I saw a child lead the beasts and the nations flee the light.

NARRATOR:

A twig will grow out of the stump of Jesse, And a sprout from his roots will bear fruit.

And the spirit of Jehovah will settle upon him, The spirit of wisdom and of understanding, The spirit of counsel and of mightiness, The spirit of knowledge and of the fear of Jehovah.

And he will find delight in the fear of Jehovah. He will not judge by what appears to his eyes, Nor reprove simply according to what his ears hear.

He will judge the lowly with fairness, And with uprightness he will give reproof in behalf of the meek ones of the earth. He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth And put the wicked to death with the breath of his lips.

Righteousness will be the belt around his waist, And faithfulness the belt of his hips.

The wolf will reside for a while with the lamb, And with the young goat the leopard will lie down, And the calf and the lion and the fattened animal will all be together; And a little boy will lead them.

The cow and the bear will feed together, And their young will lie down together. The lion will eat straw like the bull.

The nursing child will play over the lair of a cobra, And a weaned child will put his hand over the den of a poisonous snake.

They will not cause any harm Or any ruin in all my holy mountain, Because the earth will certainly be filled with the knowledge of Jehovah As the waters cover the sea.

In that day the root of Jesse will stand up as a signal for the peoples. To him the nations will turn for guidance, And his resting-place will become glorious.

In that day Jehovah will again offer his hand, a second time, to reclaim the remnant of his people who are left from Assyria, from Egypt, from Pathros, from Cush, from Elam, from Shinar, from Hamath, and from the islands of the sea.

He will raise up a signal for the nations and gather the dispersed ones of Israel, And he will gather together the scattered ones of Judah from the four corners of the earth.

The jealousy of Ephraim will be gone, And those who show hostility to Judah will be done away with. Ephraim will not be jealous of Judah, Nor will Judah show hostility toward Ephraim.

And they will swoop down on the slopes of the Philistines to the west; Together they will plunder the people of the East. They will thrust out their hand against Edom and Moab, And the Ammonites will become their subjects.

Jehovah will divide the gulf of the Egyptian sea And wave his hand over the River. With his scorching breath he will strike it in its seven torrents, And he will cause people to walk across in their sandals.

And there will be a highway out of Assyria for the remnant of his people who are left, As there was for Israel in the day he came out of the land of Egypt.

ISAIAH 12

NARRATOR:

In that day you will certainly say:

SPEAKER (THE PEOPLE):

“I thank you, O Jehovah, For although you were angry with me, Your anger gradually subsided, and you comforted me.

Look! God is my salvation. I will trust and feel no dread; For Jah Jehovah is my strength and my might, And he has become my salvation.”

With rejoicing you will draw water From the springs of salvation.

And in that day you will say: “Give thanks to Jehovah, call on his name, Make his deeds known among the peoples! Declare that his name is exalted.

Sing praises to Jehovah, for he has done magnificent things. Let this be made known in all the earth.

Cry out and shout for joy, you inhabitant of Zion, For great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.”

ISAIAH 13

NARRATOR:

A pronouncement against Babylon that Isaiah the son of Amoz saw in vision.

JEHOVAH:

“Raise up a signal on a mountain of bare rocks. Call out to them, wave your hand, So that they may come into the entrances of the nobles.

I have issued the command to those whom I have appointed. I have summoned my warriors to express my anger, My proudly exultant ones.”

NARRATOR:

Listen! A crowd in the mountains; It sounds like a numerous people! Listen! The uproar of kingdoms, Of nations gathered together! Jehovah of armies is mustering the army for war.

They are coming from a distant land, From the extremity of the heavens, Jehovah and the weapons of his wrath, To bring ruin to all the earth.

NARRATOR (CALL TO THE PEOPLE):

Wail, for the day of Jehovah is near! It will come as a destruction from the Almighty.

That is why all hands will go limp, And every man’s heart will melt with fear.

The people are panic-stricken. They are seized with convulsions and pain, Like a woman in labor. They look at one another in horror, With faces inflamed by anguish.

Look! The day of Jehovah is coming, Cruel both with fury and with burning anger, To make the land an object of horror, And to annihilate the land’s sinners from it.

For the stars of the heavens and their constellations
Will not give off their light; The sun will be dark when it rises, And the moon will not shed its light.

JEHOVAH:

“I will call the inhabited earth to account for its badness, And the wicked for their error. I will put an end to the pride of the presumptuous, And I will humble the haughtiness of tyrants.

I will make mortal man scarcer than refined gold, And humans scarcer than the gold of Ophir.

That is why I will make the heavens tremble, And the earth will be shaken out of its place At the fury of Jehovah of armies in the day of his burning anger.”

NARRATOR:

Like a hunted gazelle and like a flock with no one to gather them, Each will return to his own people; Each will flee to his own land.

Whoever is found will be pierced through, And whoever is caught will fall by the sword.

Their children will be dashed to pieces before their eyes, Their houses will be looted, And their wives will be raped.

