desde hace unas semanas coincidiendo con la entrada del verano comenzó a presentir que su pozo interior se agotaba como si de pronto crear fuera arrastrar un bulto el cadáver de un enemigo quizás qué sentido tiene abrir el caballete para qué tomar apuntes y comenzó a tener visiones

robots diminutos cantando alegres canciones haciendo fotos maravillosas escribiendo haikus perfectos pintando genialidades llamándose entre ellos sensei maestro daban brincos y se reían a carcajadas

/ sí lo que hacían era impecable

el miércoles fue a la clínica para el análisis de sangre y pensó que le quedaban pocos glóbulos que le iban a enchufar un líquido denso viscoso aparentemente rojo elaborado en parte con insectos en parte con hidrocarburos

luego regresó a casa a mirar el caballete a verlo con disimulo con estupor como si fuera un gran pecado una ocurrencia de esas que tienen los viejos cuando van perdiendo la razón

Zo net was het er niet nu is het er wel het rinkelen van de bel zo net was er niks nu is er iets een zwaar beladen elektrische fiets het voertuig doemde zomaar op en nu staat je wereld op zijn kop zo net was het onnodig om te verlenen nu hoor je de jengelende ambulance sirene daarvoor was er niks aan de hand en nu is het een onverkwikkelijke toestand het gebeurde in een fractie van een seconde van een gezonde situatie naar een ongezonde ai marimba, wat je allemaal kan overkomen als je op het fietspad loopt te dromen.

A Dream of Clear Skin

By Silent Sentinel

Disponible en español al final

I can only reach back so far in memory. My childhood is hazy at the best of times. But one thing has always stood out sharply: My battle with eczema.

It began around the age of eight. What started as itching led to scratching. Scratching turned into pain. Pain turned into shame.

The outbreaks felt like a plague. My previously flawless skin was soon marred and broken by fingernails dragged across flesh in desperate attempts for relief.

It started at the crook of my elbows, then the base of my neck, and as time went on, it spread.

I wore long sleeves, no matter the heat. To hide the abrasions. Eventually, even my face was affected. Dry, inflamed, raw.

I learned to navigate the stares of strangers, the smirks of the uncaring, the intrusive questions of the curious— all while quietly pleading with God to heal me. Years and years passed like water under a bridge.

And then—

I had a dream.

---

In the dream, I was swimming under the sun. My body was free. My skin was clear.

There was no itching. No shame. No residue of pain.

Light danced across the water, and I moved through it like I belonged there.

I wasn’t just healed in that dream. I was whole. I was free. I was full of joy.

I woke up crying. Not from sadness, but from the ache of knowing what peace felt like— and realizing I wasn’t there yet.

But I never forgot that dream.

---

In the midst of flare-ups and doctors and despair, I held on. To Scripture. To hope. To the story of Naaman— the commander who had leprosy but was healed when he obeyed the prophet’s call to dip himself seven times in the Jordan.

I saw myself in Naaman. Not a warrior— but a child desperate for mercy.

---

Years passed. Some days better. Many worse.

I got used to hiding. To coping. To not hoping too much.

And then—

One day, not in a dream, but in real life— I was in a pool again.

The fall sun warmed my back. My skin was mostly clear. And for the first time in years, I felt that feeling again.

I remembered the dream as tears filled my eyes.

Because it had come true.

Not overnight. Not perfectly. Not in the way I expected.

But it came.

And that moment reminded me of a truth I now carry everywhere:

As long as you don’t give up, there is always hope.

Maybe your healing hasn’t come yet. But don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop hoping. God is still writing your story.

---

Un Sueño de Piel Clara Por Silent Sentinel

Solo puedo recordar hasta cierto punto. Mi infancia es borrosa, incluso en los mejores momentos. Pero hay algo que siempre ha sobresalido con nitidez: mi batalla contra el eccema.

Comenzó cuando tenía unos ocho años. Lo que empezó como picazón, llevó al rascado. El rascado se convirtió en dolor. Y el dolor, en vergüenza.

Los brotes se sentían como una plaga. Mi piel, antes impecable, pronto quedó marcada y herida por las uñas arrastradas con desesperación en busca de alivio.

Comenzó en el pliegue de mis codos, luego en la base del cuello, y con el tiempo, se extendió.

Usaba mangas largas, sin importar el calor, para cubrir las lesiones. Eventualmente, incluso mi rostro se vio afectado. Seco, inflamado, en carne viva.

Aprendí a navegar las miradas de los extraños, las sonrisas burlonas de los indiferentes, las preguntas invasivas de los curiosos— todo mientras suplicaba en silencio a Dios que me sanara. Años y años pasaron como agua bajo un puente.

Y entonces—

tuve un sueño.

---

En el sueño, nadaba bajo el sol. Mi cuerpo era libre. Mi piel, clara.

No había picazón. Ni vergüenza. Ni rastro de dolor.

La luz danzaba sobre el agua, y yo me movía por ella como si perteneciera allí.

No solo estaba sanado en ese sueño. Estaba completo. Libre. Lleno de gozo.

Desperté llorando. No de tristeza, sino por el dolor de haber sentido la paz— y darme cuenta de que aún no la tenía.

Pero nunca olvidé ese sueño.

---

En medio de los brotes, los médicos y la desesperación, me aferré. A las Escrituras. A la esperanza. A la historia de Naamán— el comandante que tenía lepra pero fue sanado cuando obedeció al profeta y se sumergió siete veces en el Jordán.

Me vi en Naamán. No como un guerrero— sino como un niño desesperado por misericordia.

---

Pasaron los años. Algunos días mejores. Muchos peores.

