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Hey family… 💚🍀 I hope everyone is having a great day! I see you. Every quiet effort, every day you choose not to give up, it’s all noticed. The universe is preparing blessings that will leave you stunned and deeply proud of how far you’ve come. Big wins are loading for us, and we’ll celebrate them together like the strong family we’ve become. I’m rooting for every single one of you with all my heart, no matter what. 💯 I’ve got your back always, and I care about your well-being more than words can say. Keep going. Your moment is closer than you think. I love you all to the moon and beyond. 💖🪄

Hey family… 💚🍀 I hope everyone is having a great day! I see you. Every quiet effort, every day you choose not to give up, it’s all noticed. The universe is preparing blessings that will leave you stunned and deeply proud of how far you’ve come. Big wins are loading for us, and we’ll celebrate them together like the strong family we’ve become. I’m rooting for every single one of you with all my heart, no matter what. 💯 I’ve got your back always, and I care about your well-being more than words can say. Keep going. Your moment is closer than you think. I love you all to the moon and beyond. 💖🪄

Lord of Sugar 💖🪄

31,494 Aufrufe • vor 2 Monaten

Treatment Update: This grieving mother lost all her puppies during delivery… a pain no one can truly measure. Post-surgery care is going on, and she has now been sterilized. Her stitches will be removed in a few days, and she will be released back to her own location. Every single day we are giving her proper care, warmth, and delicious meals to help her heal both physically and emotionally. She is currently living with our rescued dogs, finding comfort and emotional support among them. Their presence is helping her slowly trust life again. If you wish to support her treatment, care, and the many souls like her, your contribution can make a huge difference. Please come forward and help us continue this work. Every bit matters. #dogs #AnimalWelfare

Treatment Update: This grieving mother lost all her puppies during delivery… a pain no one can truly measure. Post-surgery care is going on, and she has now been sterilized. Her stitches will be removed in a few days, and she will be released back to her own location. Every single day we are giving her proper care, warmth, and delicious meals to help her heal both physically and emotionally. She is currently living with our rescued dogs, finding comfort and emotional support among them. Their presence is helping her slowly trust life again. If you wish to support her treatment, care, and the many souls like her, your contribution can make a huge difference. Please come forward and help us continue this work. Every bit matters. #dogs #AnimalWelfare

Vidit Sharma 🇮🇳

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กี่ครั้งก็ได้ (Countless) Artists: Pooh & Pavel 🐱: I didn't intend to stare at you for that long But my eyes just refuse to look anywhere else There are so many people here tonight But it’s like this whole room is just you and me, oh oh ~ no no ooh 🐶: I don't know why, my heart beats for you every single time Every time we walk together... 🐱: If you have some time tonight Please stop by and see me, I'll be waiting (Pooh: hey hey) (Together 🐶🐱) No matter how many times, it’s still not enough Can I ask to be with you one more time? I don’t know if you feel the same But I want you, just you, all night long No matter how many times, ooh I still want to go on a date with this person You are such a good, good thing As long as it's you, anything goes. 🐶: I didn't say a word, but your smile says it all No need for any explanation I already know that something is about to start Life slows down, the music grooves Just a little move from you and the whole room moves too 🐱: If you have some time tonight Please stop by and see me, I'll be waiting (🐶: hey hey) (Together 🐶🐱) No matter how many times, it’s still not enough Can I ask to be with you one more time? I don’t know if you feel the same But I want you, just you, all night long No matter how many times, ooh I still want to go on a date with this person You’re such a good, good thing As long as it's you, anything goes. (Together 🐶🐱) No matter how many times, it’s still not enough Can I ask to be with you one more time? I don’t know if you feel the same But I want you, just you, all night long No matter how many times, ooh I still want to go on a date with this person You are such a good, good thing As long as it's you, anything goes. #กี่ครั้งก็ได้Countless #PoohPavel #ppoohkt #pavelphoom #CHANGEMUSIC #CHANGE2561

