hmph.

So she didn’t come at Araragi’s request.

“Onii-chan seems to be occupied by something on a much larger scale than what I’m doing.”

I would believe it. Both brother and sister are afflicted by an illness where they die if they’re not looking after someone. If there really were such a disease, I hope they spread it.

As we were talking, I cleaned up the fragments of the door using packing tape (I’d rather not mention this, but I’m good at this type of work, thanks to my beloved parents), and was wondering where I might buy an explosion-proof door, when Tsukihi-chan finished making a pleasant-looking dish with the leftovers in my fridge and the ingredients she brought. Dividing her attention between cooking and looking after me, she really is a clever girl.

But, hm? Isn’t this way too much food? She did use up all the leftovers—maybe she’s being environmentally conscious by making so much that I wouldn’t have to go out and buy lunches for a while?

“No, that’s not it. I made enough for four people.”

Four people? Tsukihi-chan and I make two—who are the other two?

“One for Onii-chan, and one for Karen-chan. I’ll be taking theirs and mine home with me. It may be difficult for us to eat together, but it’s important to eat from the same pot regardless.”

We’ll just have to pretend Onii-chan is eating with us, Tsukihi-chan added. As progressive as she is, sometimes she can be rather old-fashioned. Come to think of it, she did like kimono and such, didn’t she.

“That said, Sodachi-nee-san. If you do start feeling unwell, the Araragi house is always open to you. Since we’re family, there’s no need for me to dirty my hands.”

I will await your return with open windows and alcohol-based disinfectant.

Hearing that, I… I smiled wryly. Standing in an apartment that was now much better ventilated.

After all, faced with the blinding light of a high schooler who still had all the rash and wild recklessness that Araragi and I had long since lost, what else could I do but smile?

Footnotes

(1) “Day to Day” is a series of 100 short stories published by Kodansha on the theme of life during the 2020 quarantine. One story is written by Nisioisin. The entire series has been translated into English here.

[astoriaselenemalfoy]

Hyperion Greengrass

The Heir of Greengrass Part 1:

Early Morning, August 18, 1957 the Sunday Profet headliner reads,

“SON BORN TO GREENGRASS FAMILY.

SACRED PUREBLOOD LINE CONTINUES”

Lord Caelus and The Lady Branwen were filled with joy upon the arrival of their son and heir. Many years had they tried and failed to produce a child that would carry on the sacred Greengrass line, and here he was the pride of their family name.

They named him Hyperion after the Greek god of heavenly light, for not only was he the descendent of Caelus the god of the sky, but also becuase of the great light and honor he brought to his mother and father.

Lord and Lady Greengrass greatly doted on their beautiful son. Bringing him up in all the luxuries and comfort their Pureblood status granted them. Doing all within their power to guide him in exemplifing the Greengrass name.

Caelus Greengrass was pleased that the boy had inherited his mother’s striking green eyes, for he thought that it was fitting for the heir of the Greengrass line. The boy was built tall and strong like his father but gleaned most of his mothers more favorable attributes. With her lustrous brown hair and charming smile, it was no wonder her parents named her after the Celtic godess of beauty and love.

And it was for these similarities between mother and son that Caelus was grateful. For when the tragic day came that his darling wife was brutally killed in an altercation between wizards and muggles, his only solace was in the memory of her reflected in the bright eyes of their cherished child.

Wowza!! I’m telling you I’ve spent all day on just this little piece and wow! I hope you all can enjoy this little part, I know most of you are more interested in probably seeing Astoria content, but I really felt like her history needed to be dug into and I just have a lot of things to say about who her father would have maybe been. I have a lot more that I wrote on Hyperion today however I felt like some of the details I was beginning to unfold needed dialogue and enriching. So let me know what you think and there will be more to come!

[sephirotha]

Will we see a part 2 to Poor Unfortunate Stella? Octo-Ardyn is so creepy I love it!

Poor Unfortunate Stella

Happy Ending

And now, Sephirotha presents the twisted, dark creepy Octo-Ardyn in an alternate ending.

--------

Stella’s eyes hurt.  She let her legs dangle over the pier, her feet getting splashed by the gentle waves of the sea.  She shivered a little as she cast her eyes up at the sun steadily setting over the horizon. She swallowed.

She failed.  Ravus was cold, unapproachable and couldn’t even be bothered to eat dinner with her and his younger sister, Luna.  Stella tried to take solace in what memories she had on land, before she would be turned into a daemon.

Luna took to her almost immediately, but perhaps that was because she had been lonely as the princess of her own kingdom.  Stella knew all to well of the isolation.  At least she had been blessed with a twin brother and a clumsy, curious merman for company.

Stella smiled bitterly.  She’d always wanted a sister.  Perhaps if she’d taken a deal where Luna would have granted her humanity permanently, she wouldn’t be a weeping mess, waiting for her last minutes to ebb away.

After all, it wouldn’t do to just turn into a flopping mess in the middle of the castle.  Even if it was in front of Luna, she had the awful feeling Ardyn’s curse would just turn her into a daemon and she’d hurt her.