JEHOVAH:

“Here I am raising up against them the Medes, Who regard silver as nothing And who take no delight in gold.

Their bows will shatter young men; They will show no pity on the fruit of the womb Nor mercy to children.

And Babylon, the most glorious of kingdoms, The beauty and the pride of the Chaldeans, Will be like Sodom and Gomorrah when God overthrew them.

She will never be inhabited, Nor will she be a place to reside in throughout all generations. No Arab will pitch his tent there, And no shepherds will rest their flocks there.

The desert creatures will lie down there; Their houses will be filled with eagle owls. The ostriches will reside there, And wild goats will skip about there.

Howling creatures will cry out in her towers, And jackals in her luxurious palaces. Her time is near, and her days will not be prolonged.”

It's 4 days until Christmas, and it feels like I can breathe again. It was Church today, a place I've visited for most Sundays for the past year; it feels like my safe place. Everyone is so loving there. I'm greeted with my smiles, hugs and people remember my name. It's a place where I can truly let go and feel supported in the arms of God. I wasn't always a believer. In fact for what I mostly remember, I was super against anything that brought any hope. So much pain had happened to me that I just couldn't see why or how God could be possible, but I found my way back normally through my lowest points. I think it's funny that's where most of us find him. In our darkest moments, we cry out to him because we finally let go, and we are met with that small bit of hope. I think that's all it takes, is that little bit of hope sometimes. When we can be truly honest and say, “God, I've got this much hope, show me, I need you”. He will move mountains to show you just how much that little bit of hope means to him. I said this to him one evening in despair. I had been working on my business, and I was so close to giving up. I say this like it was 3 years ago... this was 2 weeks ago, and I was just about to give up, and then I opened my arms and heart wide, and I said “ God, I've got this much hope, show me, I need you”. The next day I went on my day as normal, but this time I decided to post a video of me creating my product and boom, I was met with 27 orders. 27 ORDERS!! Please understand that I hadn't made a sale in weeks, so 27 orders from that little bit of hope was mind-blowing. You see what he can do with just the smallest bit of hope; imagine what he could do with your full bag of hope. It's 4 days before Christmas, and I feel this hope within me getting bigger and bigger as I remember I've, you've, we've got the biggest supporter up there working his magic even when we can't see or understand. I once didn't believe in anything, and now I can't unsee all the beauty he has done for me. If you stayed to the end. Thank you, and just remember, God can do a lot even with just a small bit of hope. Most of all, he just wants your heart's honesty.

Thoughts. Justawomentryingtodochange.

So I was perusing the photos dumped by the Justice Department, and I saw two photos of a man I once worked for, Danny Hillis. (My first job out of college was at Thinking Machines Corporation, the doomed supercomputer manufacturer founded by Hillis, who knew computers, and Sheryl Handler, who knew business. Apparently neither of them was actually very good at what they did because the computers broke all the fuckin’ time and they couldn’t sell them after a while and the whole venture went belly up a few years after I left).

Anyway, I don’t know much about Danny Hillis as a human being. But here he is, fully clothed on a bed on what I assume is Epstein’s plane with a tacky faux fur spread. Hillis wears a puckish, bemused grin.

What a scamp! What boyish charm! What a piece of shit!

Now I don’t know what Danny Hillis did on Epstein’s plane any more than I know what Bill Clinton, Bill Gates, Woody Allen, Chris Tucker, Alan Dershowitz, or anybody else did on his plane.

But here’s what I do know—I think we’ve gotten what’s legal and what’s moral confused in this case. Because there is no evidence that has been relased that any of Epstein’s buddies broke any laws, news sources are always careful to say things like, “the fact that these people appear in the Epstein photo dump is not evidence of wrongdoing.” But I think it’s more accurate to say “their appearance in these photos is not evidence that they broke laws.”

Because they did do wrong. Dershowitz has asserted that he got a massage from a young woman of indeterminate age but did not remove his underwear, so it’s all good. Now, again, that may be legally true, but morally? He knew something was very wrong in Epstein’s world, and rather than speaking out, he chose to participate and keep quiet about it. That may be legal, but it’s not moral.

Gates and Clinton assert that they didn’t know, which is, frankly, risible. Did you see the documentary? The pool guy on Epstein’s island knew something was extremely off—he was disgusted by what he inferred was going on and quit. If only some of the most important people in the world had half the moral courage and clarity of a guy who cleans pools in the Virgin Islands.

Epstein traveled with teenage girls and seems to have made no effort to hide their presence from his guests. Getting away with this in front of everyone seemed to be part of the thrill for him. Remember, folks—we’re not held to the “beyond a resonable doubt” standard about people we choose to hang out with. We can stop hanging with people because we have a vague, unproven sense that there’s something off about them.

Gates and Clinton did not choose to stop hanging out with Epstein. Notably, Melinda French formerly Gates absolutely knew something was hinky with this dude and was very unhappy about Bill hanging out with him. But Bill Gates—a man we’ve granted tremendous power over education and public health—chose to hang out with him anyway.