กี่ครั้งก็ได้ (Countless) Artists: Pooh & Pavel 🐱: I didn't intend to stare at you for that long But my eyes just refuse to look anywhere else There are so many people here tonight But it’s like this whole room is just you and me, oh oh ~ no no ooh 🐶: I don't know why, my heart beats for you every single time Every time we walk together... 🐱: If you have some time tonight Please stop by and see me, I'll be waiting (Pooh: hey hey) (Together 🐶🐱) No matter how many times, it’s still not enough Can I ask to be with you one more time? I don’t know if you feel the same But I want you, just you, all night long No matter how many times, ooh I still want to go on a date with this person You are such a good, good thing As long as it's you, anything goes. 🐶: I didn't say a word, but your smile says it all No need for any explanation I already know that something is about to start Life slows down, the music grooves Just a little move from you and the whole room moves too 🐱: If you have some time tonight Please stop by and see me, I'll be waiting (🐶: hey hey) (Together 🐶🐱) No matter how many times, it’s still not enough Can I ask to be with you one more time? I don’t know if you feel the same But I want you, just you, all night long No matter how many times, ooh I still want to go on a date with this person You’re such a good, good thing As long as it's you, anything goes. (Together 🐶🐱) No matter how many times, it’s still not enough Can I ask to be with you one more time? I don’t know if you feel the same But I want you, just you, all night long No matter how many times, ooh I still want to go on a date with this person You are such a good, good thing As long as it's you, anything goes. #กี่ครั้งก็ได้Countless #PoohPavel #ppoohkt #pavelphoom #CHANGEMUSIC #CHANGE2561

Pavelina is pregnant with twins. 𝇋♡︎𝇌 ࣪ ˖พุพุ

11,057 Aufrufe • vor 5 Monaten

When I say “beans and rice, rice and beans,” I don’t actually mean only eat rice and beans. What it represents is so much more than a low grocery bill. It’s about short-term sacrifice for the long-term win. You can do anything for a few months, even a few years to set yourself up for a lifetime of success. You have to live on less than you make in order to pay off debt, in order to save and invest, in order to be generous. You can’t spend more than you make and end up anywhere except bankruptcy court. And people are doing it every day, everywhere. The stuff I talk about is not hard to understand. It’s very hard to actually go and do it. You’ve got to decide you’re going to DO it. Day in and day out, you’ve drawn a line in the sand, and you are NOT going back. No more excuses. You’re taking control of your actions and your life. You’re ready to make your money work for YOU, not the other way around. Are you ready to change your life?

When I say “beans and rice, rice and beans,” I don’t actually mean only eat rice and beans. What it represents is so much more than a low grocery bill. It’s about short-term sacrifice for the long-term win. You can do anything for a few months, even a few years to set yourself up for a lifetime of success. You have to live on less than you make in order to pay off debt, in order to save and invest, in order to be generous. You can’t spend more than you make and end up anywhere except bankruptcy court. And people are doing it every day, everywhere. The stuff I talk about is not hard to understand. It’s very hard to actually go and do it. You’ve got to decide you’re going to DO it. Day in and day out, you’ve drawn a line in the sand, and you are NOT going back. No more excuses. You’re taking control of your actions and your life. You’re ready to make your money work for YOU, not the other way around. Are you ready to change your life?

Dave Ramsey

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A middle school cafeteria during lunch rush. A young girl walks up with a tray; when she gets to the register, the staff member checks her account and says, “You don’t have money left on your card. You’ve already had three warnings. I can’t give you this.” The girl quietly says she hasn’t eaten all day. The employee shrugs and tells her, “You need to talk to your mommy.” The line behind her grows, eyes watching as she slowly puts the tray aside and walks away. It’s hard to ignore how situations like this affect kids; not just physically, but emotionally. Hunger is one thing, and then also the embarrassment and shame in front of peers can stick with a child for years. Schools are supposed to be safe spaces, and denying food this way feels like a system failing the very kids it’s meant to support. How do we create a better solution where no child is left hungry or humiliated in a place meant to care for them?