Me acostumbré a ocultarme. A sobrellevarlo. A no esperar demasiado.

Y entonces—

un día, no en un sueño, sino en la vida real— volví a estar en una piscina.

El sol de otoño calentaba mi espalda. Mi piel estaba, en su mayoría, clara. Y por primera vez en años, sentí esa sensación de nuevo.

Recordé el sueño mientras las lágrimas llenaban mis ojos.

Porque se había hecho realidad.

No de la noche a la mañana. No perfectamente. No como lo había imaginado.

Pero llegó.

Y ese momento me recordó una verdad que ahora llevo a todas partes:

Mientras no te rindas, siempre hay esperanza.

Quizás tu sanidad aún no ha llegado. Pero no dejes de soñar. No dejes de esperar. Dios todavía está escribiendo tu historia.

I really like this quote because I like to interpret it in an unconventional lens. I think of what you can do as what you are capable of, and your potential. And so the quote becomes fully realize your potential. And I think that's a good reminder, because everyone is capable of way more than they think they are, you only find out once you push and see that that boundary isn't actually there.

I talked with M today as we hung out for like 6 hours. At one point it came up, and I mentioned how she hasn't really gassed me up ever even though we originally talked about it, and she apologized. I told her it wasn't a big deal, but we talked about it more later and she mentioned about how as an attractive woman, if she tells me that she finds me attractive in the way of a compliment, she is afraid of losing my friendship the potential of something physical. And then I kind of got it. To me, it has mostly felt like I am not actually important and not someone to look at, and that I am essentially cast aside compared to all of the other men she sees, and that I'm not enough to notice. Or that I am not worthy of any compliments. But that's not the case, she told me she does find me attractive but she's more afraid of losing me and the boundary we set about not being physical as friends. And I guess ultimately just not wanting to lead me on, because a lot of men of course are starved for that validation and whenever we receive it it feels special.

So thinking about it this way, I understand that it's not that I am untouchable or undesirable, but kind of the opposite I guess – too important to risk. I wonder if a similar thing is happening with T, because she stopped gassing me up and mentally I did take note of it. Maybe it's better for me to think a similar situation is happening, where it's not that I am undesirable or unattractive, but there's something else at play that I just don't I think about.

Just picked up The Nocturnal Table, Castle Xyntillan, and Khosura: King of the Wastelands from the post:

Gabor Lux is running is site-wide sale on everything he has published under EMDT imprint until July 20. Things are moving quickly so act fast. :)

