GO COLTS!

Late in the game's second quarter, my Indianapolis Colts are trailing the Houston Texans by a score of Texans 10 to Colts 3.

And the adventure continues.

She meets The Goddess

#nsfw #glass

Meredith drifts into sleep, her head still pressed against the mirror. Her room continues to play porn, a chorus of filth and depravity flowing through her ears. She is no longer in her bedroom. She is kneeling—naked, of course—on a floor that feels warm and faintly pulsing, like skin. The room is vast and dark, lit only by a ring of tall candles whose flames burn deep indigo instead of orange. The air is thick with musk and cocoa butter and something electric, like the moment before lightning.

In the center of the circle stands a woman.

Not just a woman. A Goddess made flesh.

Skin like midnight velvet, gleaming with oil. Full hips that sway even when she’s standing still. Breasts heavy and proud, nipples dark and peaked. Braids cascading to her waist, threaded with gold that catches the candlelight and throws it back like stars. Her eyes—molten amber—lock onto Meredith with a look that is equal parts amusement and command.

Meredith’s mouth goes dry. She has seen thousands of bodies on her screens, but none like this. This one radiates. This one owns the room simply by existing.

The Goddess smiles, slow and wicked.

“You called,” she says, voice low and syrupy, the kind of voice that slides straight between Meredith’s legs and stays there. “Over and over. With your little chants. Your little candles. Your dripping white fingers.”

Meredith tries to speak, but her throat only produces a whimper.

The Goddess steps forward. Each footfall lands without sound, yet the floor ripples like water. She circles Meredith the way a lioness circles something already caught.

“You wanted to be pure for us,” the Goddess murmurs, dragging one nail—long, almond-shaped, perfect—along Meredith’s shoulder. The touch burns in the sweetest way. “You begged to be made useless for anything else. Remember?”

Meredith nods frantically, tears pricking her eyes. She has never felt smaller. Never felt more seen. The Goddess stops in front of her, cups Meredith’s chin, and forces her gaze upward.

“Then drink.”

From nowhere, a golden cup appears before her. It drifts slowly toward her face. With trembling hands, she reaches out and grabs the cup. A sweet, salty musk fills her nostrils. The Goddess repeats, a little more firmly,

“Drink.”

She slowly turns the golden cup up and tilts her head back. The thick, warm liquid fills Meredith’s mouth—sweet, salty, unmistakably hers. The Goddess leans down, full lips brushing Meredith’s ear.

“This is the pact,” she whispers. “Your pleasure belongs to Black women now. Your orgasms answer to us. Your body, your mind, your cold little life—everything you are will bend toward our worship. You will goon until your clit forgets any other purpose. You will edge until the thought of stopping feels like dying. And every time you come, you will give another piece of yourself away. Gladly.”

Meredith’s cunt clenches so hard she nearly tops out right there on the dream-floor. A sob breaks from her throat—relief, terror, gratitude.

The Goddess smiles wider, showing perfect teeth. A wide grin that is too wide to be real.

“And it’s already started, baby.”

Suddenly the circle is full of them—dozens of Black women, eyes glowing golden, every shade of brown and ebony and deep mahogany, every body type Meredith has ever kneeled for on her carpet. They close in, laughing softly, hands reaching. Fingers trace her pale skin, pinch her nipples, spread her thighs wider. Someone’s tongue—hot, wet, knowing—swipes once across her clit and Meredith screams into the void, coming instantly, violently, her entire body seizing as the hardest orgasm of her life rips through her like holy fire.

But they don’t stop.

They never stop.

Hands hold her down. Mouths descend. She is licked, fingered, worshipped and worshipper all at once. Every climax feeds the next—no refractory, no mercy, just wave after wave until her vision whites out and her voice is only a broken rasp of “Goddess—Goddess—please—”

The first Goddess kneels between her legs, spreads her open with strong hands, and looks straight into her soul.

“This is forever,” she says, and slides three fingers deep.