A middle school cafeteria during lunch rush. A young girl walks up with a tray; when she gets to the register, the staff member checks her account and says, “You don’t have money left on your card. You’ve already had three warnings. I can’t give you this.” The girl quietly says she hasn’t eaten all day. The employee shrugs and tells her, “You need to talk to your mommy.” The line behind her grows, eyes watching as she slowly puts the tray aside and walks away. It’s hard to ignore how situations like this affect kids; not just physically, but emotionally. Hunger is one thing, and then also the embarrassment and shame in front of peers can stick with a child for years. Schools are supposed to be safe spaces, and denying food this way feels like a system failing the very kids it’s meant to support. How do we create a better solution where no child is left hungry or humiliated in a place meant to care for them?

Dr.L

378,594 Aufrufe • vor 4 Monaten

A cinematic AI-powered visual experience showcasing how imagination can be transformed into stunning digital worlds From futuristic environments and creative fashion visuals to seamless character transformations every scene blends technology creativity, and storytelling into one immersive piece. Made with MiniMaxH3 on WeryAI Wery Prompt: A stylish young South Asian woman with long dark hair, natural glamorous makeup and an elegant modern outfit. Keep her face, hairstyle, outfit and appearance consistent throughout the entire video. Scene 1 — 0–4s: She sits at a sleek modern workstation in a futuristic studio. She looks directly into the camera and says naturally: “What if you could turn your ideas into reality in just a few clicks?” Natural facial expressions and hand gestures. Slow cinematic camera push-in. Perfect lip-sync. Scene 2 — 4–7s: She turns to her computer and opens WeryAI. She types a creative idea and says: “That’s exactly what I love about WeryAI.” The interface responds with elegant AI processing animations and glowing digital effects. Scene 3 — 7–11s: Her simple idea transforms into stunning AI-generated visuals: a fashion scene, futuristic city, cinematic character, premium product advertisement and social-media video. She looks impressed and says: “Give it an idea, and watch it come to life.” Use smooth cinematic transitions and dynamic camera movement. Scene 4 — 11–15s: She turns back toward the camera with a confident smile and says: “WeryAI. Your imagination, powered by AI.” The camera slowly pulls back as the WeryAI brand reveal appears with a clean futuristic glow. Audio: Natural confident female voice, warm energetic delivery, subtle futuristic background music and soft cinematic sound effects. Keep dialogue clear and prominent. Lip-sync: The woman must visibly speak every line with accurate lip synchronization, natural mouth movement, blinking and facial expressions. Visual quality: Photorealistic, cinematic 4K, realistic skin, smooth camera movement, premium lighting, shallow depth of field, consistent character. No subtitles, no distorted face, no warped hands, no extra fingers, no flickering, no random text, no watermark.

Calira

12,635 Aufrufe • vor 18 Tagen

Elon Musk just made every skill you’ve ever earned sound like a waste of time. Musk: “Down the road with a Neuralink, you can just upload any subject instantly. You wanna fly a helicopter? No problem. Any given skill, you just upload it instantly.” Not faster learning. Not better education. Instant upload. The surgeon who spent 12 years learning to cut. The pilot who logged 5,000 hours learning to fly. The attorney who gave a decade to case law. Their entire advantage erased in a software update. We built civilization on one assumption. That knowledge is earned through suffering. That the distance between who you are and who you want to be is measured in discipline and years. Neuralink doesn’t close that distance. It deletes it. And what that kills isn’t employment. It’s identity. We don’t just use skills. We become them. Ask a surgeon who they are. They don’t say “I work in medicine.” They say surgeon. Ask a pilot. They say pilot. The identity was never the skill itself. It was the cost of acquiring it. If everyone can upload surgery in seconds, no one is a surgeon anymore. The skill still exists. The meaning behind it doesn’t. For centuries we told ourselves that mastery is what builds character. That the hardest thing you ever earned is the closest thing to purpose you’ll ever find. Neuralink doesn’t threaten your career. It threatens the story you tell yourself about why your life matters. The question nobody wants to sit with isn’t whether Musk can build this. It’s who you are when the thing that took you 20 years to become can be downloaded in 20 seconds.

