Osiedle

Chodzę ze sztyletem wbitym między żebrami, ostrze utknęło. Pogodziłem się z nim, wiem że, nie uwolnię się od niego. Spaceruje po ciemnym mieście ze swoim przyjacielem zatopionym w mojej klatce, mroczne bloki spoglądają na mnie swoimi żółtymi ślepiami. Idąc bawię się rękojeścią, dociskam nóż głębiej, upewniam się, że nie wypadnie. Gram na rączce sztyletu jak na flecie, stukam go palcami, szukam najboleśniejszej nuty. Przechadzam się jakimś osiedlem, chłodna noc, chłodny asfalt, obojętność. Zamyślony uderzam się w latarnię, ta dopycha nóż głębiej, przeszywa mnie ogromny ból. Zaklinam swój los i przeklinam wszystkie latarnie, czuje jak opuszczają mnie siły. Siadam na ławeczce przy latarni, która zadała mi tyle bólu. Opadam na nią i zatapiam się w nią, czuje jak krew wycieka spod wbitego przedmiotu. Skórcze przebiegają moją klatkę, moją twarz, czuje że, chce mi się popłakać. Łzy nie ciekną, nigdy nie ciekły, myślę o bólu, znów gram melodię na rękojeści. Łzy znów nie lecą, czuje rezygnację, uderzam pięścią nóż tak aby wbić go jak najgłębiej. Nóż tnie głębiej, krew znów wypływa. Nagle czuje wstyd, czuje wzrok żółtych ślepi, wstaje z ławki, biegnę ulicami, szukam schronienia. Śliska nawierzchnia, zdradliwa, przewracam się, ostrze uderza w asfalt pierwsze, przenika mnie ogromny ból, krzyczę. Zdarte dłonie, skóra odpada z rąk i piszczeli, wstaje obolały. Łzy nie lecą, krew leci. Kuśtykam dalej ciemną ulicą, spoglądam na księżyc, łza kręci mi się w oku ale nie spada, zassana z powrotem, mimo największych starań by ją wypluć. Nie mogę uciec żółtym oczom, są wszędzie, ból. Dochodzę do mostu nad rzeczką, wciąż otoczony oczami podchodzę do jego krawędzi. Noga przechodzi przez barierkę, ręka podciąga się za drewnianą belkę, od upadku nie dzieli mnie już nic. Skaczę, świst wiatru, wiatr wdziera się w świeże rany. Uderzenie zimnej wody, myślałem że, umrę gdy tylko dotknę lustrzanej tafli, co za rozczarowanie. Teraz nie dość że, żywy to jeszcze mokry, prąd rzeki unosi mnie w nieznane, poddaje mu się. Chciałem umrzeć, czemu wciąż żyje, oczy wciąż patrzą, śmieją się z mojej porażki. Zamykam oczy i płynę, wszystko już jedno. Popłynę, pocierpię, może się wreszcie utopie.

Understanding the two Marys, as Samael Aun Weor expounds in his book “The Perfect Matrimony – Chapter 13 The Two Marys”, is a pivotal step in your spiritual journey. Failure to do so renders you ignorant. The battlefield where the two Marys engage is sex. The path of sexuality you choose is a decision of immense significance. It can lead you to heavenly heights or plunge you into hellish depths. The mother you nourish and awaken is a choice that rests solely with you.

Saint Mary is Santa Maria in Spanish. Saint Mary is never the mother of Christ, our King, even if Saint Mary claims to be the mother of Jesus Christ. If Saint Mary says this, tell her that she lies.

Saint Mary is the perverse Mary that the Maleficos worship: the Abominable Mother Kundabuffer. The maleficos are sorcerers or practitioners of black magic. The maleficos are disciples who corrupt themselves against their innermost selves.

Saint Mary is the motherfornicator, the perverse mother of all types of fornication. She is Circe.

In the Odyssey, Circe is the enchantress who turns men into animals. Yes, people can turn into animals using the kundabuffer organ. It is evident, though, in Carlo Collodi’s Pinocchio. When one deviates to the Land of Toys, he becomes a donkey through skipping school and work. School is for growth in knowledge; work is our diligence in the Great Work.