Meredith cums again, and something inside her cracks open like an eggshell. She feels it leave her—some last shard of resistance, of shame, of the old Meredith who still pretended she could go back. It pours out with her juices, soaks the warm floor, and is absorbed instantly.

The circle of women laughs, delighted.

“Good girl,” they sing in perfect unison. “Now we own you.”

The candles flare higher. The dream tilts.

Meredith wakes with a gasp, flat on her back in her goon shrine. Dawn creeping under the blinds. The room still hums with porn playing. Her body is slick with sweat, thighs trembling, a visible wet spot between her legs on the floor. Her clit throbs like a second heartbeat—raw, swollen, impossibly sensitive.

She tries to sit up. Can’t. Her limbs feel heavy, drugged.

When she finally drags a hand between her legs, the lightest brush against her clit nearly blinds her with pleasure. A single stroke, and her hips jackknife off the floor. A ragged moan tears out of her throat as a small, cruel orgasm punches through her without warning.

Her eyes fly open wide.

The hunger is no longer a want.

It’s a command.

And it is only growing.

She starts to rub uncontrollably. Orgasm after orgasm rushes from her raw, swollen, red pussy. Every flickering image on her screen is a trigger.

She can’t stop. She doesn’t want to stop. Her clit aches but she slides her hand down again, breathless, dizzy. The ritual did its job: the craving is bigger now. Hungrier. Insatiable. Unstoppable.

She hears a whisper in the room. The faint sound of “good girl” in the air.

Her urges subside. The room comes into focus. The porn is still playing. She looks back at the mirror and sees a ragged, ravaged woman. But at least she’s not horny anymore. For now. In the background she catches a glimpse of a Black goddess standing nude and proud on her screen. Immediately, her pussy swells involuntarily, her clit prominent and engorged. She starts leaking down her leg. A familiar but now sweet musk fills the air.

The ritual worked too well. That dream was real.

She starts to panic. What has she done?

JOURNAL 30 novembre 2025

On sort du bain peau douce et parfumée olala ces enivrant j'aime tellement ta peau la douceur ronde de tes épaules la moelleuses tendresse de tes seins Mmm

— et puis soudain me revient mon odeur dans le hokkaidô En toute saison nous avions droit à une douche le dimanche prise collectivement, sous surveillance défense de parler, un savon pour 4. Avant la fin de la semaine, nous sentions mauvais. Nos vêtement étaient lavés deux fois par mois, nous les portions donc pendant deux semaines, quelles qu'étaient les tâches qu'on nous imposait. En été la sueur nous les collait au dos. Nos cheveux étaient sales de poussière et de sueur. On puait. C'était exprès. On nous infligeait tout ce qu'on pouvait sentir comme dégradant et humiliant. Et ils me réservaient tout ce qui pouvait être de plus sale si possible répugnant, en tant que gosse de haute famille supposée gâtée et dorlotée.

Je devrais être reconnaissante à mon frère de m'avoir endurcie moralement et physiquement. Je n'en étais pas consciente, c'est maintenant que je m'en rends compte, son éducation à coup de branche d'arc m'avait préparée assez pour tenir le coup. Ça ne manque pas d'ironie.

#douleur

There are moments in your life when you carry so much weight that you forget what it feels like to simply breathe without pressure. You know the weight I’m talking about—the kind that doesn’t announce itself dramatically, doesn’t arrive with sirens or warning signs. Instead, it slides onto your shoulders one quiet piece at a time. A responsibility here. An expectation there. A disappointment, a setback, an unanswered question, a responsibility you didn’t ask for, a burden you didn’t choose.

And before you realize it, you’re waking up every day with the heaviness of things that no one else sees. You’re balancing the invisible. You’re managing the emotional weight that never makes it into your conversations. And the truth is, you’re handling more than most people will ever understand.

This is why you need to love yourself a little extra right now.

Not because you’re weak. Not because you’re fragile. Not because you’re breaking.