Another tear rolled down her fair face as the sky began to turn darker. She heard something break the surface of the water.  She turned away.  She had an inkling who it was.

“Why is it that every time we meet, I see those beautiful eyes full of tears?”

Yup.  And let’s hope he left the ink in his damn cavern.

Stella moved to the side as a couple of tentacles landed near her, pulling the warlock out of the sea.  Ardyn settled beside her, reaching out to push their hair out of her face. Stella slapped his wrist away and he frowned.

“Really, you ought to be nicer to your uncle,” he said as his tentacle went around her body and finished pushing the hair out of her face.

Stella lifted her legs and turned her back to him, hugging her knees to her chest.  Ardyn sighed.

“And do look at me when I’m speaking to you.  Really, where are your manners?”

Stella shoved the tentacle that settled on her shoulder off.  She turned her head, her mouth forming words that she was unable to voice.  Ardyn wrapped a tentacle around her ankle and spun her a hundred and eighty degrees, holding her in place whilst folding his arms.

“I will chalk this rude behaviour up to you being distraught,” he said as two tentacles snuck around her abdomen and brought her closer.  “Must I really put up with this melodrama?  It isn’t the end of the world to be mine.”

Stella’s hands pressed against his chest as she managed to maintain an arm’s length of distance in the very least.  She gave him a questioning look as he cupped her face, his thumb gently stroking her skin.

“Ah, already forgotten our terms of agreement?” he chuckled as he pushed closer.  “It was live happily ever after with either your human or me.”

Stella’s questioning expression turned into horror in under a second.  Ardyn grinned wider as he pulled her closer still, his forehead pressed against hers. He wrapped one arm around her waist and gripped her hand with his spare hand.

“Oh yes.  It matters not if you somehow slithered out of my deal, you’d be married off sooner or later.  Why waste your affections on the common merfolk, when I can enrich your mind, body and soul?”

Stella struggled in futility as he squeezed her hand.

“Now, I have something to return to you, dearest.”

Stella’s eyes widened as he crushed his lips into her.  She wriggled as his hold on her grew stronger, pressing her into his chest.  Something went down her throat and she gagged, whimpering as she tried pushing him away.

She let out a gasp when he finally broke the kiss, turning away from him.  Her lips wobbled as she tried not to burst into more tears.

Ardyn smiled as he licked his lips.  “The first of many, my darling.  Ah, your voice was wonderful company to have.  Alas, I do believe it would be even sweeter coming from your lips.”

Stella glared at him as he let one arm go down and scoop her legs up. “Creep!”

“Your pet names could use some work, but we do have eternity to work on it.”  Stella thrashed as he picked her up, holding her close and facing the sunset.  “Just a few more moments…”

Stella kicked her legs and tried to shove her palms into his face. Ardyn leaned away from her hands and squeezed her leg.

“Dearest, if you move them like that, the transformation back will be more painful.  Do try to keep them still and together.”

“Let me go!  I’d rather die than be your plaything!”

“So hurtful are your words.  After listening to this voice tell me such sinfully sweet longings, you wound me, my star.”  Ardyn glared at Stella, his nails digging into her shoulder.  “We had an agreement, Stella.  I have your signature as proof of your commitment.”

Stella’s stomach dropped as one tentacle presented a scroll before unravelling it.  Ardyn lifted it so she could see her signature glaring at her smugly before her eyes.

“Perhaps you should read the fine print next time,” he muttered and rested it in her lap.

Stella’s hands shook as she picked up the bottom part to look at the words glumly.  Ardyn pressed a kiss to her forehead, shifting her so he could rest her head on his shoulder.  

“You are to be my queen.  You are to be by my side for all eternity.  You shall give me heirs, grant me the family that your ancestors denied me.” Stella dropped the scroll and Ardyn wiped away another tear from her eye.  “As if I could turn my beloved into a mindless daemon.  Not with your face…her face…”

Stella looked down at the sea with defeat in her eyes.  Her breath hitched and she closed them, her hands reaching for her legs.  Ardyn felt the change through the cloth of her dress and held her closer.  Stella sobbed against him as he caressed her lower body, eyes trained on her feet.

Once the last of the sun’s rays were gone, Ardyn was caressing Stella’s tail.  The princess wept harder, covering her face.  Ardyn pulled one hand away and squeezed it.

“Now, now, this isn’t the time for tears,” he chastised her gently. “Let us return home.  This is a new chapter in our lives, let us embrace it.”

Stella glared at him as he tightened his hold before leaping into the dark sea with her.

[d-i-r-k-s-t-r-i-d-e-r]

The Futurist Manifesto

We had stayed up all night, my friends and I, under hanging mosque lamps with domes of filigreed brass, domes starred like our spirits, shining like them with the prisoned radiance of electric hearts. For hours we had trampled our atavistic ennui into rich oriental rugs, arguing up to the last confines of logic and blackening many reams of paper with our frenzied scribbling.