So did everybody else. And so most of these people won’t be prosecuted, can’t be prosecuted, but that doesn’t mean we can’t condemn them as terrible people. Because they are terrible, terrible people. Clinton and Gates in particular had the power to shut the whole enterprise down, to publicly say “yeah, this guy hangs out with a lot of teenage girls and it feels inappropriate and made me uncomfortable.” Or they could have, at the very least, quietly spread the word through their associates, and hangers-on and turned Epstein into a pariah. And they didn’t do it. Instead, they lent him their legitmacy.

And look—when you lend your legitimacy to a monster like Jeffrey Epstein, you don’t get it back. Dershowitz is already pretty much of a pariah, but the same thing needs to happen to all these turds. I will never have the opportunity to turn down an invitation to an event because an Epstein crony like Bill Clinton or Bill Gates or Woody Allen or Mick Jagger will be there, but other people will. And should.

We don’t need to know beyond a reasonable doubt that these men broke the law. We know that they were aware of girls being treated like things and took no action to stop it or dissociate themselves from it. That might not make them legally liable, but it makes them bad people. They should be denounced and treated as such.

(Yes, btw, I know Trump’s justice department is covering up his complicity in the entire Epstein affair, but I don’t believe any reasonable person believes that Trump is anything but an evil predator. So yes, the current info dump is meant to draw our attention to these other guys, but these other guys deserve our contempt as well.)

1.

Da jeg gik på universitetet havde jeg, naturligvis, flere bekendtskaber. Ingen af dem startede i fredagsbaren, som ellers er fordommen, selv om nogle af dem sluttede her. I stedet startede de på læsesalen. Jeg var en flittig studerende og min kærlighed til filosofien var nogle gange svær at adskille fra mit begær i det hele taget. Med en vis forsigtighed vil jeg dog påstå at det er sådan det bør være, at man må anerkende at Sokrates havde ret ved at lade et vist erotisk element spille en rolle for det at lære noget. Jeg lærte i hvert fald i løbet af årene at gennemskue hvem der egentlig var flittige og dygtige, og både ubevidst og bevidst har jeg undgået eller skåret folk fra, fordi de ikke gad læse lektier eller var værd at føre samtaler med. Det er en sans jeg nu har udviklet til så højt et niveau at jeg kan se på folk om de tænker godt. Ved at se på deres manerer eller på den måde de rent fysisk holder om en tekst på – og hvis der er noget, jeg er blevet overbevist om på netop universitetet, så er det at det ydre også er det indre.

Som altid er det de episoder der aldrig blev til noget, som man husker bedst. Eksempelvis husker jeg at gå en hel vinter og kigge efter en meget smuk kvinde som jeg tror læste kunsthistorie, og som jeg overvejede at give mit nummer, indtil jeg en dag gik forbi bag hende på læsesalen og opdagede at hun skrev sine noter i et dårligt opsat Microsoft OneNote, hvilket gjorde at jeg mistede interessen. Omvendt havde jeg et årelangt crush på en historiker fordi jeg en dag havde lagt mærke til at vedkommende brugte de smukke Faber-Castell highlighters i luksuriøse, let knækkede farver og med en harmonisk runding i plastikhylsterets kanter. Da jeg var ung og dum, havde jeg stor foragt for highlighters som jeg syntes var for meget: teatralske og unødvendige. I takt med at jeg blev mere moden og begyndte at tage tingene alvorligt, skiftede jeg dog mening. Nu forstår jeg at det teatralske er nødvendigt, for hvis ikke jeg har lyst til at skrive noter eller highlighte – hvis ikke man begærer at holde sin pen i hånden – så får jeg det ikke gjort. Jeg husker en medstuderende jeg engang gjorde nar ad (undskyld Mathies!) fordi han bruge lineal til at sætte helt lige streger under citater. I dag ejer jeg selv tre forskellige linealer til det formål.

2.

På et tidspunkt bragte min iver mig til Université de Sorbonne i Paris. Det hører til midt i den del af byen der ligger på Seinens venstre bred, rive gauche, som jeg havde lært at kende på forhånd fra vaskemærket på vintage Yves Saint Laurent-skjorter, og hvis betydning jeg havde googlet indgående. Selvom selve universitetet har ligget der i århundreder, foregår ca. halvdelen af undervisningen på Centre Universitaire Clignancourt der ligger i den nordlige ende af metrolinje 4, lige akkurat indenfor grænsen af selve Paris’ 20 arrondissementer. Et sted jeg ikke havde googlet, og hvor koncentrationen af sælgere af illegale cigaretter ved Metrostoppet er en af de største i Paris. På ægte fransk maner skal man overleve to års undervisning i denne Corbusier-inspirerede betonbygning før man får lov at komme ind til terazzogulvene på det gamle Sorbonne. Som udvekslingsstuderende havde man dog en mere fri adgang til undervisningen, og jeg havde derfor nogle dage om ugen hvert sted. Det gjorde at jeg arbejdede skiftevis på læsesalen begge steder, og jeg kunne ikke lade være med at hænge mig i forskellene. På det gamle Sorbonne sidder man vitterligt nedenunder et fresko af videnskaben – malet som en kvinde med bare patter – omgivet af tre lag stuk. Man læser ved gamle træborde belagt med linoleum, og alle håndtag er guldbelagte i de håndskårede døre. Det var selvfølgelig en stor oplevelse at læse franske klassikere fra Descartes i den slags omgivelser, og jeg udviklede hvad jeg forventer bliver en livslang fascination af René Descartes her.