#OSR #SW #OSRIC

So before I get balls deep into this post, I hope people can read this judgement free. I fully understand that people/couples are in all sorts of different stages during their relationships. The topic I’m about to cover is porn and how it has changed our relationship. I understand there is a lot of negative feelings when it comes to porn in America. I grew up thinking it was the Devil and a true sin. People have many different views when it comes to porn based on their own life experiences. This is just ours. When I was growing up, I was such a nosy kid. I wanted to know how much every bill was, I would search the house for hidden Christmas presents so naturally, I found my parents porn stash. As a teen, who spent too many years going to church, I didn’t understand truly what I was seeing. My abusive and narcissistic father made sure my sister and I didn’t understand anything. We were so naive and this worked perfectly for him. He was able to molest my sister without fear of being discovered and we never questioned anything. Questioning meant we weren’t faithful. We would just be a disappointment to Jesus and everything we represented. This was told to us by the same man who was molesting multiple children from 6 years on. To say I have a fucked up childhood is putting it very mildly. With this being my first foray into porn and anything sexual, it left me confused. I didn’t dare talk to anyone about what I saw. My dad had porn of men together, which super confused me, based on what I was taught at church. I never tried masturbating growing up and didn’t dare look at my changing body in any way that might mean I was actually a woman. My mind just didn’t go there because I didn’t know that I could. I was naive as fuck. So when I met my future husband, I was 18 and he was 23. When we first started dating, i had only been with 1 other guy, which was not a great experience for me. Technically it was consensual but in all fairness, I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. My husband had much more experience than me but had been working on getting over having his heart trampled on by multiple bitches. He stood up to said past boyfriend and made sure to protect me from him. This past guy wouldn’t stop calling or accept that I just didn’t want anything to do with him. I had given him blow jobs, which was something that I did fully understand and consent to, but we had only fucked once, in a really shitty hotel. He tried sending me money and pulling out all of the stops to stay but thankfully, my future husband talked to him when he called me for the last time and told him his time was up. I had moved on. I guess hearing it from another man really got the point through, finally. It’s really scary for me to go back and wonder the “what ifs” about that situation. What if I wanted to break things off and didn’t have a man to stand up to him and make sure he understood I meant no? Would I have just stayed and lived a miserable life with a guy who really didn’t give a fuck about me? I was just a check on a list for him and I’m just thankful my husband was there for me at the right time. When my husband and I met, I was instantly attracted to him. I’ve always preferred men that aren’t white. I had a white boyfriend and I absolutely hated it. Aside from kissing, I refused to let him do anything else. White guys just don’t do it for me. In my subconscious, I think they maybe reminded me of my father. My husband has beautiful deep olive skin that turns me the fuck on. Just a touch and I’m on fire for him. Our attraction was instant. Even though I had a really shitty first sex experience (that I would come to terms with years later), I wanted him. I craved his voice, his touch and I really wanted his cock. Within a few days, we were fucking. To most, this would seem incredibly soon but I didn’t care. Even at just 18, I knew he was “the one” for me. My friends thought I was fucking crazy and I didn’t give a fuck. Giving him orgasms, being fucked and then getting my first orgasm ever … I was fucking hooked in more ways than one. Not only did we have the sexual compatibility, but we also connected emotionally. We were engaged in two weeks. Six months later, we were married. Many people who hear our story think we’re nuts, and plenty of people told me I was making a mistake at the time. I didn’t care. This man was mine and I was his. We’ve now been married for 25 years. So FUCK all of the haters. Life is too short and you just have to do what works for you and brings your happiness. Of course we had some issues in the early years. We were not only learning how to live together, but I was also learning how to be an adult for the first time in my life. I no longer had this domineering male figure who told me what to do at all times. Honestly, I didn’t know who I was, aside from knowing I love this man with all of my heart. One of our first few challenges related to porn. As a single dude, of course he used porn. In many relationships, this is place of contention. Many guys hide it, many women freak out and together – no conversations happen. We easily fell into this pit. He would hide porn and I would feel not pretty enough or I would compare myself to the women in these videos. We would fuck and then a few hours later, I would catch him using porn. Now, I realize he has a high sex drive but at the time, it just felt super deceiving. Let it be said, I also didn’t foster a safe place for him to talk about it, let alone explore it together. We would have many fights over the years in regards to porn and sex. Most of the fights between couples tend to revolve around money and sex. With him having a much higher drive than me, I felt awful about myself, on top of learning that it was not only okay, but natural, to desire sex and want to please. These were all things that were extremely frowned upon or never talked about while I was growing up. I was so sexually immature. Even though he has more partners, he was immature when it came down to figuring out how to make relationships work during hard times, due to his tough childhood and the things he saw his parents do to each other. We continued to work on it together and found our rhythm when it came to sex and porn. Sometimes it didn’t bother me and other times I would be so angry. He harbored intense shame for watching and I super judged him for hiding it. It’s odd to say but only in the last 3 or so years ago did I really come around. There were times where I had zero sex drive and we would go a month only doing things together once or twice. This is absolutely torturous for someone with a high sex drive. ( Later on when my sex drive revved up and stayed incredibly high, I full understood this intense level of want.) I’m not sure what exactly switched inside of me but it just didn’t bother me. I saw porn for what it was , bodies fucking and these actors earning a paycheck. Was it exciting? Absolutely. Did I crave it? No. Did we use it together? Occasionally. How can you not get aroused by seeing what we were designed to do? Porn also sort of feels like something you aren’t allowed to see. Like you’re getting a secret, behind the scenes view of people’s intimate moments. Of course it’s fucking hot. Porn also offers something for everyone. It’s what it’s designed to do. When we started using it together, things really changed for us. We could both get turned on by what we saw, what we wanted to watch and it brought a new level to our relationship. It was no longer this taboo thing. Instead, it was something we chose to do together. At first, my husband was shy to show me what he was into when he searched, what turned him on and what I might think of the videos he chose. For me, it was exciting to see this “hidden” side that most people don’t get to see. Imagine sitting next to your spouse, just browsing porn together and trying not to feel nervous or judged. It’s not so easy, especially when you have a past with it that involved shame. Plus, there were past partners who said they were okay with porn who ultimately weren’t. For us, we use it whenever we want to. Recently, he was fucking me the hounds way and put the phone on my back and just ravaged me in the best of ways. My husband loves sound and visuals. For this, he had the visual but the sounds were turned down. Instead, he watched couples fucking and heard my moans. It was such a fucking turn on for both of us. We have had porn cast to our tv and we both watch it while he ruthlessly drives into me. I looooooove it. For me, it’s exciting to see what turns him on, for him to freely watch without fear and shame, and to just be us together. Does he have to ask me to watch it solo? Never. Do I require him to show me what he’s watched? Fuck no. We have this understanding that porn is just what it is. A bonus. Please, use it freely. For us, porn is an addition, not a hidden issue that causes fights. He still struggles with the instant fear but we’re working on it. Lifetime habits take time to break down. Although porn doesn’t bother me, it’s something I truly enjoy with him, I also understand he’s spent years before me hiding/feeling ashamed with other partners. Although I don’t carry a lot of baggage from past partners (because that’s a whole one person) but I realize he does. I’m patient enough to go at his speed with it. We’ve found ways to work on combating these past fears and changing them into a place of peace. I offer him a safe place to be judgement free. In return, we opened a next level of our sex life (and him being able to be free) and for us, it’s really fucking fun. The really cool part about porn is that you can literally search anything. If your likes change, there’s a new category for that. We get to explore things we might not have known existed or I have even picked up new techniques for blowjobs and sex that I’ve seen. (Reddit is also a great place to pick up new techniques. There is a subreddit for everything) Although I started off very naive to the world, relationships and everything sex related, I’m now a full time submissive cum slut who gets off on pleasing my husband multiple times a day. Because we are both free use, if we say we want something, we get it. There is no daily limit for the amount of times I’ll please him and it’s the same for me. He’s not shamed for masturbating either. Send me a picture or a video so I can get off on it. I think it’s hot as fuck to watch him please himself. Now that we both have insanely high sex drives, we love to wear each other out in all of the best ways. We are always ready to explore or try something new together. If my pussy is too sore from the night before, I always have my ass, my talented mouth or my hand. Fuck it, fuck my titties. Just let me have your cum. Either way, my man is going to stay drained, which keeps me full. (in more ways that one.) There won’t be a day I don’t crave his taste, his touch, his body or the way he drives me fucking wild. Somehow, twenty five years in, we fuck better than we did in our 20s and I’m totally here for it. If he comes home from a bad day at work, I’m ready on my knees ready to suck him dry. If he gets horny in the middle of the night, wake me up and take advantage of my body. I want that. I crave that. It’s amazing to see just how much progress we’ve made as a couple. From our early years as such babies learning the world together, to this sexual confident couple who flames the fire of the other, I am fucking proud of where we are and what we’ve been through. I would do it all again in a second if it meant we would be here again. He’s always worth it. I’ve always been worth it but I’m learning to see it. It’s still a work in progress as I untangle my trauma and truly learn who I am. One thing will never change. I will always be ready for him at any moment. ( He reads each entry I post so: Hey you sexy mother fucker. I love the fuck out of you.) He will also leave me shaking and mumbling incoherent words after making me orgasm so hard I see black. THANK YOUUUUUUUUU Together, we just match. I’m so grateful we found each other so early. Every moment, good and bad, has created this unstoppable, ever evolving force. Together, we shine. Together, we grow. Together, we deliver unending pleasure. We choose each other every day, and add in a few bonuses here and there. 😉