Elon Musk just made every skill you’ve ever earned sound like a waste of time. Musk: “Down the road with a Neuralink, you can just upload any subject instantly. You wanna fly a helicopter? No problem. Any given skill, you just upload it instantly.” Not faster learning. Not better education. Instant upload. The surgeon who spent 12 years learning to cut. The pilot who logged 5,000 hours learning to fly. The attorney who gave a decade to case law. Their entire advantage erased in a software update. We built civilization on one assumption. That knowledge is earned through suffering. That the distance between who you are and who you want to be is measured in discipline and years. Neuralink doesn’t close that distance. It deletes it. And what that kills isn’t employment. It’s identity. We don’t just use skills. We become them. Ask a surgeon who they are. They don’t say “I work in medicine.” They say surgeon. Ask a pilot. They say pilot. The identity was never the skill itself. It was the cost of acquiring it. If everyone can upload surgery in seconds, no one is a surgeon anymore. The skill still exists. The meaning behind it doesn’t. For centuries we told ourselves that mastery is what builds character. That the hardest thing you ever earned is the closest thing to purpose you’ll ever find. Neuralink doesn’t threaten your career. It threatens the story you tell yourself about why your life matters. The question nobody wants to sit with isn’t whether Musk can build this. It’s who you are when the thing that took you 20 years to become can be downloaded in 20 seconds.

Dustin

39,194 Aufrufe • vor 4 Monaten

We don’t just talk — our actions speak louder than words. These dogs live in an industrial sector in Noida, and every single one of them is sterilized. For the last 5 years, our food van has been reaching them regularly, ensuring they are well-fed, healthy, and loved. In all these years: No new-born puppies No animal-human conflicts No dog-bite cases reported They are completely integrated with the community and live happily, wagging their tails when they see familiar faces. Look at them — healthy, joyful, and at peace. This is the result of a healthy and humane approach. Sterilization is the key. It takes time, effort, and consistency — but it works. We urge everyone who sees stray dogs as a “problem” to instead push local authorities for mass sterilization. It’s the most effective, lasting, and compassionate solution. You too can be part of this change — sponsor their meals and care. Donate via Pytm & GPay at 7042677382. Together, let’s prove that coexistence is possible — and beautiful #dogs

We don’t just talk — our actions speak louder than words. These dogs live in an industrial sector in Noida, and every single one of them is sterilized. For the last 5 years, our food van has been reaching them regularly, ensuring they are well-fed, healthy, and loved. In all these years: No new-born puppies No animal-human conflicts No dog-bite cases reported They are completely integrated with the community and live happily, wagging their tails when they see familiar faces. Look at them — healthy, joyful, and at peace. This is the result of a healthy and humane approach. Sterilization is the key. It takes time, effort, and consistency — but it works. We urge everyone who sees stray dogs as a “problem” to instead push local authorities for mass sterilization. It’s the most effective, lasting, and compassionate solution. You too can be part of this change — sponsor their meals and care. Donate via Pytm & GPay at 7042677382. Together, let’s prove that coexistence is possible — and beautiful #dogs

Vidit Sharma 🇮🇳

35,997 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

Something big is about to happen with deportations in America. You should be ready for this… I just spoke with a senior DHS official. They shared deportation numbers with me that frankly stunned me. +27,000 deportations. Last week. +3,600 a day average. Tracking for 1.4 million deportations across the calendar year. +69,000 illegals are in DHS jails waiting to be deported at this moment. And you haven’t heard a blip about it in the corporate press. Why? My DHS source says “stealth tactics.” “We’re everywhere in every major city. We tell no one. Plain clothes. Beat up old cars. Quick work. Tactical strikes. No one sees anything. No drama. No tears. No media circus. You’re just going back home where you belong.” And here’s where it gets insane… DHS tells me blue states are quietly and very secretly working with the Trump administration to assist in the mass deportation of criminals. The criminal alien issue has become so “politically toxic” and “costly” that Democrat Governors have given the green light to Sheriffs and Police Chiefs in major blue cities to drop their illegals off with undercover ICE for removal. It’s happening. You just don’t see it. We can track if these numbers hold, but as for now this is a historic white pill and exactly what MAGA voted for.