An immense pride was buoying us up, because we felt ourselves alone at that hour, alone, awake, and on our feet, like proud beacons or forward sentries against an army of hostile stars glaring down at us from their celestial encampments. Alone with stokers feeding the hellish fires of great ships, alone with the black spectres who grope in the red-hot bellies of locomotives launched on their crazy courses, alone with drunkards reeling like wounded birds along the city walls.

Suddenly we jumped, hearing the mighty noise of the huge double-decker trams that rumbled by outside, ablaze with colored lights, like villages on holiday suddenly struck and uprooted by the flooding Po and dragged over falls and through gourges to the sea.

Then the silence deepened. But, as we listened to the old canal muttering its feeble prayers and the creaking bones of sickly palaces above their damp green beards, under the windows we suddenly heard the famished roar of automobiles.

“Let’s go!” I said. “Friends, away! Let’s go! Mythology and the Mystic Ideal are defeated at last. We’re about to see the Centaur’s birth and, soon after, the first flight of Angels!... We must shake at the gates of life, test the bolts and hinges. Let’s go! Look there, on the earth, the very first dawn! There’s nothing to match the splendor of the sun’s red sword, slashing for the first time through our millennial gloom!”

We went up to the three snorting beasts, to lay amorous hands on their torrid breasts. I stretched out on my car like a corpse on its bier, but revived at once under the steering wheel, a guillotine blade that threatened my stomach.

The raging broom of madness swept us out of ourselves and drove us through streets as rough and deep as the beds of torrents. Here and there, sick lamplight through window glass taught us to distrust the deceitful mathematics of our perishing eyes.

I cried, “The scent, the scent alone is enough for our beasts.”

And like young lions we ran after Death, its dark pelt blotched with pale crosses as it escaped down the vast violet living and throbbing sky.

But we had no ideal Mistress raising her divine form to the clouds, nor any cruel Queen to whom to offer our bodies, twisted like Byzantine rings! There was nothing to make us wish for death, unless the wish to be free at last from the weight of our courage!

And on we raced, hurling watchdogs against doorsteps, curling them under our burning tires like collars under a flatiron. Death, domesticated, met me at every turn, gracefully holding out a paw, or once in a while hunkering down, making velvety caressing eyes at me from every puddle.

“Let’s break out of the horrible shell of wisdom and throw ourselves like pride-ripened fruit into the wide, contorted mouth of the wind! Let’s give ourselves utterly to the Unknown, not in desperation but only to replenish the deep wells of the Absurd!”

The words were scarcely out of my mouth when I spun my car around with the frenzy of a dog trying to bite its tail, and there, suddenly, were two cyclists coming towards me, shaking their fists, wobbling like two equally convincing but nevertheless contradictory arguments. Their stupid dilemma was blocking my way—Damn! Ouch!... I stopped short and to my disgust rolled over into a ditch with my wheels in the air...

O maternal ditch, almost full of muddy water! Fair factory drain! I gulped down your nourishing sludge; and I remembered the blessed black beast of my Sudanese nurse... When I came up—torn, filthy, and stinking—from under the capsized car, I felt the white-hot iron of joy deliciously pass through my heart!

A crowd of fishermen with handlines and gouty naturalists were already swarming around the prodigy. With patient, loving care those people rigged a tall derrick and iron grapnels to fish out my car, like a big beached shark. Up it came from the ditch, slowly, leaving in the bottom, like scales, its heavy framework of good sense and its soft upholstery of comfort.

They thought it was dead, my beautiful shark, but a caress from me was enough to revive it; and there it was, alive again, running on its powerful fins!

And so, faces smeared with good factory muck—plastered with metallic waste, with senseless sweat, with celestial soot—we, bruised, our arms in slings, but unafraid, declared our high intentions to all the living of the earth:

Manifesto of Futurism

We intend to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and fearlessness.

Courage, audacity, and revolt will be essential elements of our poetry.

Up to now literature has exalted a pensive immobility, ecstasy, and sleep. We intend to exalt aggressive action, a feverish insomnia, the racer’s stride, the mortal leap, the punch and the slap.

We affirm that the world’s magnificence has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing car whose hood is adorned with great pipes, like serpents of explosive breath—a roaring car that seems to ride on grapeshot is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.

We want to hymn the man at the wheel, who hurls the lance of his spirit across the Earth, along the circle of its orbit.

The poet must spend himself with ardor, splendor, and generosity, to swell the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.

Except in struggle, there is no more beauty. No work without an aggressive character can be a masterpiece. Poetry must be conceived as a violent attack on unknown forces, to reduce and prostrate them before man.

We stand on the last promontory of the centuries!... Why should we look back, when what we want is to break down the mysterious doors of the Impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We already live in the absolute, because we have created eternal, omnipresent speed.

We will glorify war—the world’s only hygiene—militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of freedom-bringers, beautiful ideas worth dying for, and scorn for woman.

We will destroy the museums, libraries, academies of every kind, will fight moralism, feminism, every opportunistic or utilitarian cowardice.