#nsfw

Luck like suffering Is too often a matter of comparison. I have more than many, less than some. Still, the long days drag on And the short days fade too fast. Long and short, we journey on Do the best we can Tend to our hearts and hopes, Searching for joy even in the darkest places. This, no great wisdom, Just a summation of a life still lived.

Prayers, etc.: * 04:00 – Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel * 06:00 – praying The Angelus. * 07:30 – praying the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Traditional Holy Rosary in English, followed by the Memorare * 07:45 – Readings from today's Mass include – Epistle: Prov 31:10-31 and Gospel: Matt 13:44-52. Followed by making an Act of Contrition then making an Act of Spiritual Communion, followed by praying Archbishop Vigano’s prayer for USA & President Trump. Followed by today's Morning Devotion Psalm 66 as found in Benedictus Magazine * 12:00 – praying The Angelus * 15:00 – prayerfully reading the Nicene Creed in English. * 18:00 – praying The Angelus, followed by today's Evening Devotion, (Psalm 124), as found in Benedictus Magazine, followed by the Magnificat: Luke 1:46-55. * 19:00 – praying the hour of Compline for tonight according to the Traditional Pre-Vatican II Divine Office, followed by Fr. Chad Ripperger's Prayer of Command to protect my family, my sons, my daughter and her family, my granddaughters and their families, my great grandchildren, and everyone for whom I have responsibility from any demonic activity. – And that followed by the Tuesday Prayers of the Association of the Auxilium Christianorum

Health Metrics: * bw= 224.1 lbs. * bp= 144/85 (67)

Diet: * 06:30 – bowl of oatmeal, egg rolls * 08:50 – 2 HEB bakery cookies * 10:15 – macaroni salad * 12:30 – 1 banana, 1 orange * 13:00 – whole kernel corn, breaded fish steaks * 18:15 – 1 cheese & grape jam sandwich

Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:50 – bank accounts activity monitored * 07:55 – follow news reports from various sources * 12:00 – go to my bank, transfer funds * 13:00 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia. * 14:00 – listening to relaxing music, quietly reading * 17:45 – listening to The Joe Pags Show

Chess: * 15:10 – moved in all pending CC games

This has not been my favorite Tuesday. When I woke there were three self-assigned chores ahead of me.

Chore #1 had me physically going to my bank and trying to transfer funds. No complaints about my local bank, folks there were friendly and cooperative. The two external banks I was trying to use to transfer funds from were disappointing. It was later in the afternoon I was able make the transfer using a third bank. Several stressful hours wasted.

The other two chores were: for the first one, surprisingly easy and gratifying; and for the second one, frustrating to the point where I was glad it wasn't something I really had to do. So I decided not to waste any more time on it.

Now on Tuesday evening I'm hoping for a much easier, better day tomorrow.

And the adventure continues.

S.N.I.t ; Cöda 6,99

Ik voel me genoodzaakt om iets te verhelderen. In mijn stukjes staan soms van die stomme tik en schrijf fouten en ik wil u uitleggen waar dit door komt. Het ligt zeker niet aan mij, dat ik te snel tevreden ben, te snel schrijf en niet vaak genoeg de stukjes herlees voor ik op publish tik. Ik schrijf alles goed maar tussen tikken op publiceren en daadwerkelijke publicatie gaat het altijd mis. Mijn stukjes moeten een lange weg afleggen van hier naar Oz en terug naar u, onderweg moeten mijn zinnen langs allemaal conflict gebieden, over land en zee oostwaarts door fysieke oorlogsgebieden, deze zorgen voor heel veel lastige passages omdat digitale spionnen en saboteurs data stromen de soepele ongehinderde doorgang beletten, van alle kanten wordt er gemorreld aan alles en onder andere daardoor raken mijn zinnen uit model. Bij het vorige stukje stuurde ik het voor de zeekerheid over zee maar net op dat moment voer er een Chinees schip over de kabel waar mijn stukje doorheen moest vlieden, dit schip had allemaal apparatuur aan boord om onze data te husselen, zodat opdrachten gestuurd door onze geheime diensten actief in dat deel van Azië bij aankomst niet meteen werden begrepen en door het korte oponthoud daar uit ontstaan zou de spion zo nijdig worden dat hij de missie die hij moest uitvoeren zou verkloten. Dat is dan maar zo, het gebeurt andersom ook, echter stukjes van onschuldige denker schrijvers zoals ik lijden er ook onder en dat is natuurlijk niet zo fraai.