På trods af dette endte jeg med at holde mere af La bibliothèque Clignancourt med dens den rå beton og de med vilje blotlagte vandrør – tænk et lidt tættere og mere hyggeligt Centre Pompidou – fordi lysindfaldet og indeklimaet trods alt var bedre i denne nyere bygning. Efter undervisning og en espresso fra møntautomaten (1 euro, serveret i en 1 dl stor hvid plastikkop) gik jeg en dag op mod en af de pladser jeg foretrak, på anden sal i den nordlige ende. Her så jeg lige ved hovedtrappen en meget smuk kvinde skrive noter til nogle bøger om hvad der så ud til at være statistisk metode for sociologi. Hun var en af den slags kvinder man ønsker sig at se når man vælger at tage på udveksling til Frankrig. Cool, og med vintage jeans der sidder på den der helt rigtige nonchalant måde, ikke for stramt og ikke for løst, som kun franske it-girls kan ramme helt rent. Løst hår, som jeg husker det, og en oversized striktrøje. Det mest tiltrækkende ved hende var dog hendes noteapparat. To farver highlighter og par ark notepapir liggende lidt skødesløst omkring sig. Som næsten alle franske studerende skriver hun noter på dobbelte ark hvor et A3-ark er bukket på midten og der er trykt linjer så man som et ark fra en hæftet bog reelt kan skrive på fire A4-sider på ét stykke papir, de såkaldte copie double. Og selvfølgelig en pæn skråskrift der slap ved hver 3-4. bogstav:  hot girl stuff. Men det var trods alt ikke så meget det hun skrev der gjorde størst indtryk på mig, men hvad hun skrev med. Måske på grund af hendes skønhed i øvrigt var det her jeg første gang lagde mærke til den lille grønne pen hun skrev med – en opdagelse som siden har haft en stor betydning i mit liv. Det var en limegrøn plastikpen i et meget særegent design, med et aflangt hul i midten og et formstøbt greb der gør at man kun kan holde den én vej. Jeg forstod at det var noget specielt, og i de følgende dage begyndte jeg at lægge mærke til at mange af de andre studerende havde samme model, og samtidig forstod jeg at jeg selv måtte skaffe mig sådan en.

Det lykkedes at finde den lille grønne pen nogle dage senere. Det var en af de dage hvor jeg havde fået lov at komme ind i de gamle haller nede i byen og kunne overvære Maitre Romano forelæse i et rum udelukkende af mørkt træ, stående foran et andet, enormt freskomaleri, dette med motiv af en enlig munk i et goldt middelhavslandskab. Claude Romano, som han hedder, er selv ret tør, men ikke desto mindre en ekstremt dygtig fænomenolog, og han forelæste med et kursus som slet og ret hed la verité, altså „Sandheden“, hvilket var det første jeg valgte at følge. Her forklarede han os at det sjældent er særligt gavnligt at spørge hvad en ting er, og han foreslog i stedet at spørge hvor tingen er. Denne anbefaling har tjent mig godt gennem årene, og selv med det erotiske begær har jeg haft bedre held med at spørge hvor tiltrækningen er, frem for hvad den består af.

Om eftermiddagen i vinduet i en lille butik med fine skriveredskaber på Boulevard Saint-Michel, en typisk parisisk boulevard med grønne løvtræer, ser jeg en lille udstilling i vinduet med det jeg leder efter. I en række kulørte farver ligger den genkendelige pen som jeg på skiltet kunne se,  er plastikfyldepennen Lamy Safari. Inde i butikken bliver jeg ekspederet af en meget tjenstvillig men frastødende ældre bretonsk udseende herre, med sine hornbriller hængende i en snor nedover den brune pullover. I dag kan jeg stadig se for mig hvordan han instruerede mig venligt og tålmodigt i, hvordan man sætter blækpatron i og skifter mellem fin og medium spids. Jeg blev dog nødt til at skynde på ham fordi han havde dårlig ånde og lange, klamme negle der gjorde det svært for ham at håndtere de fine dele i fyldepennen. Ud over det rent fysiske ubehag blev jeg ekstremt irriteret over hvor underligt det var, at manden kunne leve af at være ekspedient og skulle fremvise relativt eksklusive varer – Lamy Safari var klart en af de billigste modeller – og så samtidig have så ulækre hænder. I forbindelse med at jeg skulle skrive dette kiggede jeg efter stedet på Google Maps for at finde butikkens navn, men jeg kan se at den er lukket. Jeg forestiller mig at han altså ikke havde stor succes.