You need to love yourself because you’ve been operating at a level of emotional, spiritual, mental, and physical output that most people will never recognize. You show up, even when your heart is tired. You encourage people while silently fighting your own doubts. You support others while wondering who, if anyone, really understands what’s happening inside your mind.

And that’s exactly where this talk begins—at the crossroads where exhaustion and faith collide.

Double-spaced paragraphs now begin, as required.

You are doing things that nobody sees. That alone is a sentence heavy enough to sit with for a minute. Because when nobody sees it, it feels like it doesn’t count. When nobody acknowledges it, you start to wonder if it even matters. When nobody affirms it, you catch yourself questioning whether you’re just spinning your wheels in the dark, doing work that seems invisible to the world but feels overwhelming to your heart.

But just because people don’t see it doesn’t mean God doesn’t. And in reality, that’s the point—He sees it. He sees all of it. Every act of faithfulness. Every quiet sacrifice. Every moment you dug deep to stay patient. Every time you remained calm when your emotions were ready to set fire to the room. Every moment you protected someone else’s peace while yours was unraveling. Every time you chose kindness when anger would have been easier. Every time you stayed strong even when you weren’t sure strength was still in you.

God sees what others overlook. God sees the version of your life that isn’t posted anywhere. God sees the weight you carry behind the scenes. God sees the questions you’re afraid to ask out loud. God sees the tears that never made it down your face because you swallowed them before they had a chance to fall.

And this is where the compassion of God becomes something personal. He doesn’t see you through the lens of public performance—He sees you through the lens of personal reality. He sees what the world applauds, but even more than that, He sees what the world never notices. He sees your heart. He sees your effort. He sees the hidden stories that never make it into your conversations. And He honors your journey, even when you don’t feel like it’s worth honoring.

This is why being kind to yourself isn’t optional. It is necessary. It is survival. It is obedience. And it is spiritual maturity. We’ve been conditioned to believe that strength comes from pushing through everything without stopping. But strength doesn’t only show up in the push—it also shows up in the pause. It shows up in the moment you choose to breathe instead of break. It shows up in your decision to rest for a moment instead of pretending that nothing affects you.

You were never made to run without compassion for yourself. You were made to step into the same grace you willingly give to others. You were made to be gentle with your own soul. You were made to treat yourself with the same kindness Jesus treated the weary, the hurting, the overwhelmed, and the forgotten.

Think about Jesus for a moment—think about how He handled people who were tired, hurting, confused, or misunderstood. Not once did He tell them to “push harder.” Not once did He shame them for being emotionally drained. Not once did He tell them to pretend they were fine. He didn’t dismiss their humanity. He honored it. He leaned into it. He dignified their struggle. He sat with them in their realness. He offered them rest, not rules. He offered them compassion, not criticism. He offered them healing, not pressure.

So why is it so hard for us to treat ourselves with the same compassion that He gives us freely? Why do we extend oceans of grace to the world and then whisper judgment to ourselves? Why are we gentle with others but harsh with our own soul?

It’s because we’ve learned to survive life instead of experience life. We’ve learned to carry burdens instead of release them. We’ve learned to operate on empty without asking why we’re so afraid to refill our spiritual tank. We’ve learned to perform strength because we don’t want to disappoint anyone. But in the middle of all of that learning, we’ve forgotten something: we are human.

You are human. You are allowed to need rest. You are allowed to need encouragement. You are allowed to need healing. You are allowed to need reassurance. You are allowed to need God’s strength. You are allowed to need a moment to breathe.

When God looks at you, He doesn’t see someone failing. He doesn’t see someone weak. He doesn’t see someone falling behind. He sees a child He loves. He sees a life He is shaping. He sees a heart that is learning. He sees someone still standing despite the battles that tried to take you out long before this season. And He sees someone who deserves kindness—not because of performance, but because of identity.

You deserve kindness because you belong to Him.

You deserve care because you were created in His image.

You deserve compassion because He has compassion toward you.