We will sing of great crowds excited by work, by pleasure, and by riot; we will sing of the multicolored, polyphonic tides of revolution in the modern capitals; we will sing of the vibrant nightly fervor of arsenals and shipyards blazing with violent electric moons; greedy railway stations that devour smoke-plumed serpents; factories hung on clouds by the crooked lines of their smoke; bridges that stride the rivers like giant gymnasts, flashing in the sun with a glitter of knives; adventurous steamers that sniff the horizon; deep-chested locomotives whose wheels paw the tracks like the hooves of enormous steel horses bridled by tubing; and the sleek flight of planes whose propellers chatter in the wind like banners and seem to cheer like an enthusiastic crowd.

It is from Italy that we launch through the world this violently upsetting incendiary manifesto of ours. With it, today, we establish Futurism, because we want to free this land from its smelly gangrene of professors, archaeologists, ciceroni and antiquarians. For too long has Italy been a dealer in second-hand clothes. We mean to free her from the numberless museums that cover her like so many graveyards.

Museums: cemeteries!... Identical, surely, in the sinister promiscuity of so many bodies unknown to one another. Museums: public dormitories where one lies forever beside hated or unknown beings. Museums: absurd abattoirs of painters and sculptors ferociously slaughtering each other with color-blows and line-blows, the length of the fought-over walls!

That one should make an annual pilgrimage, just as one goes to the graveyard on All Souls’ Day—that I grant. That once a year one should leave a floral tribute beneath the Gioconda, I grant you that... But I don’t admit that our sorrows, our fragile courage, our morbid restlessness should be given a daily conducted tour through the museums. Why poison ourselves? Why rot?

And what is there to see in an old picture except the laborious contortions of an artist throwing himself against the barriers that thwart his desire to express his dream completely?... Admiring an old picture is the same as pouring our sensibility into a funerary urn instead of hurtling it far off, in violent spasms of action and creation.

Do you, then, wish to waste all your best powers in this eternal and futile worship of the past, from which you emerge fatally exhausted, shrunken, beaten down?

In truth I tell you that daily visits to museums, libraries, and academies (cemeteries of empty exertion, Calvaries of crucified dreams, registries of aborted beginnings!) are, for artists, as damaging as the prolonged supervision by parents of certain young people drunk with their talent and their ambitious wills. When the future is barred to them, the admirable past may be a solace for the ills of the moribund, the sickly, the prisoner... But we want no part of it, the past, we the young and strong Futurists!

So let them come, the gay incendiaries with charred fingers! Here they are! Here they are!... Come on! set fire to the library shelves! Turn aside the canals to flood the museums!... Oh, the joy of seeing the glorious old canvases bobbing adrift on those waters, discolored and shredded!... Take up your pickaxes, your axes and hammers and wreck, wreck the venerable cities, pitilessly!

The oldest of us is thirty: so we have at least a decade for finishing our work. When we are forty, other younger and stronger men will probably throw us in the wastebasket like useless manuscripts—we want it to happen!

They will come against us, our successors, will come from far away, from every quarter, dancing to the winged cadence of their first songs, flexing the hooked claws of predators, sniffing doglike at the academy doors the strong odor of our decaying minds, which will have already been promised to the literary catacombs.

But we won’t be there... At last they’ll find us—one winter’s night—in open country, beneath a sad roof drummed by a monotonous rain. They’ll see us crouched beside our trembling aeroplanes in the act of warming our hands at the poor little blaze that our books of today will give out when they take fire from the flight of our images.

They’ll storm around us, panting with scorn and anguish, and all of them, exasperated by our proud daring, will hurtle to kill us, driven by a hatred the more implacable the more their hearts will be drunk with love and admiration for us.

Injustice, strong and sane, will break out radiantly in their eyes.

Art, in fact, can be nothing but violence, cruelty, and injustice.

The oldest of us is thirty: even so we have already scattered treasures, a thousand treasures of force, love, courage, astuteness, and raw will-power; have thrown them impatiently away, with fury, carelessly, unhesitatingly, breathless, and unresting... Look at us! We are still untired! Our hearts know no weariness because they are fed with fire, hatred, and speed!... Does that amaze you? It should, because you can never remember having lived! Erect on the summit of the world, once again we hurl our defiance at the stars!

You have objections?—Enough! Enough! We know them... We’ve understood!... Our fine deceitful intelligence tells us that we are the revival and extension of our ancestors—Perhaps!... If only it were so!—But who cares? We don’t want to understand!... Woe to anyone who says those infamous words to us again!

Lift up your heads!

Erect on the summit of the world, once again we hurl defiance to the stars!

[pamphletstoinspire]

NOVENA TO THE HOLY GHOST - BEGINS FRIDAY MAY 31ST UNTIL SATURDAY JUNE 8TH - PENTECOST SUNDAY IS JUNE 9TH

This Novena is the oldest novena, first made at the direction of Our Lord when He sent His apostles back to Jerusalem to await the coming of the Holy Ghost on the First Pentecost.

It is the only novena officially prescribed by the Church. Addressed to the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity, it is a powerful plea for the light, strength and love so sorely needed by every Christian. To encourage devotion to the Holy Ghost, the Church has enriched this novena with indulgences.