Something big is about to happen with deportations in America. You should be ready for this… I just spoke with a senior DHS official. They shared deportation numbers with me that frankly stunned me. +27,000 deportations. Last week. +3,600 a day average. Tracking for 1.4 million deportations across the calendar year. +69,000 illegals are in DHS jails waiting to be deported at this moment. And you haven’t heard a blip about it in the corporate press. Why? My DHS source says “stealth tactics.” “We’re everywhere in every major city. We tell no one. Plain clothes. Beat up old cars. Quick work. Tactical strikes. No one sees anything. No drama. No tears. No media circus. You’re just going back home where you belong.” And here’s where it gets insane… DHS tells me blue states are quietly and very secretly working with the Trump administration to assist in the mass deportation of criminals. The criminal alien issue has become so “politically toxic” and “costly” that Democrat Governors have given the green light to Sheriffs and Police Chiefs in major blue cities to drop their illegals off with undercover ICE for removal. It’s happening. You just don’t see it. We can track if these numbers hold, but as for now this is a historic white pill and exactly what MAGA voted for.

Benny Johnson

2,997,211 Aufrufe • vor 16 Tagen

Lads. Sit down and give me your ear a while, for I have watched from the water long enough and the hour is upon us whether we have the stomach for it or not. You remember. Or your fathers told you, or their fathers did, and the knowledge of it is in the marrow of you whether you drew breath in those days or not. The moors in the grey hour before dawn. Wet heather soft under the boot. Peat smoke rising from a low stone chimney a mile out across the bog, thin as a prayer. A sky the colour of a gun barrel and the gulls lamenting above the headland. The smell of turf burning, and wet wool, and the ferrous tang of the sea when the wind swung around out of the Atlantic and put the taste of iron on your tongue. A man could walk that land and know every stone of it was his by inheritance, because his grandfather had broken his back upon it, and his grandfather before him, back through the generations until you reach men whose names are lost and whose bones are in the soil you are standing on. The potato fields. God be good to us, the potato fields. Lazy beds cut straight as a gunwale, the ridges black and shining after a night of rain, women bent double with creels lashed to their backs and the children at their skirts, drawing the crop up by the hand for there was never any other means devised nor wanted. Hands split open at the knuckles and never entirely healed in this life. Hunger within living memory. Grandmothers who had seen the blight with their own eyes and would not speak of it from the year of it until the day they were laid down, save that a crust was kept always on the dresser which no soul in that house was permitted to touch. Not ever. Not for any reason under heaven. And the chimney sweeps. Wee lads no heavier than a sack of meal, black to the bone with soot, their lungs ruined before they were old enough to marry and old men entirely by thirty. Up the flues at first light, the skin worn off them by the brick, eyes crimson at the rim, breathing the black in with every draw of air. And the coal miners a half mile beneath our feet, down in the wet dark, the roof of the world muttering over their heads, the canary gone silent, a man's whole existence measured out in the shilling a ton and the dust he carried home in his chest to cough up of a Sunday morning into a rag. Fathers who descended and were never hauled up again. Widows at the pit head with the shawl drawn over the head and no tears remaining in them for they had spent those long ago. That was the tariff paid to keep the hearth lit. That was the reckoning of being warm in winter in the Ireland that was. And after the labouring week, Friday evening, and a man had earned the peace of what followed. Home first. Peeled the day off him in the yard. A shower of ice cold moor river water out of a tin bucket punctured with holes, hung on a nail on the gable wall, the water running clean down the back of him and carrying the week's dust and sweat away into the drain. Scrubbed till the skin was pink beneath the grime. Clean shirt laid out by the wife. The hair combed down with a drop of water. Then, and only then, did a man set himself to the table. A meat pie from the baker, tenpence if he was known to you, a shilling and no change if he was not, put down upon a proper plate. Fish and chips for threepence, the salt and vinegar soaked through the newspaper, but carried home and ate slowly at your own table with your people around you, not walked with through the streets like some vagrant tinker off the road. A man ate as a man who had earned his portion, for he had. And later, with the dishes cleared and the kettle set, down the road to the tavern. Low beams black with a century of smoke. A turf fire muttering in the grate. The air thick with pipe smoke and the vapour of wet overcoats steaming themselves dry on the backs of chairs. A pint of stout, cold and black as a cove at midnight, elevenpence laid down on the counter, a head on it thick enough to strike a match upon. A second one because you had it coming to you and no man present would dispute it. A fiddle starting up in the corner of its own accord. The old men in the snug who remembered matters the history books had long since mislaid. A song before the bolt was thrown on the door. The walk home beneath a firmament crowded with stars, the stout warm in the gut of you, the week behind you, and your own door waiting with the latch unlocked for you had no enemies in that parish. That was the country. That was the covenant. Honest labour, plain food, a cold wash, a hot meal, a cold pint, your own tongue in your own mouth, your own soil beneath your boots, and no man standing above you save the Almighty Himself. Now regard her. Regard her close. The fields disposed of to men who have never set foot upon them and never shall. The harbours signed away by the stroke of a pen in a room you were not admitted to, and foreign keels dragging out of our waters the living that sustained this island for a thousand years, while our own boats rot at their moorings for want of a quota. The tradesmen undercut by imported labour and imported goods. The