3.

I dag har jeg har jeg lært at man i Frankrig tvinger eleverne til at bruge fyldepen i skolen frem for blyant eller kuglepen. Det er årsagen til at de fleste franske studerende bruger dem: det er en vane som hænger ved. Jeg ved ikke helt hvad de franske undervisningsmyndigheders argument for det dogme er, men hvis det stod til mig gjorde man det samme herhjemme fordi fyldepennen simpelthen er det bedste skriveredskab. Der findes et helt nøgternt nytteargument her – nogle ville sige „rationelt“ – som går ud på at fyldepennen kun kan skrive hvis man holder den rigtigt. Det lærer naturligvis børn at holde pennen rigtigt. (At skrive med den krampagtige klo-hånd er simpelthen frastødende for mig.) Derudover kræver det mindre tryk at skrive med fyldepen, og det betyder at man ikke kramper så meget i hånden når man skal skrive stil, diktat og opgaver. Det er pudsigt hvordan man, når man først har prøvet en fyldepen, forstår hvor hårdt man egentlig trykker ned med en kuglepen.

Men det er ikke disse „rationelle“ argumenter som jeg finder afgørende. Det er de æstetiske kvaliteter. En fyldepen føles bare lækkert når den trækkes hen over papiret. Prøv selv. Og så er der stregen. Stregen! Det afgørende er stregen! Man skal ikke have tegnet meget for at forstå at nogle streger er smukke, mens andre er flade og ligegyldige. Som regel kan man allerede føle det mens man sætter den, og før man overhovedet kigger, om stregen er sat uden fokus og intensitet. Erfarne tegnere giver tit nybegyndere det råd at de skal trykke hårdere med blyanten fordi man i starten ikke tør sætte en ordentlig streg. Det er ikke fordi man nødvendigvis skal trykke hårdt for at tegne en smuk streg, men det hjælper én til at sætte sig igennem. Man kan simpelthen ikke tegne en smuk streg hvis man fedtspiller. Det skyldes at bly har en vis organisk kvalitet som er afhængig af hvordan man trykker, og som netop gør at man kan kan variere udtrykket, og altså lader stregen udtrykke noget om den der har tegnet den . Denne kvalitet findes ikke i dårlig blæk, eller i hvert fald ikke på samme måde, og slet ikke i kuglepenne som jeg er kommet til at hade proportionalt med at jeg har lært at elske fyldepenne.

Kuglepennen er på sin vis en genial opfindelse, det anerkender jeg, for man kan skrive nemt på næsten alle overflader uden at grisse, og den virker som regel. Den kan det hele, kunne man sige. Men her ligger også problemet: kuglepennen er lidt god til alt, men ikke bedst til noget. Måske det bedste valg til at skrive på avispapir der suger meget blæk, og som er for porøst til at bruge stiftblyant. Men selv her har jeg fundet ud af at en tør tuschpen – specifikt en Pilot Frixion – fungerer bedre. Jeg har dog en vis svaghed for kitsch, og jeg synes at der er noget fantastisk skønt over vellykket industrielt design, som eksempelvis de berømte BIC-penne af skiftevis blåt og gennemsigtigt plastik, både den med den sekskantede krop og den runde med clipsen hvor modhagen kommer ud i siden. Men som regel er kuglepenne bare en del af verdens plastikoverforbrug. På mit arbejde står der flere kasser med ligegyldige sponsor-kuglepenne med organisationens logo på som ingen bruger, mens chefen synes at det er for dyrt at købe ordentlige penne som medarbejderne kunne få glæde af. En praksis som vist er normen de fleste steder. Det er ikke fordi jeg er ekstrem her, jeg mener blot at der er enorm forskel på en skod 5-kroners pen med firmalogo og en Uni Mitsubishi eller en Zebra til omkring de 35 hvilket burde være indenfor budgettet på en almindelig dansk arbejdsplads. Problemet er ikke så meget plastikhylsteret men at kravet om billig produktion betyder at blækket også er billigt. Kuglepenne fyldes af et voksagtigt blæk der gør at spidsen aldrig tørrer ud, og som gør at stregen aldrig flyder ud på papiret. Et træk som gør kuglepennen idiotsikker. Til gengæld er det det som gør at man skal trykke hårdt fordi blækket ligesom skal gnides ud på papiret. Det voksagtige bindemiddel sætter også store begrænsninger for hvilke slags pigment der kan indgå i blækket til en kuglepen, og det er forklaringen på kuglepennens ligegyldige streg. Det gør det simpelthen umuligt at sætte en god streg med en kuglepen. Min position på dette område er radikal, det er jeg klar over, men jeg mener helt alvorligt at der aldrig er lavet en smuk tegning med kuglepen – jeg har i hvert fald aldrig set en. Aldrig set en håndskrift i kuglepen jeg blev betaget af. Jeg har aldrig kunnet begære nogen jeg har set bruge en bruge en billig plastikkuglepen, jeg får the ick som med voksne der går rundt i smækbukser eller med store Garmin-ure. Jeg bliver både frastødt og forundret over at møde voksne mennesker med flotte jobs som bor i huse til mange millioner, og som går op i deres udseende og livets øvrige detaljer, men som alligevel er tilfredse med at bruge en eller anden ligegyldig sponsorkuglepen de har fået på en konference engang for to år siden. Der er ekstremt mange mennesker som skriver i hånden hver dag, men som ikke er parat til at bruge bare 40 kr. på en ordentlig japansk rollerball med gode skriveegenskaber og farvedybde i blækket.