NOVENA TO THE HOLY GHOST Imprimatur: Patrick A. O’Boyle, D.D.—Archbishop of Washington, Washington, D.C . — March 12, 1948

The faithful who devoutly assist at the public novena in honor of the Holy Ghost immediately preceding the feast of Pentecost may gain an INDULGENCE OF 10 YEARS ON ANY DAY OF THE NOVENA, AND A PLENARY INDULGENCE, if they take part in at least five of the exercises; and moreover go to confession, and receive Holy Communion and pray for the Holy Father’s intentions.

Those who make a private novena in honor of the Holy Ghost, either before Pentecost or at any other time in the year may gain an INDULGENCE of 7 years on any day of this novena, and a PLENARY INDULGENCE under the usual conditions; but if a public novena is held, this indulgence is available only to those who are lawfully hindered from being part in the same.

DAILY PRAYERS:

PRAYER TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of Your faithful and enkindle in them the fire of Your love. Send forth Your Spirit and they shall be created. And You shall renew the face of the earth.

OUR FATHER

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespasses against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

HAIL MARY

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and in the hour of our death. Amen.

GLORY BE (7 TIMES)

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

PRAYER FOR THE SEVEN GIFTS OF THE HOLY SPIRIT

O Lord Jesus Christ, Who before ascending into heaven, did promise to send the Holy Spirit to finish Your work in the souls of Your Apostles and Disciples, deign to grant the same Holy Spirit to me that He may perfect in my soul the work of Your grace and Your love. Grant me the Spirit of Wisdom that I may despise the perishable things of this world and aspire only after the things that are eternal, the Spirit of Understanding to enlighten my mind with the light of Your divine truth, the Spirit of Counsel that I may ever choose the surest way of pleasing God and gaining heaven, the Spirit of Fortitude that I may bear my cross with You and that I may overcome with courage all the obstacles that oppose my salvation, the Spirit of Knowledge that I may know God and know myself and grow perfect in the science of the Saints, the Spirit of Piety that I may find the service of God sweet and amiable, the Spirit of Fear that I may be filled with a loving reverence towards God and may dread in any way to displease Him. Mark me, dear Lord, with the sign of Your true disciples and animate me in all things with your Spirit. Amen.

ACT OF CONSECRATION TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

On my knees before the great multitude of heavenly witnesses, I offer myself, soul and body to You, Eternal Spirit of God. I adore the brightness of Your purity, the unerring keenness of Your justice, and the might of Your love. You are the strength and Light of my soul. In You I live and move and am. I desire never to grieve You by unfaithfulness to grace and I pray with all my heart to be kept from the smallest sin against You. Mercifully guard my every thought and grant that I may always watch for Your Light and listen to Your voice and follow Your gracious inspirations. I cling to You and give myself to You and ask You by Your compassion to watch over me in my weakness. Holding the pierced Feet of Jesus and looking at His Five Wounds and trusting in His Precious Blood and adoring His opened Side and stricken Heart, I implore You Adorable Spirit, Helper of my infirmity, so to keep me in Your grace that I may never sin against You. Give me grace, O Holy Spirit, Spirit of the Father and the Son, to say to You always and everywhere, “Speak Lord, for Your servant is listening.” Amen

NINE DAY NOVENA TO THE HOLY GHOST (ENDS DAY BEFORE PENTECOST SUNDAY)

FIRST DAY: THE HOLY GHOST

Holy Spirit! Lord of light! From Thy clear celestial height, Thy pure beaming radiance give!

Only one thing is important—eternal salvation. Only one thing, therefore, is to be feared — sin. Sin is the result of ignorance, weakness, and indifference. The Holy Ghost is the Spirit of Light, of Strength, and of Love. With His sevenfold gifts, He enlightens the mind, strengthens the will, and inflames the heart with love of God. To ensure our salvation, we ought to invoke the Divine Spirit daily, for “The Spirit helpeth our infirmity. We know not what we should pray for as we ought. But the Spirit Himself asketh for us.

Almighty and eternal God, Who has vouchsafed to regenerate us by water and the Holy Ghost, and hast given us forgiveness of all our sins, vouchsafe to send forth from heaven upon us Thy sevenfold Spirit, the Spirit of Wisdom and Understanding, the Spirit of Counsel and Fortitude, the Spirit of Knowledge and Piety, and fill us with the Spirit of Holy Fear. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

SECOND DAY: THE GIFT OF FEAR

Come, Thou Father of the poor! Come, with treasures which endure! Come, Thou light of all that live!

The gift of Fear fills us with a sovereign respect for God, and makes us dread nothing so much as to offend Him by Sin. It is a fear that arises, not from the thought of hell, but from sentiments of reverence and filial submission to our heavenly Father. It is the fear that is the beginning of wisdom, detaching us from worldly pleasures that could in any way separate us from God. “They that fear the Lord will prepare their hearts, and in His sight will sanctify their souls.”