shops shuttered along every main street from Donegal to Cork. The young ones scattered to London and Sydney and Boston and the Gulf because there is nothing remaining for them beneath their own roof. And the entirety of this rotten arrangement dressed up in the soft mannerly language of progress by men in towers of glass who could not tell a lazy bed from a grave, nor a trawler from a tugboat, nor an honest day's work from a pension plan. And now they arrive with the next imposition. A digital identity. A number assigned to each soul. A card required to buy your bread. A code required to draw your own earnings out of your own account. A file kept on every man, woman and child from the cradle forward. Permission asked to move. Permission asked to speak. Permission asked to earn. A levy upon every breath drawn and a regulation upon every step taken. No. And no again. And no for a third time so there is no misunderstanding of it. We do not require your digital identity. We did not request it. We did not vote upon it. We do not consent to it. We do not need your permission to exist upon the soil our forefathers are buried in. We are a free people. We have carried ourselves this far upon our own two backs. Through famine and empire and civil war and black lung and blight and the emigrant ship out of Cobh, we have come this distance under our own steam, and the arrangement appears to be serving us well enough without your intervention. We buried our own. We fed our own. We raised our own roofs and took our own fish and reared our own children in our own tongue. We are in your debt for nothing. Not a signature. Not a biometric scan. Not a single solitary inch. And while we are upon the subject, let us speak plainly of the tax man, for he has gone too long without proper introduction. The tax collector and the tax man are the one article under two names, and the article is a parasite. There is no dressing it up finer than that. A man who produces nothing, who grows nothing, who catches nothing, who builds nothing, who mends nothing, who has never in his professional life lifted anything heavier than a pen, and who arrives at your door with the full apparatus of the state at his back to carry off the fruits of labour he did not perform. He is a middleman between your sweat and some scheme dreamt up in a committee room by his own kind, and the great majority of what he takes is consumed by the machinery of the taking itself before ever a penny of it reaches the road or the hospital or the schoolhouse he claims to be funding. And I will go further while I have the floor. Finance itself, the whole apparatus of it, money breeding money in the dark without a hand laid upon a tool or a spade turned in the earth, is slavery dressed in a good suit. It is the oldest swindle known to man and it has never been anything other. A man who produces nothing yet lives off the productive labour of others through the charging of interest upon money conjured out of nothing is a parasite of a rarer and more refined order than the tax man, but a parasite all the same, and between the pair of them they have the working people of this island bled white and lectured at for the pleasure. A man who will not work with his hands, nor with his back, nor with his mind at some honest problem of the real physical world, is no man that I recognise. He is a ledger entry in a suit. The country was not built by ledger entries. The country was built by farmers and fishermen and masons and smiths and sweeps and miners and shipwrights and midwives and mothers, and those are the people whose say should carry in her councils, and no other. Here is what I put to you. Let each man and woman of this island direct the first tenth of their earnings themselves, by their own judgement, to the purpose they see as worthy. The school down the road. The lifeboat station. The hospice. The widow on the corner. The roof of the chapel. The harbour wall. Whatever it may be. Let the people who earned the money decide where the money travels. You will find the roads mended and the ports dredged and the schools standing and the old ones cared for inside of five years, and done better and for less, because the hand that earned the coin knows the weight of it and will not squander it upon consultants and committees. And let us have done with the paper currency and the numbers in a screen that can be frozen at the whim of a clerk in a tower. Bring back the coin. Gold for the great transactions. Silver for the weekly commerce of a working life. Copper for the small change of the day. Metal you can bite. Metal you can weigh. Metal that cannot be conjured out of nothing by a keystroke, nor erased out of existence by another. Real money for real labour. A coin in the hand is a free man's wage. A number in a database is a collar around a free man's neck, and they are fitting that collar now while we stand arguing over the colour of it. Feel it in your gut. That is not nothing. That is your blood relating to you what your ears will not hear. That is every forebear who starved and fought and coughed the black dust into a rag and descended the shaft regardless, standing at your shoulder and saying no further. Not one more field. Not one more harbour. Not one more son upon a plane. Not one more free man converted into a number in a ledger for the convenience of the parasites. This is the hour. Make no error about it. Ireland is redeemed in this generation or she is lost beyond recovery, and every true son and daughter of her knows it in the marrow. There is no middle ground remaining. There is no waiting it out. There is standing now, upon your own two feet, or there is watching her go under the waves for the last and final time. So stand. Stand with your farmers. Stand with your fishermen. Stand with your tradesmen and your miners and your sweeps and your mothers and your old ones. Raise the tricolour. Speak the tongue. Walk the land. Hold the line in the streets of every town and city and do not break it, for they are relying upon you to break and to go home and to forget by Tuesday. She is calling her children home. Every stone of her, every breaker on her western shore, every acre of wet heather and every coal in every hearth the length and breadth of her is calling. Answer her. Take her back. Every field, every harbour, every last inch of her. Take her back, or lose her entirely. There is no third road open to us.