Behalve de vele oorlogen en het bijbehorende wantrouwen is er westwaarts ook nog de grote wereldhandelsoorlog, mijn beetje tekst reist tegelijk met een meute aan financiële data, we gaan samen van hot naar her en terug. Veranderingen in belastingtarieven en dergelijke zorgen meteen voor enorme fluctuaties in de data atmosfeer, het is net als met vuurexplosies op de zon die iedere keer de uitzendingen van Mars TV verstoren, en als dat gebeurt, zo'n akelige tax maatregel, dan raakt dat alle data overal in die gegevens atmosfeer. Vier dagen geleden publiceerde ik mijn stukje net op het moment dat Europa het belastingtarief op tepelpiercings verhoogde van 5 naar 7 procent, tepelpiercings zijn geen luxe product maar medische noodzaak, anders vallen de tepels van de borst, vandaar dit lage tarief, dit even voor als u denkt dat dit sieraden zijn en hoog, zeer hoog moeten worden belast. Nou, terug naar het eigenlijke onderwerp, de effecten die dit verhoogen van belastingen heeft op mijn werk als het onderweg is naar u ogen, dus, de data golven die na zo'n wijziging in lijn of vezel worden veroorzaakt zijn zo hevig dat ze zorgen voor data stormen, data hozen, enorme schomememelingen der tekenens, mijn gegevens botsen ervan op elkaar, of komen in aanraking met andere tekenen der electrische tijd, daardoor raken mijn woorden van hun stuk in het stuk, en staat er opeens een een woordje dubbel of mist er eentje, dat soort ergerlijke onzin, dan loopt de zin die ik rennend schreef krom gebogen, alsof het tegen de wind in moet beuken. Geloof me, zo als u het daar en dan leest, zo is het nooit geschreven. Dit werk doe ik al zo lang dat alles wat ik denk en dus schrijf foutloos en vlot leesbaar is ondanks de snelheid waar ik me schrijf en publiceer.

Mijn gedachten zijn gewoon te lang onderweg langs en over een door wereldse strubbelingen bomvol en roerig traject, er zijn heden ten dage veel te veel beren en @pen op de digitale snelweg van hier naar oz en dan naar waar u zit te kijken.

Perfectie is gewoon lastig te transporteren. Dit doet me denken aan het verhaal dat een atleet, een polsstokhoogspringer, ooit vertelde, deze man sprong naar eigen denken en zeggen enorme hoogten, menigmaal verbeterde hij zo het wereldrecord. Hij sprong met gemak 7 meter 60, telkens weer hoger en hoger. Echter als je zijn wedstrijden terugkeek dan zagen wij, op tv, dat hij drie keer afsprong op aanvangshoogte van 5 meter 15. Dit is eigenlijk net zo'n probleem, de manier waarop het in beeld werd gebracht was heel anders dan de wijze waarop de atleet daadwerkelijk sprong. Het enigste waarop je moet letten is wat er omging in zijn wedstrijd en niet in die van de organisatie, dat was slechts de uitvoering, niet de intentie waarmee het gebeurde. Er zijn maar heel weinig atleten echt goed in dat ene kleine onderdeel van de wedstrijd, de uitvoering. Het is onterecht dat juist die alle aandacht krijgen, aldus die hoogspringer. Maar goed, dat was zijn punt om te maken. Ik heb heel veel lezers en krijg ondanks alle gedachten hoge snelheidslijn transportproblemen meer dan voldoende aandacht en respect betreffende mijn eigen atletische letteren prestaties. Ik vond alleen dat ik u dit moest vertellen opdat u nu in ieder geval weet dat het niet aan u zelf ligt maar aan de oorlog en zo.

Zo dan.. nu naar bed

Welterusten

First of all: Hello!!

I still have no sense of smell which is somewhat of a bummer. Sometimes I try to smell stuff; Like I’d stick my nose in a jar of ground coffee and take a deep whiff, but I’m unsure whether I do sense something faintly, or if it’s just my imagination pulling a cruel prank on me with the phantom smell.

It’s the self deception. the painting of a prettier picture of reality and/or the self that are both good and bad: good because I don’t think life is feasible without at least a slight self deception; how else could we stand ourselves?

Speaking of which, I got a pair of gay looking black shorts from my wife yesterday. She ordered them. I’ve stopped buying clothes. Anyhow so they have a feminine fabric which is semi translucent and therefore you get a hint of what’s underneath but tactfully the rest is left to the imagination. I wouldn’t have bought such sorts myself, but am deeply moved by my wife’s thoughtfulness and so therefore they are my favourite pair.

It’s such mundane manifestations of love which I find makes life so beautiful sometimes, and It is a boon indeed to have people and dogs around you who love you, even though they really know you.

I’ve got two more topics:

Tim Gunn,? The guy from Project Runway seems to be such a warm and kind person, he showcases a lot of empathy. And the funny thing about that show is that I’ve watched a lot of episodes by now, but still I have no clue which garments are bad and which ones are good, so the judges always surprise me. It’s humbling.

And finally there was something more interesting to tell but I did forget it

Ok thank you for reading if you got this far.

There are some very necessary steps in the process of breaking a cycle.

1. Get clear on what the cycle is. You can’t break something if you don’t know what you’re breaking. You need to name it. Map it. See the pattern clearly before you can step out of it.

2. Understand your own impact on the cycle. What was your role? How did you respond? What were you thinking or feeling? This isn’t about blame—it’s about awareness. You can’t change a dynamic without seeing where you’ve participated in it.

3. Understand the other person’s involvement. What are they actually doing? Not why—they may not even know that themselves—but what. What do they say? What do they avoid? What do they control? Get clear on their part without collapsing into analysis or excuses.