Saint Mary awakens through the coitus fornicatus of the warlock and the witch, who seek knowledge incorrectly. It is the coitus fornicatus which leads man and woman to fornicate through the coitus. It is also known as black tantra. It is she who fortified our own ego.

Saint Mary is the matrix of witchcraft, coitus fornicatus, and sorcery. She is the Queen of the maleficos. Saint Mary is the Maleficent, the corrupt, perverse fairy godmother who leads children into fornication and spiritual death. Look no further into the 1959 Disney film called Sleeping Beauty.

Saint Mary is the Queen of the Infernos and bitches. She carries the bitchdust, the dust of easy prostitution in which the sorceress gives power to. Now you know her bitchcraft. Naive and uninformed individuals are often easy to manipulate. She has all the powers of hell, the sexual perversion. She is the lowest of all women. In chess, Saint Mary is colored black.

Rest assured: Saint Mary will never hold power over you if you do not suffer her; only the Virgin Mary, the powerful mother, is to be revered and feared.

The Virgin Mary, the mother of Christ, our King, embodies purity and divinity. She is the antithesis of the corrupt Saint Mary, representing all that is pure and divine in the spiritual realm.

The Virgin Mary is the Virgin of Carmel, whom the Beneficos worship. The Beneficos are the white magicians or the magicians. The Beneficos are disciples who maintain their purity through their actions.

The Virgin Mary is the Divine Mother Kundalini awakened through the creation of the cross by man and woman through chastity. Chastity is the coitus reservatus of man and woman: the White Tantra. She also helps us destroy our own Egos through our own awareness and comprehension.

Therefore, the Virgin Mary is the source of magic, chastity, and the perfect matrimony. She is the Queen of the Beneficos, leading them to eternal salvation.

The Virgin Mary is the Queen of the Heavens. She has all the powers of heaven. She is the highest of all women. In chess, the pieces are colored white.

In closing, I give you the prayer of the Ave Maria to seek the guidance of our Divine Mother Kundalini:

In Latin:

Ave Maria;

gratia plena;

dominus tecum;

Benedicta tu in mulieribus;

et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus;

Virginis Maria Mater Dei;

Ora pro nobis cum peccatoribus ego;

nunc, et in hora mortis vitium nostrae;

Sela fiat.

In English:

Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Iesus (Yeshua, Jesus); Virgin Mary, Mother of God, pray for us with the sinning ego, now and at the death of our vices; amen.

How do I make the voices stop?

“The Peace of Wild Things When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

Wendell Berry

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#poetry #confession #100daystooffset #writing

guardaba tréboles en su cuaderno de notas entre su mente y su corazón en el espacio de tres / cuatro / cinco hojas azules / verdes / cristalinos y se llevó su colección más allá / ya te imaginas siempre frescos

la luna rota de la duda se asoma cuando lo que no puedes hacer pesa más que todo lo que has hecho

yo no sé quién nos enfrentó yo no sé si tú lo sabes / si no tenemos más intereses que la necesidad y por el bien común soltemos la ira / las piedras / los garrotes / las armas

Have you ever felt that your life is miserable because of other people?

Your boss, your parents, the traffic, the pollution, the corruption, God.. yes? Everyone else but you?

It's a very comfortable place to be when we blame others for our troubles.

It takes courage to look in the mirror and acknowledge that you are the one who is actually at fault.

You are the one who tolerated other people's shit, their injustice, their mistakes.

You are the one who didn't say No when it was necessary to be said.

Yes, that was your mistake – not speaking up or taking action at the right time.

And you are the only one who can dig yourself out of the hole you dug yourself into.

How?

Acknowledge that you have a problem.

Acknowledge that you need help.

Now get out there and get the help you need.

It takes courage to ask for help. And there is no shame in that.

There is no shame in being vulnerable, or being weak or being unable to get yourself out of a particular situation.

There is no shame in correcting your past mistakes, apologizing to the people that you hurt in the past, in mending bridges that you burnt.