En fyldepen bliver, som navnet antyder, fyldt med blæk af én selv løbende. Denne blæk er vandbaseret og flyder nogle gange ud og grisser lidt. Til gengæld har man nærmest uendelige muligheder for at variere farverne, både hvad angår selve farens valør og dybde, men man kan også lave farver der changerer eller har glimmer og den slags i hvilket jeg dog ikke er så interesseret i. I stedet interesser det mig mest at læse om og prøve de forskellige udgaver af sort blæk. Det skyldes at en vandbaseret blæk med gode pigmenter kan have mindst lige så meget spil som en god blyant. Det gør at man kan sætte en smuk streg, lige meget om man tegner eller skriver noter.

4.

Jeg mødte aldrig denne kvinde igen fra biblioteket. Men jeg har selvfølgelig tænkt på hende. Bruger hun stadig sin grønne Lamy Safari? Hvor ville jeg gerne røre ved den. Men jeg tænker også på andre skriveredskaber. Jeg forestiller mig en sen aften på læsesalen tilbage på Amager, vi er efterhånden kun to tilbage,  og jeg ser hvordan hun skriver på en opgave om bronzealderkunst med sin Platinum Preppy i lilla – tænk Gameboy Color-plastik – og retter på sine kawaii hårspænder. En kvinde som forstår at kvalitet ikke nødvendigvis skal koste, og at æstetik er noget man kan lære at se i alt hvis man sætter sig for det. Hun bærer en top med bare arme. Vi kommer til at smile til hinanden. Eller jeg forestiller mig at jeg mødes med en mørkhåret arkitekt i Milano, hun kommer gående fra tegnestuen et sted i nærheden, vi drikker Campari Spritz et lokalt sted mens hun fylder sin Caran d’Ache 844 med bly-stifter i HB2. Klassisk skønhed, kontrolleret men organisk, tilgivende. Vi konverserer og hun griner af mine vittigheder, mens en scooter kører forbi, inviterer hun mig hjem til aftensmad. Eller jeg forestiller mig at jeg møder en kvinde på et hotel et sted i Centraleuropa, måske i München eller Strasbourg. Jeg er på forretningsrejse, hun bærer Phoebe Philo og bemærker min fyldepen, mens jeg skriver i min kalender i hotelbaren. Jeg bestiller cocktails til os mens hun finder sin Platinum Curidas i smoke grey frem, en pen med en elegant plastikstøbning og en sofistikeret lukkemekanisme. Moderne, selvsikkert og sexet. Hun spørger om jeg har overskydende blæk, vi går op på mit værelse for at finde det til hende…

Jeg drømmer om at sidde på en københavnsk fortovscafe og læse avis mens jeg venter på min kæreste. Hun kommer cyklende, vi får et glas hvidvin, hun giver mig en gave. Det er en flaske Iroshizuku-blæk – den bedste – i mørk blommefarve. Jeg fylder den i og laver krydsord mens hun taler i telefon. Vi behøver ikke at tale sammen. Hun lader mig se hende, se hende låse cyklen, se hende tage elevatoren, se hende åbne en mælkekarton og drikke, se hende skære sig i fingeren på dyrt japansk notepapir, se hende leve. Og vi er lykkelige.

Reading Slump Over

This review includes references to sexual assault and human trafficking. It is #NSFW

Medium Used: 100% ebook

Ratings out of 5

Overall Rating:
💜💜💜 (3/5)

Sweetness Level:
🍫🍫 (2/5)

Steam Quality Level:
🔥🔥🔥🔥 (4/5)

Steam Quantity Level:
🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ (5/5)

FMC Likability:
😈😈😈 (3/5)

MMC Likability:
👨‍💼👨‍💼👨‍💼 (3/5)

Plot Engagement:
⛓️🔒 (2/5)

At least 1 bad dad (pass/fail):
💯 (pass)

Spoiler Free Review

Make Me, Sir is a spice heavy suspense romance. The female protagonist, Gabi, is an FBI social worker who volunteers to support an investigation by being a decoy (bait) for a human trafficker targeting bratty submissive at BDSM clubs in Tampa Bay, FL. Undercover, Gabi becomes the latest sub “trainee” at Tampa's premier lifestyle club, The Shadowlands. Unfortunately for Gabi, Trainees at the Shadowlands are instructed by Master Marcus, whose no bullshit tutelage makes being the worst behaved sub in the Shadowlands a bit of a challenge.