Come, O blessed Spirit of Holy Fear, penetrate my inmost heart, that I may set Thee, my Lord and God, before my face forever; help me to shun all things that can offend Thee, and make me worthy to appear before the pure eyes of Thy Divine Majesty in heaven, where Thou livest and reignest in the unity of the ever Blessed Trinity, God world without end. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

THIRD DAY: THE GIFT OF PIETY

Thou, of all consolers best, visiting the troubled breast, dost refreshing peace bestow.

The gift of Piety begets in our hearts a filial affection for God as our most loving Father. It inspires us to love and respect for His sake persons and things consecrated to Him, as well as those who are vested with His authority, His Blessed Mother and the Saints, the Church and its visible Head, our parents and superiors, our country and its rulers. He who is filled with the gift of Piety finds the practice of his religion, not a burdensome duty, but a delightful service. Where there is love, there is no labor.

Come, O Blessed Spirit of Piety, possess my heart. Enkindle therein such a love for God, that I may find satisfaction only in His service, and for His sake lovingly submit to all legitimate authority. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

FOURH DAY: THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE

Thou in toil art comfort sweet, pleasant coolness in the heat; solace in the midst of woe.

By the gift of Fortitude, the soul is strengthened against natural fear, and supported to the end in the performance of duty. Fortitude imparts to the will an impulse and energy which move it to undertake without hesitancy the most arduous tasks, to face dangers, to trample under foot human respect, and to endure without complaint the slow martyrdom of even lifelong tribulation. “He that shall persevere unto the end, he shall be saved.”

Come, O Blessed Spirit of Fortitude, uphold my soul in times of trouble and adversity, sustain my efforts after holiness, strengthen my weakness, give me courage against all the assaults of my enemies, that I may never be overcome and separated from Thee, my God and greatest Good. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

FIFTH DAY: THE GIFT OF KNOWLEDGE

Light immortal! Light Divine! Visit Thou these hearts of Thine, and our inmost being fill.

The gift of Knowledge enables the soul to evaluate created things at their true worth — in relation to God. Knowledge unmasks the pretense of creatures, reveals their emptiness, and points out their only true purpose as instruments in the service of God. It shows us the loving care of God even in adversity, and directs us to glorify Him in every circumstance of life. Guided by its light, we put first things first, and prize the friendship of God beyond all else. “Knowledge is a fountain of life to him that possesseth it.”

Come, O Blessed Spirit of Knowledge, and grant that I may perceive the will of the Father; show me the nothingness of earthly things, that I may realize their vanity and use them only for Thy glory and my own salvation, looking ever beyond them to Thee, and Thy eternal rewards. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

SIXTH DAY: THE GIFT OF UNDERSTANDING

If Thou take Thy grace away, nothing pure in man will stay, all his good is turn’d to ill.

Understanding, as a gift of the Holy Ghost, helps us to grasp the meaning of the truths of our holy religion. By faith we know them, but by Understanding we learn to appreciate and relish them. It enables us to penetrate the inner meaning of revealed truths and through them to be quickened to newness of life. Our faith ceases to be sterile and inactive, but inspires a mode of life that bears eloquent testimony to the faith that is in us; we begin to “walk worthy of God in all things pleasing, and increasing in the knowledge of God.”

Come, O Spirit of Understanding, and enlighten our minds, that we may know and believe all the mysteries of salvation; and may merit at last to see the eternal light; and in the light of glory to have a clear vision of Thee and the Father and the Son. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

SEVENTH DAY: THE GIFT OF COUNSEL

Heal our wounds-our strength renew; on our dryness pour Thy dew; wash the stains of guilt away!

The gift of Counsel endows the soul with supernatural prudence, enabling it to judge promptly and rightly what must be done, especially in difficult circumstances. Counsel applies the principles furnished by Knowledge and Understanding to the innumerable concrete cases that confront us in the course of our daily duty as parents, teachers, public servants and Christian citizens. Counsel is supernatural common sense, a priceless treasure in the quest of salvation. “Above all these things, pray to the Most High, that He may direct thy way in truth.”

Come, O Spirit of Counsel, help and guide me in all my ways, that I may always do Thy holy will. Incline my heart to that which is good; turn it away from all that is evil, and direct me by the straight path of Thy commandments to that goal of eternal life for which I long. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

EIGHTH DAY: THE GIFT OF WISDOM

Bend the stubborn heart and will; melt the frozen, warm the chill; guide the steps that go astray!

Embodying all the other gifts, as charity embraces all other virtues, Wisdom is the most perfect of the gifts. Of wisdom it is written “all good things came to me with her, and innumerable riches through her hands.” It is the gift of Wisdom that strengthens our faith, fortifies hope, perfects charity, and promotes the practice of virtue in the highest degree. Wisdom enlightens the mind to discern and relish things divine, in the appreciation of which earthly joys lose their savor, whilst the Cross of Christ yields a divine sweetness according to the words of the Savior: “Take up thy cross and follow Me, for My yoke is sweet, and My burden light.”