4. Find the truth. This is the most important step. Move past the stories of blame and victimhood. The emotions are real—but emotional reactions don’t always tell the whole truth. The sweet spot is knowing what’s happening, why it’s happening, and what you're choosing to do in response.

There’s no truth in blame. There’s no power in victimhood. When you drop the emotional self-defence, what’s left is clarity. You’re not protecting yourself from anything anymore. You’re just standing—fully—in truth, in integrity, and in your own power.

When you stand here and watch what happens from this place, the emotional temper tantrums of others don’t look the same anymore. They aren’t yours to solve. You don’t have to protect yourself from them. You’re just a witness to what’s happening around you that has nothing to do with you. It doesn’t make it any less painful. It’s hard to watch. It takes an emotional toll. But this price is worth it because, in the long term, it protects your integrity, your value, your worth, and your truth.

Other people’s chaos is not yours to solve—but when it impacts you, it offers you a choice. You can participate or not. Not participating doesn’t always have to mean blocking the person and never talking to them again. Sometimes those relationships are still wanted. If you find the truth, integrity, and power within yourself, it will guide your response.

Self-defense is deeply ingrained in our society. The ego loves to defend itself. But it also creates its own painful cycles because it keeps you stuck in the same loops. Learning how to stop defending yourself long enough to see what’s really going on—without the story of blame and self-protection—is actually the key to breaking the cycle.

The story of blame perpetuates a cycle of self-defense. It doesn’t let you clearly see what’s truly happening around you. It focuses you in the wrong place. The truth doesn’t include a story of blame, because blame isn’t true. It’s a lie that humans tell. It helps them avoid taking responsibility for their own thoughts and feelings.

The thing that happened may have triggered certain thoughts and feelings, but the effect those thoughts and feelings have on you is up to you. The cause was the external event. The effect is whatever you think or feel as a result. But those two things are independent of each other. They are separate processes. Your job is to take care of the thing you have control over—which is how you feel and think. You can do nothing about the other person, which is why the story of blame isn’t helpful. It focuses you on something you have no control over.

Insecurity made me engage in the story of blame all the time. It was somebody else’s fault that I couldn’t do or say what I wanted. It was somebody else’s fault that I couldn’t make my own choices and live my life the way I wanted to.

The result of that blame? I created a life I was stuck in. I created the life other people wanted me to have. I didn’t create my own truth because I thought I had to play by other people’s rules.

Then one day I woke up. I realized that what other people were telling me was a projection of their own fear and pain. It had nothing to do with me. Then I realized my decisions were mine. Even if I was making them based on other people’s feedback, they were still ultimately my choice.

Now, the truth comes in waves. I’ve begun to see what my insecure choices created. As I clean up the mess my insecure self created years ago, just know that it does get better. It gets simpler instead of easier. It gets clearer instead of foggier. It becomes more truth with fewer lies.

The truth will always win—but not in the way society likes to tell you it will. It wins because it heals, not because somebody else loses or stays in pain. It wins because it clears the fog, not because it leaves somebody else in it. It wins on its own terms, not by other people’s rules. The truth is powerful enough to break the cycles you’ve found in your own life. But it can only do that if you honour it, respect it, and use it the way it’s intended—not to hurt, but to heal yourself.

Love to all,

Della

Levantamento inédito da Folha de S.Paulo, feito com base na Lei de Acesso à Informação (LAI) e em parceria com Instituto Sou da Paz, apontou acertos da política de segurança pública do governo federal.

O presidente Lula cumpriu a promessa de reduzir a quantidade de armas de fogo em posse da população, depois da flexibilização irresponsável adotada por Jair Bolsonaro para instaurar o caos no país. Levantamento inédito feito pelo jornal Folha de S.Paulo e divulgado no domingo (6) revela queda de 91% nas compras pelos chamados CACs (caçadores, atiradores e colecionadores), na comparação entre 2022 e 2024.

Em 2024, foram adquiridas 39.914 armas, ante 448.319 no último ano do governo Bolsonaro, quando houve recorde de compras. A diminuição inclui todo tipo de armamento. A própria Folha reconheceu, em editorial, o acerto da atual administração em termos de segurança pública, classificando o armamentismo bolsonarista de “insensato”.

O jornal paulistano obteve os dados por meio da Lei de Acesso à Informação (LAI). Eles foram analisados em parceria com o Instituto Sou da Paz. Os números são do Exército, que transferiu a fiscalização dos CACs à Polícia Federal (PF) no começo do mês.

Controles mais rigorosos

Já em 2023, primeiro ano do governo Lula 3, a queda nas aquisições foi de 77%. No período, compraram-se 176.870 armas. Em 2025, até o mês de abril, são 18.065 novos registros.

Na avaliação de Bruno Langeani, consultor sênior do Instituto Sou da Paz, a queda de 91% em dois anos se deve às exigências feitas a partir de 2023, como a diferenciação entre categorias de CACs e controles mais rigorosos da ficha criminal.

“Mais do que manter a redução, o essencial é garantir que todos que registram armas cumpram integralmente os requisitos, especialmente as condições psicológicas, ocupação lícita e a ausência de antecedentes criminais. E que aqueles com registro ativo mantenham as condições para possuí-las”, esclarece Langeani.

Reversão do descalabro

No Brasil, atualmente, cerca de 1,5 milhão de armas estão nas mãos de 980 mil CACs, sendo que 932.551 delas foram registradas durante o governo Bolsonaro, e 234.849, no de Lula. Em editorial publicado na segunda (7), a Folha elogiou os resultados alcançados pela nova política de segurança.