I liked this book, but I felt that it suffers from a problem a lot of books in this sub genre¹, the first half+ of the book is practically PWP² despite this the suspense/plot is enjoyable but more or less abandons the spice while the plot runs it course. It would have been a smoother read for me if it had been a bit more of a balance of a plot and spice throughout.

Overall it's a fairly decent read and one I'd recommend for people who particularly like high spice BDSM books with this dynamic. If you need a balance of plot and kink throughout or prefer love stories that aren't almost 100% set inside of a kink club there's probably better books to pick up.

^{1 what I'll call “dim” contemporary romance set in BDSM night clubs i.e. not quite “dark” contemporary romance
Plot? What Plot? https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/PWP}

What I liked about this book
* Spice had a solid variety of scenes. * This was part of a series but it actually did some scenes from the perspective of the MCs of an earlier book. This was done well, I didn't feel like i was missing much not having read the previous books but I also felt like the side character relationships were more meaningful with these other perspective scenes.
* Gabi is a Social Worker at the FBI not an agent/officer. It was cool how Sinclair made her skills as a social worker her strength in the investigation and the general “undercover” premise but with somebody who wasn't in law enforcement I found intriguing.

What I did not like about this book
* Early on Gabi's inner monologue keeps comparing Marcus to her dad. No Thanks!
* Dragged in the middle a bit.

Spoilers Review

Click to show Spoilers

What I liked Spoilers
* Sassy banter between Marcus and Gabi. Gabi learning she actually is sassy and Marcus learning he likes it worked for me. I could see them together and it made sense with their lives outside the club and backstories.
* Couple scenes where Gabi goes into Subspace and is then snuggled and they made me melt. So hot and romantic.
* Gabi is revealed to have been on the streets for a bit as a child and a pick pocket. This comes back around in the climax in a perfect way and I loved it. Kind of made it worse for me though that Sinclair didn't balance plot and smut pacing more. She can clearly weave a story.

What I didn't like Spoilers
* Awkwardly talking about BDSM kink in front of grandma and grandpa at lunch is not cute. No thanks. * Gabi volunteers to decoy because her friend was kidnapped. This book doesn't close that thread. Idk if later books do but wow, that really salts the HEA a bit.

This Book Reminded Me of:

• Natural Law by Joey W. Hill as it has a similar premise and setting.
• Servicing The Target by Cherise Sinclair which is also from this series.
  ^{Both of these have a dominant FMC and submissive MMC}
  

Get the book

The Sequels book take what the 1st built and deliver action packed, contemporary fantasies, with Veronica Mars meets X-Men vibes.

Content Warning: These books and this review include references to gun violence and car crashes.
This review is: #SFW

Medium Used:
* 80% paperback 20% audiobook via Hoopla {White Hot by Ilona Andrews}
* 100% paperback {Wildfire by Ilona Andrews}

Ratings out of 5

Overall Rating:
💜💜💜💜💜 (5/5) ¹

Sweetness Level:
🍫🍫🍫🍫 (4/5)

Steam Quality Level:
🔥🔥🔥🔥 (4/5)

Steam Quantity Level:
🌶️🌶️🌶️ (3/5)

FMC Likability:
🕵️🕵️🕵️🕵️🕵️ (5/5)

MMC Likability:
🐉🐉🐉🐉 (4/5)

Plot Engagement:
🔍🔍🔍🔍🔍(5/5)

At least 1 bad dad (pass/fail):
0️⃣ (fail)

BONUS audiobook narration:🔉🔉🔉🔉🔉

^{1 the rating I gave book 1 {Burn for Me by Ilona Andrews} was a 4/5 in 2022. I did not revisit it as part of reading the sequels.}

Spoiler Free Review of the first trilogy in the Hidden Legacy Series

Each book in Ilona Andrews' The Hidden Legacy series is an action/adventure mystery set in an alternative history modern day Houston. The first three books are told from the perspectives of Nevada Baylor, a mid twenties private investigator. In Nevada's world the most important part of the genetic lottery is magical prowess. The resulting society is a caste system based on the magical strengths of each family.

Nevada and her family get by in this society by keeping their heads down and their rare magics hidden. Nevada is the primary bread winner and does her best to follow a strict code in her work as a private investigator. Work that is widely aided by the fact that she is a human lie detector – an incredibly rare and feared form of magic.

In book one Nevada's work drags her into the world of Houston's upper elite. Here she encounters one of the most powerful mages in the world Connor 'Mad' Rogan. A war hero, telekinetic, billionaire who is a crazed paranoid asshole.