Come, O Spirit of Wisdom, and reveal to my soul the mysteries of heavenly things, their exceeding greatness, power and beauty. Teach me to love them above and beyond all passing joys and satisfactions of the earth. Help me to attain them and possess them for ever. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

NINTH DAY: THE FRUITS OF THE HOLY GHOST

Thou, on those who evermore Thee confess and Thee adore, in Thy sevenfold gifts, descend: give them comfort when they die; give them life with Thee on high give them joy which never ends. Amen.

The gifts of the Holy Ghost perfect the supernatural virtues by enabling us to practice them with greater docility to divine inspiration. As we grow in the knowledge and love of God under the direction of the Holy Ghost, our service becomes more sincere and generous, the practice of virtue more perfect. Such acts of virtue leave the heart filled with joy and consolation and are known as Fruits of the Holy Ghost. These fruits in turn render the practice of virtue more attractive and become a powerful incentive for still greater efforts in the service of God, to serve Whom is to reign.

Come, O Divine Spirit, fill my heart with Thy heavenly fruits, Thy charity, joy, peace, patience, benignity, goodness, faith, mildness, and temperance, that I may never weary in the service of God, but by continued faithful submission to Thy inspiration, may merit to be united eternally with Thee in the love of the Father and the Son. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

Copy of Novena in Pamphlet Form:

https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/a84285_bd84928ae7c0759cff9c899d608a2552.pdf

From: www.pamphletstoinspire.com

[itsmorefuntohavebadtaste]

Braving the Rolling Stone 500, Again: #500, Arcade Fire - Funeral

(Start date: September 23, 2020 / Day 1)

From Rolling Stone:

Loss, love, forced coming-of-age, and fragile generational hope: Arcade Fire’s debut touched on all these themes as it defined the independent rock of the ‘00s. Built on family ties (leader Win Butler, his wife, Régine Chassagne, his brother Will), the Montreal band made symphonic rock that truly rocked, simultaneously outsize and deeply personal, like the best pop. But for all its sad realism, Butler’s is music that still finds solace, and purpose, in communal celebration.

On a cursory glance at the new list, there’s nothing dirtier about this list than placing Funeral last.

This album is, without exaggeration, one of the closest things we will realistically get to an indie juggernaut. The instrumental palette is broad and beautiful, and despite being relatively new, its influence is very clear upon dabbling further into indie after the completion of my initial project.

There’s a lot of indie out there that falls into the category of “same basic sound, but more shit going on in the background.” It’s Oscar-bait, transcribed to a different medium. Funeral isn’t that. The orchestral structure is purposeful, and supports the music its placed against. More straightforward rock songs, like Neighborhood #3 (Power Out), find additional merit in the richer sonic background. What makes this work special is that the larger instrumental inclusion isn’t the only thing propping it up, but is functional – the shading on a tattoo, the bright white crown moulding on a doorframe. Funeral would still work if it were primarily acoustic, but it effectively uses the additional sound to deepen the emotional weight of the lyrics.

Forgive my redundancy here, but it’s difficult to properly articulate how on-the-nose the composition is. There have been a lot of knockoff, re-iterations, and duplicates produced in the past 16 years. Little regard is granted to the perfect balance Arcade Fire was able to achieve, amongst wannabe, and amongst magazine editors, apparently.

It’s very uncommon for me to instantly connect with music. But there’s something to be said about instant connections – on some level, you recognize that something deeper is brewing beneath the surface you’re acquainting yourself with. Funeral is more than superficially inviting, and each listen is enriching. Not a single track is dull. None seem out of place, in spite of their diversity in theme and sound. It breathes an uncommon depth to coming of age. It speaks curtly on tragedy and celebration, played against a rich and engaging musical tapestry.

Funeral is a rare piece of art, with seemingly endless offerings to those who choose to listen. It absolutely did not deserve this.

Re-listen?: Yes Was this on the 2012 list: Yes, in spot 151 My Rank: 24 (5/5 - designated perfect album status) Year: 2004 Standout Track(s): Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels), Une Annee Sans Lumiere, Neighborhood #3 (Power Out), Neighborhood #4 (Kettles), Crown of Love, Haiti, Rebellion (Lies), In the Backseat New Rating: 5/5 - It’s still perfect. Fuck everything.

[whereithappens-theroom-blog]

Women's March and the future of Feminism.

I write this well aware of my hiatus, but I wanted to give myself time to cope with being done with school, deal with being jobless, then later the election and the downward spiral my depression took me in. All this time has given me some clarity and has given me something to write about, other than myself. 

As I'm sure you and the rest of the world are aware, this Friday, January 20, 2017 is the beginning of a new era and one many of us are not only not ready for, but terrified of beginning. With this new start to the new America, we are witnessing an extreme interest or more like concern relating to the politics and what it means for us, all of us. 