You were never meant to be your own enemy. You were never meant to be your own harshest critic. You were never meant to carry the responsibility of the world on your shoulders without also remembering that God stands with you, fights for you, and strengthens you.

This is where the shift begins—by understanding that loving yourself a little extra right now is not selfish. It is spiritual. It is holy. It is needed. When Jesus told us to “love your neighbor as yourself,” it wasn’t an invitation to think low of yourself. It wasn’t an instruction to treat yourself as an afterthought. It wasn’t permission to pour endlessly into others while starving your own soul.

You cannot love your neighbor well if you do not love yourself deeply.

Many people try to pour from an empty heart, wondering why they feel resentful, drained, or overwhelmed. Many are trying to be vessels for God while refusing to let God fill them. Many are trying to represent heaven while ignoring their own need for healing. But the truth is simple: God never asked you to be exhausted for Him. He asked you to abide in Him.

Abiding requires presence. Presence requires stillness. Stillness requires compassion. Compassion requires kindness toward your own soul.

Loving yourself a little extra right now means you allow God to meet you where you actually are—not where you pretend to be. It means you give yourself permission to slow down long enough for God to strengthen you. It means you stop punishing yourself for being human. It means you stop expecting perfection from a soul that was never designed to carry the weight of perfection.

You are not behind. You are not forgotten. You are not invisible. You are not failing.

You are growing.

Growth is messy. Growth is uncomfortable. Growth is inconsistent. Growth is painful. Growth is uncelebrated.

But growth is holy.

God sees the patience you practice even when nobody notices. He sees the moments you choose faith instead of fear. He sees the nights you pray when your voice is shaking. He sees the times you forgive when your heart is hurting. He sees the strength it takes for you to get up every morning when life feels heavy. He sees the moments you keep fighting for your calling even when the road feels long.

God sees it all—and nothing you do goes unnoticed by Him.

You may not feel celebrated, but heaven sees your faithfulness. Heaven records your effort. Heaven acknowledges your unseen obedience. Heaven is aware of every unseen act of love, every quiet sacrifice, every moment you chose peace over war, patience over frustration, healing over hurting.

This is why you need to be kind to yourself. Because kindness is not just a gift you give to the world—it is a gift you must also give to the person God created you to be. Kindness is what creates the space for healing. Kindness is what creates the oxygen for growth. Kindness is what creates the foundation for restoration. Kindness is what allows God’s love to take root deeply inside you.

And sometimes, the most spiritual thing you can do—the holiest thing you can do—is to rest. To breathe. To treat yourself like someone God loves. To sit down for a moment and acknowledge that while the world may not truly understand the weight you carry, God does.

There is something sacred about the moment you decide to take care of yourself. There is something holy about the moment you say, “I need a break.” There is something powerful about the moment you tell your soul, “It’s okay to be tired.” There is something transformative about the moment you stop judging yourself and instead allow God to minister to you.

You do not need to earn God’s kindness. You do not need to earn God’s compassion. You do not need to earn God’s love. You do not need to earn rest.

You are allowed to heal. You are allowed to grow. You are allowed to breathe. You are allowed to be human. You are allowed to be held by God.

If you feel tired today, God sees you. If you feel unseen, God sees you. If you feel overwhelmed, God sees you. If you feel forgotten, God sees you. If you feel stretched thin, God sees you. If you feel like you’re holding everything together with the last thread, God sees you.

And He is not disappointed in you. He is not frustrated with you. He is not impatient with you. He is not asking for more from you.

He is offering more to you.

More strength. More mercy. More compassion. More rest. More peace. More clarity. More healing.

You are not alone in this. You are not invisible in this. You are not fighting by yourself. You are not enduring this season without purpose. God sees you. God is with you. God is strengthening you. God is healing you. God is rebuilding you. God is calling you to treat yourself with the same love He pours out on you daily.

So love yourself a little extra right now. Speak gently to your soul. Show compassion to your journey. Breathe deeper. Rest longer. Give yourself the grace God already gave you.