The first trilogy in Hidden Legacy is exactly the slow burn I prefer in a serialized romance story. Connor and Nevada's love develops over the three series with time passing on page. They face multiple external conflicts together that forces them to see the good and the bad in each other. It does not deliver the meltiest gush or the sweatiest spice but the raw chemistry (with plenty of sassing) that develops over the series places them among my favorite book couples.

At the end of the day, the number one thing that sets this series apart (particularly book 2 and book 3) is the quality of the plot, action, and humor. I did not want to put White Hot nor Wildfire down. Plenty of time is set aside to establish side characters and Nevada's relationships with them. The individual mysteries/client jobs Nevada works gives each book its own beginning, middle, and end but the trilogy also fits together as an overarching story.

** What I love about this trilogy**
* The side characters are all interesting and loveable in unique ways. Each character adds something to the world.
* The sass between Nevada and Connor is excellent through the whole series. They feel right for each other in so many ways.
* Action, mystery, sappy sweet scenes, and steamy tension with an unrushed payoff.

What I do not like about this trilogy
* Book 1 starts off with a bit of some odd vibes (see spoilers).
* The series shifts to other member's of Nevada's family after book 3. I haven't read anything but the transition Novella yet but I kind of love Nevada and am sad to have the story move on.
* There is an excessive amount of car violence / crashes. It does not bother me but I know people who this would be a massive deal breaker for who I'd otherwise like to recommend this series to.

Spoilers Review

Click to Review Spoilers

^{I decided to finish this review that I had started 2.5 months ago when I read White Hot and Wildfire these books so below spoiler section is lighter than my typical reviews.}

Some of my favorite parts of this trilogy.
* Anytime Nevada calls Rogan “Connor” when he is emotionally distraught or distant.
* “Love makes you helpless. You think about the object of your affection all the time. Your happiness or misery depends on another person’s mood. You give up all power over yourself, hand it to the person you love, and trust that they will be gentle with it.”

The Book 1 vibe that is my taste but I forgive because I love this trilogy.
* Connor kidnaps Nevada in the first book. Kidnapping is not endearing. I forgive him but I do not like this.

This Book Reminded Me of:

• Veronica Mars
  
• {Kate Daniels by Ilona Andrews} – same authors w/ similar action packed serial romance vibes.
  
  

Who should read this book?

I think most romance fans who like contemporary sci-fi/fantasy settings with lots of action will love this trilogy.

Get the books

Lord, thank you for giving me time to rest, worship you, and spend time with loved ones. Please give me your strength and wisdom as I continue to be the best husband and father you and St. Joseph want me to be. Amen.

#God #sunday #rest

GO HOOSIERS!

Listening now to B97 – The Home for IU Women's Basketball ahead of this afternoon's NCAA women's basketball game between the Western Carolina Catamounts and my Indiana Hoosiers. Yes, of course I'll try to stay here for the radio call of the game.

And the adventure continues.

[21.xii.25.b : dimanche / 27 November] Now (it seems) that V.W. & I are out of sync, this is my fault … what can she do about it? timing is (if not everything) of the essence :: or perhaps I could read her words differently. Oh yes ! reading & writing go on !! apace !!! but that’s not all !!!!

A few days ago, I unearthed from a pile of books next to my reading chair in my study the copy of Mysticism by Simon Critchley that I’d picked up on one of our tours to Beacon … it’s a most fascinating book and not at all what you’d think. Critchley dispenses with (dispels) misconceptions of mysticism, but also provides a hint about the production and dissemination of mystical literature. We moderns worship in the cult of the One Author Text, we believe in the pure authorized version, that authentic text and regard variants with contempt … when I say “we” I don’t mean me or you since we (you & I) are the sort of pirate readers who read with knives clenched between our teeth as we swing across to commandeer and bring back the booty. And here we are, back on Pirate Island with our loot, our treasure and we’re cutting it up, reassembling and like Brother Robin, good Sir Robin, we’re going to give it all to the poor. I couldn’t help but think of my little assembly line with the hot little Nova Letter buns popping off :: those maximally heterogeneous texts where anything goes and stuff the Reality Show rules, I don’t want any of those rules.

It’s true, maybe … or : almost certainly I am not a novelist or I’m a bad novelist in the spirit of Simon Critchley being a bad philosopher : we’re bad boys, yessiree ,,, why do we do it? Haven’t you noticed, we’re inventing a high-power, super-strength de-icing solution & we have to produce enough for mass distribution.

For this day, I wanted to implement swipe gestures to edit or delete a list entry. More complex than initially thought but doable within this day.

There were 3 packages to install: a gesture handle, an animation lib, and expo-haptics. After creating a swipeable row, I needed to implement the actions for edit and delete some hooks and was mostly done. After writing this all down, it sounds less complex than it felt when I implemented it. 😅

While testing the app, I saw a caching bug after switching users. User2 saw the data of User1 after a sign-out and new sign-in because the cache was not cleared on user change.

👋

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79 of #100DaysToOffload
#log #AdventOfProgress
Thoughts?