“Ao gerir o setor de segurança pública com base em ideologia, em vez de técnica, Jair Bolsonaro flexibilizou por meio de decretos uma série de normas que restringiam o acesso a armas de fogo no país. Felizmente, o governo de Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva vem conseguindo reverter o descalabro”, reconhece o jornal.

“A redução é bem-vinda, dado que tanto pesquisas científicas como experiências em outros países evidenciam que não só não há relação direta entre expansão do acesso a armas e diminuição de indicadores de criminalidade como verifica-se aumento de mortes que seriam evitáveis”, conclui o editorial.

#cac #cacs #armamentismo

fonte: site do PT

This Isn’t Just Authoritarianism. It’s Fascism. The Five Elements That Define the Threat We Face

Disponible en español al final

I. Introduction: The Word We’re Afraid to Say

“Authoritarian” sounds clinical—like a system or ideology. But what we’re witnessing in America isn’t just authoritarianism. It’s fascism—a dangerous fusion of power worship, cultural resentment, and violent exclusion.

And it’s time we called it by name.

The president doesn’t just crave power. He embodies a uniquely American brand of fascism, one rooted in white Christian nationalism and broadcast through grievance politics and spectacle.

Let’s examine the five defining features of fascism—and how they manifest in Donald Trump’s rise.

II. The Five Elements of Fascism

Rejection of Democracy in Favor of a Strongman Authoritarians believe in using strong leaders to maintain order. Fascists go further: they glorify the leader as the voice of the people, the embodiment of the national will.

Trump: “I am your voice.” “I alone can fix it.”

Fascism isn’t about policy. It’s about personal rule—about collapsing the government into the image of one man.

Stoking Rage Against Cultural Elites Fascists depend on public anger. They channel resentment toward cultural, academic, and media elites, blaming them for social decay.

Trump: “The out-of-touch media elites, the political elites… they’ve led us from one disaster to another.”

They don’t just challenge institutions—they undermine trust in the very idea of shared knowledge, weaponizing ignorance as virtue.

Nationalism Based on Race and Bloodlines Authoritarianism uses nationalism to strengthen the state. Fascism twists nationalism into a racial myth.

Trump: “When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best.”

“Any Jewish people that vote for a Democrat… it shows either a total lack of knowledge or great disloyalty.”

Fascists elevate one group as “true Americans” and label the rest as infiltrators, traitors, or threats to purity.

Glorification of Violence and Heroic Warriors Fascism rewards the strong and punishes the weak. It turns violence into virtue.

Trump: “Our people are tougher, stronger, meaner, and smarter.”

“I am your warrior. I am your justice. I am your retribution.”

It’s a worldview rooted in social Darwinism—a belief that survival belongs to the brutal, not the just.

Repression of Women and LGBTQ+ People At its core, fascism is about male dominance. Women are sidelined. Queer people are erased.

Trump: “I will ask Congress to pass a bill establishing that the only genders recognized by the United States government are male and female, and they are assigned at birth.”

Anything that challenges the patriarchal warrior ideal—whether feminism, queerness, or gender diversity—is cast as a threat to civilization itself.

III. These Elements Work Together

Each of these five pillars feeds the others:

The strongman demands loyalty.

Loyalty is proven through rage.

Rage is stoked by racial myth.

The myth is defended through violence.

Violence is justified by rigid gender roles and control.

This isn’t a loose collection of bad ideas. It’s a coherent, dangerous ideology—and it’s metastasizing inside one of America’s two major parties.

IV. Why This Matters Now

We’ve been slow to call this what it is. We hoped it would fade. We rationalized it as populism. But fascism doesn’t require jackboots. It doesn’t arrive with flags and torches.

Sometimes, it wears a suit. Sometimes, it smiles and waves. Sometimes, it says “God bless America” while promising to erase anyone who doesn’t fit the mold.

If we wait until the textbooks catch up, it’ll be too late.

V. Conclusion: Don’t Soften the Alarm

Donald Trump is not merely an authoritarian. He is the living embodiment of modern American fascism.

This isn’t just about elections. It’s about truth, history, freedom—and whether we have the courage to name what we’re fighting before it consumes us.

Fascism doesn’t win because it’s strong. It wins because people look away.

Let’s not look away.

🛑 What You Can Do:

Share this article. Speak boldly.

Call it fascism—because that’s what it is.

Support educators, activists, and journalists who are standing against disinformation and political violence.

Vote like your country’s future depends on it. Because it does.

#CallItFascism #StopAuthoritarianism #DemocracyUnderSiege #TruthMatters #WeWillNotBeSilent #HistoryRepeating #StandAgainstHate #DefendTheRepublic #NeverAgainMeansNow

Acknowledgment: This article was heavily influenced by the public commentary and educational work of economist and former U.S. Secretary of Labor Robert Reich, particularly his breakdown of the five elements of fascism. Portions of the structure and analysis here reflect his insights and are used with appreciation for his efforts to raise public awareness.

---

Esto No Es Solo Autoritarismo. Es Fascismo.

Los Cinco Elementos Que Definen la Amenaza que Enfrentamos

---

I. Introducción: La Palabra que Tenemos Miedo de Decir

“Autoritarismo” suena clínico, como un sistema o una ideología. Pero lo que estamos presenciando en Estados Unidos no es solo autoritarismo. Es fascismo: una fusión peligrosa de adoración al poder, resentimiento cultural y exclusión violenta.

Y ya es hora de llamarlo por su nombre.

El presidente no solo ansía el poder. Él encarna una marca exclusivamente estadounidense de fascismo, enraizada en el nacionalismo cristiano blanco y transmitida a través de la política del agravio y el espectáculo.