You are doing better than you realize. You are growing more than you can see. You are further along than you feel. And you are seen by the One who matters most.

---

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube

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Your friend in Christ, Douglas Vandergraph

#love #faith #hope #christianinspiration #encouragement #motivation #Jesus #grace #healing #strength

Talve saabudes muutub maailm justkui veidi pehmemaks ja helgemaks. Lume hääletu langemine, akna taga kumavad tuled ning tubades leviv piparkoogilõhn tekitavad erilise meeleolu, mis kutsub inimesi peatuma ja märkama väikseid rõõme. Selle vaikse ja hubase aja juurde kuulub ka üks tore traditsioon, mis äratab nii lastes kui ka täiskasvanutes sooje tundeid – jõuluõhtul esitatud väikesed salmid ja read, mida me kõik oleme kunagi õppinud, harjutanud ja rõõmuga ette kandnud. Nendes peitub midagi sügavalt süütut ja siirast.

Jõululaule ja -jutte teame me palju, kuid jõululuuletused on midagi, mis loovad väga isikliku sideme. Need võivad olla naljakad, armsad, õpetlikud või ka veidi mõtlikud. Olgu need kirjutatud vanaema kulunud vihikusse või leitud uuest lasteluuletuste kogust – igaüks neist toob kaasa killukese jõulutunnet. Paljudes peredes on tavaks, et kingi avamiseks tuleb mõni salm ette lugeda. See väike hetk, kui kõik jäävad kuulama ja laps püüab oma parimal oskusel sõnad ritta seada, jääb sageli perekonna ühisesse mälupagasisse.

Tänapäeval otsitakse inspiratsiooni igalt poolt – raamatutest, internetist, varasematest pühadest või ka enda südamest. Just ise loodud ja kirjutatud read kannavad kõige rohkem tähendust, sest need sünnivad sellest, mida inimene parasjagu tunneb. Nii saavad jõulusalmid olla kui väikesed kingitused, mis ei vaja pakkepaberit ega paela, vaid ainult veidi aega ja soovi mõelda kellelegi heaga.

Viimaks võibki öelda, et nende lühikeste värsiridade suurim väärtus peitub lihtsuses – soovides tuua rõõmu, märgata lähedasi ja tunda, et pühadeaeg on midagi enamat kui vaid kingid kuuse all.

Blätterlos reckt sich der Baum,

bretterlos streckt sich der Steg,

allein am grün-weißen Leuchtturm

erhebt sich eine Tanne in ihrem grünen Kleid,

weihnachtlich dorthin dekoriert grüßt sie

die heimkehrenden Seefahrer:innen.

Sanft und weich spülen die Wellen ans Ufer

über den braun-weißen Sand.

Tief ins Wasser versunken sind die Köpfe

der Schwanenfamilie, die schwarzen

Enten lauschen den heiseren Schreien der weißen Möwen.

Glühend leuchten die Feuerstellen in die kühle Dämmerung,

der Rauch des verkohlten Holzes dringt in die Wintermäntel.

Eine kurze Geschichte.

„Woran denkst Du?“

Robby bewegt sich auf sie zu und stellt eine Tasse Tee auf den Tisch neben ihrem Sessel. Selma schaut gedankenverloren auf.

„An den Sinn des Lebens.“

Robby prustet laut heraus. „Hätte ich nur nicht gefragt. Eigentlich wollte ich nur ein wenig Smalltalk halten. Aber ihr Deutschen müsst ja immer gleich tiefsinnig werden.“ 

Selma lächelt. 

„Wir könnten doch einfach nur über das Wetter plaudern.“ 

schlägt Robby vor. 

Selma blickt durch die hellen Gardinen über die Terrasse in den parkähnlichen Garten und sieht, dass es dämmert. Am Himmel zeichnet sich ein rötlichgelber Streifen ab, der die kahlen Bäume in einem fahlen Licht erscheinen lässt. 