I grew up in a very political family. Not sure if its my Cuban heritage, and the history of my “people” or maybe it was just my family but regardless of why, I grew up in a very political family and government and how its run has always been topic of conversation for us, but for whatever reason I feel as though this election has made us all more excited about the election process, and thats saying a lot given that the majority of my family members are “secret” racists (also it seems to be a cuban thing I've noticed) and we've had a black president for the past 8 years (ps. I voted for him twice and I have serious love and admiration for BHO). So to say that this recent election has everyone up in arms is saying, A LOT. 

This election started as crazy vs crazy (Republican party) and the democrat vs. the democratic socialist or the former independent. It was exciting to see the ridiculousness going on at every republican convention and the intelligent banter being held on the democrat side. But after months of pointing fingers, comparing hand size to penis size, email scandals, blood coming out of someones “wherever,” the American people were left with Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump aka the qualified vs. the morally bankrupt tan boy from NYC. Once both parties granted the Donald and Hilary as their parties candidates (conspiracies aside) we saw a completely different campaign being run on both ends of the political spectrum. 

Once Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton were our candidates for president, we saw the most ridiculous as well as truly frightening campaign trail. We saw a man that disrespected women, hispanics, muslims, the disabled as well as the country. We saw Hilary Clinton do her best to prove that she was the better candidate by showing her track record as a politician, let alone woman and mother, meanwhile DT was asking for riots at his rallies, was heard telling his fans to beat up those who disagreed with him all while his atrocities were being showcased on every major news network in the country. Trump liked to mention Clintons email scandal which any sane human knows there was no sensitive information relating to the government in those emails, on top of her husbands past infidelities as if it had anything to do with her. I can continue with the absolute nonsense that was our most recent election but frankly, I'm too tired also this is the age of the internet where everything this man has done is currently flooding the web and once you re-realize all of this, ask yourself again, “how did we let this happen”?

Truth of the matter is, Donald Trump will be sworn in as our countries next president this coming Friday. This Friday, January 20, 2017 we as a country have given the golden ticket to an alt right president just 4 days after we celebrate a national hero, Martin Luther King Jr. It is truly gut wrenching and soul shattering to admit that this will happen and to know that by not tuning in doesn't stop history from happening. The only solace I take in knowing this truly upsetting and disgusting thing will happen this Friday is what is happening the following day, Saturday January 21, 2017. 

Which brings me to the whole point I decided to write to you, the woman's march and the future of feminism. 

On Saturday thousands of women will flood the streets of Washington D.C as well as other major cites across the globe to form a protest, similar to the Lysistrata movement of the early 2000′s. On that day, women and men of all ages will take to the streets to protest in favor of women's rights and against Donald Trump, his presidency and everything that comes with it ( Im looking at you Republican party, you're not exempt from this). On this day, all feminists, regardless of gender, age, creed will march together to prove to not just this incoming administration but the rest of the world that women's rights are human rights and its about time EVERYONE knows it. This Saturday is when all feminists, radical, intersectional, lesbian, religious, etc. feminists will march arm in arm, as sisters for a greater cause and why, because we finally understand that all women and all of our rights are in jeopardy. On this day we set aside this notion that the white feminist suffers more than the black, the gay, the muslim the trans,etc. As women and humans we understand that we all suffer the trials and tribulations that come with being born with a certain mind set, with certain sexual organs and because of this we have decided to stand and march together. 

These next 4 years, whether Trump is impeached or not, are going to be difficult and knowing this we have to admit to ourselves that we are all sisters and one womans struggle is all of our struggle. We cannot allow for color of skin, sexual preference, religion or even the body parts we were born with to separate us in any way. God, science whatever and who ever you give credit for life made you this way because you are strong and capable of everything and because of this we all have to work together. We need to understand that our black sisters chanting “Black Lives Matter,” is a struggle we must not only empathize with but chant along side them. We need to understand that our muslim sisters who are attacked for wearing the religious garb is not something just happening to them, but to you and me and my neighbor etc. Look at life and creation, for a moment at least, as this idea that God who is all around us is similar or (perhaps the same?) as matter, it is always around us and is in us, therefore we are all equal. Neil degrasse Tyson once said and said it best that “The atoms of our bodies are traceable to stars that manufactured them in their cores and exploded these enriched ingredients across our galaxy, billions of years ago. For this reason, we are biologically connected to every other living thing in the world. We are chemically connected to all molecules on Earth. And we are atomically connected to all atoms in the universe. We are not figuratively, but literally stardust.” 

If that is not proof enough of how we are all the same and family on this huge time line we call the history of earth, then I am out of words. All I ask is that my fellow feminists realize the importance of standing together in this crazy time. I am hoping that with this march and the ones like it, that when a child looking up the definition to feminism, that the definition isn't followed by smaller categories of the word because feminism isn't enough and it has to be particular to the individual group. I want this child to see one word, one definition and have it look something like this: 

               feminism: the advocacy of all women’s rights on the basis of equality 

Remember, this march isn't just for the white feminists, or the black or the gay, trans, religious, atheist etc. but a march for women, all women. We can't wake up Saturday morning standing together then go about our business after 5pm, because one group of women aren't more or less important than another. After all, we are stardust, each and everyone of us, and just like the stars in the sky shine together, so will we all.