Living in denial as you suffer through life while you blame everyone else for your misery is worse.

Give yourself a real chance.

Trust me, you got this!

la señora Francis de blanco plancha mientras el guandú / ya saben ese frijol de palo mezcla la brisa con la café

revisando los diarios de la mañana determinadas neuronas le hacían el favor de ver la realidad de un modo amable / ésto era tan frecuente que llegó a sospechar

luego al ver la luz en la ventana concluyó que sería un buen día es decir lo normal para que al paso de las horas caiga en el más absoluto olvido

Die gängige Klassifizierung des Kurdischen als „indoeuropäische Sprache“ ist ein linguistisches Konstrukt, das mehr über westliche Kategorisierungslogik aussagt als über die tatsächliche Herkunft der kurdischen Sprache und Kultur. Während Kurdisch heute formal zur iranischen Untergruppe der indoeuropäischen Familie gezählt wird, sprechen genetische, archäologische und strukturelle Hinweise dafür, dass diese Einordnung nur eine oberflächliche sprachliche Schicht beschreibt — nicht jedoch den Ursprung oder das Wesen der kurdischen Sprache selbst.

-—

1. Der geographische und kulturelle Ursprung des Kurdischen

Kurdistan liegt im Herzen des alten Zagros- und Taurusgebirges — eine Region, die seit der Frühgeschichte eine der zentralen Wiegen der Zivilisation war. Hier entwickelten sich frühe Staaten wie die der Gutier, Lullubi, Hurrier und Mannäer, lange bevor irgendeine indoeuropäische Sprache existierte.

Diese Völker sprachen agglutinierende, nicht-indoeuropäische Sprachen, die teilweise mit der hurro-urartäischen Sprachfamilie verwandt waren. Sie bildeten das kulturelle, genetische und territoriale Fundament, auf dem sich später das kurdische Volk entwickelte.

Dass das moderne Kurdisch Strukturen und Vokabular iranischer Prägung aufweist, erklärt sich daher aus späteren Kontakten mit iranischsprachigen Gruppen, die sich im 2. Jahrtausend v. Chr. in diese Region ausbreiteten. Doch diese Überlagerung war linguistisch, nicht ethnisch. Die Bevölkerung selbst blieb im Kern autochthon — Nachfahren der Zagros- und Hurrit-Kulturen.

-—

2. Sprachliche Schichten: Ein indoeuropäischer Anstrich auf nicht-indoeuropäischem Fundament

Vergleicht man das Kurdische mit klassischen iranischen Sprachen wie Altpersisch oder Avestisch, zeigen sich markante Abweichungen.

– Die Lautstruktur ist weicher, teilweise vokalreicher und erinnert an prä-iranische, hurritische Muster.

– Viele Wörter des Alltagsgebrauchs (z. B. für Natur, Familie, Körper, Tiere) haben keine echten indoeuropäischen Etymologien, sondern lassen sich auf lokale, altmesopotamische oder sogar kaukasische Wurzeln zurückführen.

– Auch die Syntax (Satzstruktur) zeigt Einflüsse, die mit den agglutinierenden Sprachen Nordmesopotamiens übereinstimmen.

Diese Merkmale deuten darauf hin, dass die indoeuropäische Schicht des Kurdischen ein später Import ist – vergleichbar mit einem Überzug, der die ursprüngliche Struktur überlagert, aber nicht ersetzt hat.

-—

3. Genetik und Archäologie stützen die Eigenständigkeit

Die genetische Zusammensetzung kurdischer Populationen weist eine starke Kontinuität zu bronzezeitlichen und eisenzeitlichen Gruppen wie den Mannäern, Gutiern und Hurriern auf.

Diese Völker existierten lange vor dem Auftreten indo-iranischer Gruppen in der Region.

Funde aus Hasanlu, Dinkha Tepe, und Teppe Rabat zeigen kulturelle und rituelle Kontinuitäten, die sich nicht mit den nordöstlichen Wanderungsbewegungen der Steppe erklären lassen.

Es ist daher irreführend, Kurdisch „indoeuropäisch“ zu nennen, nur weil spätere Sprachkontakte indoeuropäische Elemente hinterließen.