Robby öffnet die Türe zur Terrasse. Die hereinströmende Luft ist erstaunlich mild für diese Jahreszeit. 

“Es riecht nach verbranntem Holz.”

Irgendwoher ertönt Musik.

“Last Christmas … “

Robby singt mit.

Es klingt scheusslich.

Selma betrachtet Robby. Er ist nicht wirklich schön.

Seine Arme und Beine sind dürr. Er bewegt sich statisch.

Seine Augen leuchten grell.

Und seine Stimme, seine Stimme schnarrt wie ein rostiges Blech.

“Eigentlich seltsam, dass ich ausgerechnet mit Dir die Weihnachtszeit verbringe.”

sagt Selma.

“Hast Du eine Wahl?”, fragt Robby.

Selma lächelt wieder. Nein, das hatte sie nicht. Aber es machte ihr auch nichts aus. Denn eigentlich mochte sie Robby. Trotz allem. Sie hatte sich an ihn gewöhnt.

“… I gave you my heart …” sang Robby

“Ich muss gleich los”, sagte er dann.

Selma nickte.

Er öffnet die Tür und verlässt das Apartment.

Er grüßt noch einmal, als er an ihrem Terrassenfenster vorbeikommt.

Selma blickte ihm nach.

Für einen Pflegeroboter fuhr er ganz schön schnell.

Gelesen, gesehen, gehört.

Zurzeit bin ich ein wenig im Brontë-Fieber. “Der Professor” von Charlotte Brontë ist fast ausgelesen. Und der Film Emily wartet auf Abholung in der Stadtbibliothek.

Heute habe ich im Fediversum entdeckt, dass es bei Reclam den klassischen Adventskalender gibt.

Als Hörbuch mochte ich Windowshopping – eine weihnachtliche Versuchung von Tessa Bailey. Cool war, dass es von zwei Hörbuchsprechenden abwechselnd gesprochen wurde.

Bei Filmfriend gibt es einen filmischen Adventskalender. Ich bin schon ganz neugierig, was dort gezeigt wird. Morgen soll es losgehen!

Our Father Who art in heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

Will You Friend Ukraine?

Of Occident and open Lyne Days of prayers for you and her The copper jets and superclass Believe, befriend, and escalate- With you to port for better class And days to conscience claim There is a war for evidence To repair the spotlight rule Third set of stairs to win these laws A man at work is weeping In olive branch so far from here We will grow old in tandem And best remark from life proclaim The omen of this small nation- A ransom hut in North Korea For watch, for digital frame To dine alone on better days Earth is every scream- To the news to remit a life’s great past Fortune will forget In Texas state there was more war Against the right to be owned In fair perchance here is more at play But mired in the distance We want more from the past And as such we are smitten With the dew of our Holiest grass By more for a friend, Then surrendering thus- We walk here and notice this then More for our people Is not sacrifice But from putin + his wild west partner Six to the journey And thus no more deal We are victims of murder this year

The “wild west partner” is irving.

—Jeffery

I like the idea of Advent of Code/TS, but last year, I saw that this consumed a lot of my time. Yes, it was fun, but it did not push my side projects further.

So I got a “brilliant” idea. #AdventOfProgress – I like to combine both to take advantage of this time and make some progress. I would say this is an evolution of #TheMonthProject moved into December.

There is an app idea that has been living in my head for some time now, and I want to get it out with some tools I haven’t worked with in a long time. It is already more than 10 years ago since I started a small project with React Native. And with the rise of expo.dev, I see a good opportunity to try it out in December. The plan is to have an MVP (minimal viable product) by the end of December or, better yet, by Christmas. It should be possible in this span of time. But I also see my calendar and the entries there, with stuff that also needs to be done. Let’s see if I will manage this. :)

I hope I can post the progress daily.

---

58 of #100DaysToOffload
#log #TheMonthProject #AdventOfProgress
_Thoughts?

I wrote about how I use Claude Code in Wezterm in this Post.