Examinemos las cinco características definitorias del fascismo, y cómo se manifiestan en el ascenso de Donald Trump.

---

II. Los Cinco Elementos del Fascismo

1. Rechazo de la Democracia en Favor de un Hombre Fuerte

Los autoritarios creen en usar líderes fuertes para mantener el orden. Los fascistas van más allá: glorifican al líder como la voz del pueblo, la encarnación de la voluntad nacional.

Trump: “Yo soy su voz.” “Solo yo puedo arreglar esto.”

El fascismo no se trata de políticas. Se trata del dominio personal: de colapsar el gobierno en la imagen de un solo hombre.

---

1. Avivar la Ira Contra las Élites Culturales

Los fascistas dependen de la ira pública. Canalizan el resentimiento hacia las élites culturales, académicas y mediáticas, culpándolas por la decadencia social.

Trump: “Las élites mediáticas desconectadas, las élites políticas... nos han llevado de un desastre a otro.”

No solo desafían a las instituciones: socavan la confianza en la idea misma del conocimiento compartido, usando la ignorancia como una virtud.

---

1. Nacionalismo Basado en la Raza y el Linaje

El autoritarismo usa el nacionalismo para fortalecer al estado. El fascismo tuerce el nacionalismo en un mito racial.

Trump: “Cuando México envía a su gente, no están enviando a los mejores.” “Cualquier judío que vote por un demócrata... demuestra una falta total de conocimiento o una gran deslealtad.”

Los fascistas elevan a un grupo como “verdaderos estadounidenses” y etiquetan al resto como infiltrados, traidores o amenazas a la pureza.

---

1. Glorificación de la Violencia y los Guerreros Heroicos

El fascismo recompensa a los fuertes y castiga a los débiles. Convierte la violencia en virtud.

Trump: “Nuestra gente es más dura, más fuerte, más cruel y más inteligente.” “Yo soy su guerrero. Yo soy su justicia. Yo soy su retribución.”

Es una visión del mundo basada en el darwinismo social: la creencia de que la supervivencia pertenece a los brutales, no a los justos.

---

1. Represión de Mujeres y Personas LGBTQ+

En su esencia, el fascismo se trata del dominio masculino. Las mujeres son marginadas. Las personas queer son borradas.

Trump: “Pediré al Congreso que apruebe una ley estableciendo que los únicos géneros reconocidos por el gobierno de los Estados Unidos son masculino y femenino, y que se asignan al nacer.”

Todo lo que desafía el ideal patriarcal del guerrero —ya sea el feminismo, la diversidad de género o la identidad queer— es visto como una amenaza a la civilización misma.

---

III. Estos Elementos Funcionan en Conjunto

Cada uno de estos cinco pilares alimenta a los otros:

El hombre fuerte exige lealtad.

La lealtad se demuestra con ira.

La ira se alimenta del mito racial.

El mito se defiende con violencia.

La violencia se justifica mediante roles de género rígidos y control.

Esto no es una colección suelta de malas ideas. Es una ideología coherente y peligrosa—y se está extendiendo dentro de uno de los dos partidos principales de Estados Unidos.

---

IV. Por Qué Esto Importa Ahora

Hemos tardado en llamarlo por su nombre. Esperábamos que se desvaneciera. Lo racionalizamos como populismo. Pero el fascismo no necesita botas militares. No llega con banderas y antorchas.

A veces, usa traje. A veces, sonríe y saluda. A veces, dice “Dios bendiga a América” mientras promete borrar a cualquiera que no encaje en el molde.

Si esperamos a que los libros de texto se pongan al día, será demasiado tarde.

---

V. Conclusión: No Suavices la Alarma

Donald Trump no es simplemente un autoritario. Él es la encarnación viviente del fascismo moderno estadounidense.

Esto no se trata solo de elecciones. Se trata de la verdad, la historia, la libertad—y si tenemos el valor de nombrar lo que estamos enfrentando antes de que nos consuma.

El fascismo no gana porque sea fuerte. Gana porque la gente aparta la mirada.

No apartemos la mirada.

---

🛑 Qué Puedes Hacer:

Comparte este artículo. Habla con valentía.

Llámalo fascismo—porque eso es lo que es.

Apoya a educadores, activistas y periodistas que se enfrentan a la desinformación y la violencia política.

Vota como si el futuro de tu país dependiera de ello. Porque depende.

---

#LlamémosloFascismo #DeténElAutoritarismo #DemocraciaBajoAtaque #LaVerdadImporta #NoNosCallaremos #LaHistoriaSeRepite #ContraElOdio #DefiendeLaRepública #NuncaMásEsAhora

---

Reconocimiento: Este artículo fue fuertemente influenciado por los comentarios públicos y el trabajo educativo del economista y exsecretario de Trabajo de EE.UU. Robert Reich, particularmente su desglose de los cinco elementos del fascismo. Partes de la estructura y el análisis aquí reflejan sus ideas y se usan con aprecio por sus esfuerzos para aumentar la conciencia pública.

No concluding No convincing  No debating No preaching 

Just sharing stories.

New York City. Old loft building. I enter it through a heavy wooden door. Looks like warm cherry with a reddish tint. There’s a living space as soon as I enter the apartment. I walk into what I think is the kitchen. Instead, it’s a long, narrow room with a bar counter. There’s still a bunch of stuff the previous resident left. The walls are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They are filled with old, dusty books. It’s a library. The structure is dark, heavy, and gnarly. Almost no natural lighting. At the end of the room is a small stage where musicians perform. It’s a bar. It’s a venue. It’s a gathering place inside the apartment.

Every year around this time, I dream of this exact loft and library bar.

#dreams