Die Bevölkerung und ihr kulturelles Gedächtnis sind wesentlich älter und eigenständiger.

-—

4. Das Kurdische als Brückensprache des alten Vorderen Orients

Das Kurdische ist nicht einfach „eine iranische Sprache“, sondern ein Hybrid mit lokaler Dominanz. Es vereint alte Zagros-Wurzeln mit Einflüssen aus Elam, Hurri, Aramäisch, Iranisch und sogar Kaukasisch.

Diese Vermischung spiegelt die geographische Realität Kurdistans wider:

eine Übergangszone, in der sich Kulturen begegneten, verschmolzen und doch eine eigene Identität bewahrten.

Die Sprache überdauerte Jahrtausende als Trägerin einer eigenständigen Denkweise, nicht als Ableger einer Steppe-Kultur. Sie ist damit ein lebendiges Zeugnis des alten mesopotamisch-kurdistanischen Erbes.

-—

5. Fazit

Kurdisch mag in heutigen Klassifikationen „indoeuropäisch“ heißen, doch das ist nur die äußere Form.

Inhaltlich, kulturell und historisch steht es auf einem Fundament, das viel älter ist — einem Fundament, das aus dem Herzen Mesopotamiens und des Zagros stammt.

Das Kurdische ist somit eine indigene Sprache Vorderasiens, die lediglich eine indoeuropäische Oberfläche angenommen hat, während ihr inneres Wesen und ihre tiefsten Wurzeln nicht-indoeuropäisch geblieben sind.

I hit diamond in all roles today, and I felt like I couldn’t tell others about it. So I played guitar for the first time in a while and just blasted that shit until I felt better. I’m overwhelmed today, and I feel sad because I work 9-5, work out or do hobbies, and then it’s 8 pm by the time I get to relax. And I miss being able to just spend time with people like I could in college. I miss a lot of stuff, and I’m holding nostalgia with caution.

I’ve made more progress on my blog poster program. I’m doing a few minor changes and adding new features before moving on to another service/platform. The images haven’t changed since my last post, so there are no new ones this time.

I added a Kudos button to my Write.as custom domain, michaelmitchell.blog. It’s powered by Tinylytics. I’ll probably be adding more features soon and doing some digital gardening along the way.

I also updated my Personal Events social media poster project.

Streamline your social media management with a versatile platform that allows simultaneous posting across multiple networks.

I hope to finish all the refinements and additions by the end of February. I’m taking it slow and thoroughly testing each connection to make sure every post, no matter the content, looks consistent across all platforms. Someday, I know I’ll settle on just one platform. But for now, I’m enjoying the process.

Chapter 12

Their House. They Gooned

#nsfw #claire

Each part of that ‘computer’ was auctioned off to the lowest bidder. Desk included. Claire and Nadia were wise to not have any part of that machine remain in tact given the circumstances.

Nadia no longer wanted to goon alone. Claire always welcomed her. The nightly routine of seeing each other became just as important as gooning as itself. Over time, they both decided to buy a house together and built each room as they saw fit. Every room had a screen playing porn. Windows were blacked out. Neon lights were placed everywhere, and high end speakers were always playing classical music and porn. This was their home. This was their truth. Their perversion was everything. Nadia perched on the edge of their shared king-size bed, her bare feet swinging idly between silken sheets. Nadia kept her promise. She still remained nude as much as possible for porn and Claire.

Every now and then, Nadia would catch Claire’s eye – those eyes that had once held a hint of something guarded, something almost professional, now sparkled with unadulterated desire, mirroring Nadia's own.

“You think it worked its magic” Nadia asked, tracing patterns on the duvet with her nail. Claire chuckled, a low rumble in her chest that resonated through Nadia’s core. “Completely,” she said, tossing the box onto a stack of others beside their overflowing recycling bin.

“Remember when you couldn't look at me without blushing? Now?” She crossed the room in a few long strides, kneeling before Nadia and capturing her lips in a kiss that tasted of freedom and shared fantasies.