Since then, I've improved it a bit. I introduced the yolo mode --dangerously-skip-permissions as default when I open CC and I need to split the window pane on my desktop monitor to 1/3 and on my laptop monitor to ½.

The split introduced a new function, which is called on keypress.

local function split_for_claude()
	local screen = wezterm.gui and wezterm.gui.screens().active.name or ""
	local percent = 50

	if screen == EXTERNAL_MONITOR then
		percent = 33
	end

	return act.SplitPane({
		direction = "Right",
		command = { args = { "bash", "-lc", "claude --dangerously-skip-permissions" } },
		size = { Percent = percent },
	})
end

EXTERNAL_MONITOR is the name of the external monitor. The name you will get from opening the Debug Overlay and calling wezterm.gui.screens().

And the key settings are:

config.keys = {
  -- ...
	{
		key = "Enter",
		mods = "LEADER",
		action = wezterm.action_callback(function(window, pane)
			window:perform_action(split_for_claude(), pane)
		end),
	},
  -- ...
}

Now I hit leader+enter and CC opens in a 1/3 or ½ split depending on the display. :)

---

57 of #100DaysToOffload
#log #wezterm #code #dev
_Thoughts?

Dans cette magnifique série d'Arte, Patrick Boucheron nous met en perspective la bataille d'Alésia, la Guerre des Gaules, Jules César, Vercingétorix et notre rapport au passé et à l'histoire. Brillant.

Le site de la bataille, situé à [Alise-Sainte-Reine](https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alise-Sainte-Reine) (n'en déplaise à certains), est en Bourgogne, pas si loin de la Suisse, ni d'un autre site de bataille se rattachant lui à l'histoire suisse : [Bibracte](https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bibracte).

Si Vercingétorix appartient à l'histoire et à l'imaginaire de l'histoire de France, [Divico](https://blog.nationalmuseum.ch/fr/2022/06/divico-un-homme-au-secours-des-heros/) est son alter ego concernant l'histoire suisse et un peu moins son imaginaire.

De quoi envisager en 2026 un bon petit roadtrip mêlant moto et histoire…

Tags : #AuCafé #histoire

Stay entertained thanks to our Weekly Tracker giving you next week's Anticipated Movies & Shows, Most Watched & Returning Favorites, and Shows Changes & Popular Trailers.

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• Troll 2
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• Vanderpump Rules — Season 12
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• Strange Tales Of Tang Dynasty — Returning Series → Ended
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• new Stranger Things
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• Shhh. The soldiers are sleeping… — Sisu: Road to Revenge
• MISSION: 46 – Season 3 — SPY x FAMILY
• This Thanksgiving, don't fight with your family — fight for your family. — Greenland 2: Migration
• Acclaimed Audience Award — Hamnet
• Hop to it — Zootopia 2
• Official English Trailer — JUJUTSU KAISEN: Execution -Shibuya Incident x The Culling Game Begins-
• Official Teaser — The Strangers: Chapter 3
• Official Trailer — How to Make a Killing
• How Far Would You Go — The Running Man

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Hi, I'm Kevin 👋. I make apps and I love watching movies and TV shows. If you like what I'm doing, you can buy one of my apps, download and subscribe to Rippple for Trakt or just buy me a ko-fi ☕️.

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I’m going to miss the P’s. It’s only been a few days but I feel a part of the family. I really hope I can see them again soon.

Saturday I spent sleeping on the blue sofa. I went out for some food, for the fitness dance, with the dogs, but always was pulled back to the sofa.

Today I’ll clean the apartment which I’d planned to do yesterday

It’s therapeutic they say. We will see about this.

I’ve made a playlist of great lyrics songs like Front 242 – quite unusual which is I think brilliant and of course always Fly on the windscreen

That is a powerful image they’ve made: the dead flies on the windscreen !! A more potent reminder to seize the day I have yet to see!!

And yet

Why did I spend all day yesterday on the sofa?