“Now,” Nadia breathed into the kiss, “I can barely think straight when you’re near.”

Claire pulled back slightly, thumb stroking Nadia’s lower lip. “Good,” she murmured. “Because we have work to do.” She winked, a playful glint in her eyes that sent shivers down Nadia's spine. Work indeed.

Their days no longer followed the rigid structure of deadlines and responsibilities. They were free now, tethered only by their mutual obsession. Porn and masturbation were the very fabric of their existence. The house throbbed with the low pulse of an endless stream of porn – multiple screens scattered throughout each room, casting a perpetual glow on their bare limbs.

They had discovered new levels of pleasure together. Every goon session revealed new ways to explore their bodies and desires. Claire’s masterful curation fueled their digital erotic world. Nadia had never been one for spontaneity before; now she reveled in Claire's playful suggestions, each whispered prompt a delicious invitation into unknown territories.

One afternoon, perched on the edge of the bathtub, Nadia traced lazy circles on Claire’s back as they both watched a wonderfully pornographic scene unfold. A wave of heat pulsed through her, and she couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within her chest.

“Remember when I thought this was all so weird?” she asked, tilting her head to press another kiss against Claire's shoulder blade. Claire laughed too, a husky rumble that resonated against Nadia’s cheek. “Who knew porn addiction could feel so damn good?” She leaned back into Nadia's touch, closing her eyes and savoring the feeling of contentment that had become as familiar and comforting as breathing.

Their lives weren't perfect – their days were sometimes punctuated by the sharp sting of withdrawal when a particularly captivating scene ended, leaving them craving more. They still bickered over whose turn it was to choose the right video, and there were nights when the constant bombardment of images left them both feeling oddly disconnected from the physical world. But the knew their world of porn was better than “their” world without porn.

But those moments were fleeting. Because the truth was, they had found each other in the space between reality and fantasy, two souls who’d learned to embrace the sheer exquisite beauty of their shared obsession. In their haven of screens and silken sheets, where the line blurred between the tangible and the virtual, Nadia and Claire knew they’d finally come home. They were lifestyle goonettes now, through and through – and they wouldn't have it any other way. -End

We remember from last week that we left Dorothy and her friends, and Princess Ozma and her crew, all tying to rescue the rightful Queen of Ev and her ten children. The Queen and her children were being held captive by the Nome King. Dorothy and Ozma were successful. And all returned to Ev where a huge celebration was held. The Queen told her rescuers they were welcome to stay in her land as honored guests. But Ozma said she needed to return to Oz to rule over her people. And Dorothy wanted to get back to her Uncle Henry in Australia and help nurse him back to health. So Ozma used her newly acquired magic belt and transported Dorothy to Uncle Henry's side.

And so ended Book 3 of 14, Ozma of Oz.

Now we find ourselves in Book 4, Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz.

Uncle Henry's health and disposition improved greatly when Dorothy returned to him. He decided he was well enough to return to his ranch in Kansas. He and Dorothy had a pleasant voyage back to America, and he went straight back to Kansas while Dorothy stayed a short while, visiting family in California. Her visit over, Dorothy and her pet cat, Eureka, and her cousin Zeb, were riding in a buggy pulled by an old horse named Jim. Then a big earthquake came.

Dorothy and her friends were swallowed up by a big crack in the ground. They fell, and fell, and finally landed in a glass city. Many of the buildings there, all made of glass, were damaged by rocks which rained down as a result of the earthquake above. A second “rock rain” followed shortly, caused by another quake above. And with this second, another buggy came down. A little man stepped out of this buggy and Dorothy happily recognized him as her old friend, the Wizard of Oz.

The Mangaboos, the vegetable people of the glass city, were not all happy with these new arrivals and chased them out of their land. They escaped into a big cave in the side of a mountain and wandered through other strange lands and had many adventures including fighting off an attack by Invisible Bears, and escaping from vicious wooden Gargoyles who captured them. Now they find themselves in a huge cave nervously surrounded by hungry young dragons who are waiting for their mother to return with food for them. They're hoping for an elephant, or maybe an ox...

And the adventure continues.