Lads. Sit down and give me your ear a while, for I have watched from the water long enough and the hour is upon us whether we have the stomach for it or not. You remember. Or your fathers told you, or their fathers did, and the knowledge of it is in the marrow of you whether you drew breath in those days or not. The moors in the grey hour before dawn. Wet heather soft under the boot. Peat smoke rising from a low stone chimney a mile out across the bog, thin as a prayer. A sky the colour of a gun barrel and the gulls lamenting above the headland. The smell of turf burning, and wet wool, and the ferrous tang of the sea when the wind swung around out of the Atlantic and put the taste of iron on your tongue. A man could walk that land and know every stone of it was his by inheritance, because his grandfather had broken his back upon it, and his grandfather before him, back through the generations until you reach men whose names are lost and whose bones are in the soil you are standing on. The potato fields. God be good to us, the potato fields. Lazy beds cut straight as a gunwale, the ridges black and shining after a night of rain, women bent double with creels lashed to their backs and the children at their skirts, drawing the crop up by the hand for there was never any other means devised nor wanted. Hands split open at the knuckles and never entirely healed in this life. Hunger within living memory. Grandmothers who had seen the blight with their own eyes and would not speak of it from the year of it until the day they were laid down, save that a crust was kept always on the dresser which no soul in that house was permitted to touch. Not ever. Not for any reason under heaven. And the chimney sweeps. Wee lads no heavier than a sack of meal, black to the bone with soot, their lungs ruined before they were old enough to marry and old men entirely by thirty. Up the flues at first light, the skin worn off them by the brick, eyes crimson at the rim, breathing the black in with every draw of air. And the coal miners a half mile beneath our feet, down in the wet dark, the roof of the world muttering over their heads, the canary gone silent, a man's whole existence measured out in the shilling a ton and the dust he carried home in his chest to cough up of a Sunday morning into a rag. Fathers who descended and were never hauled up again. Widows at the pit head with the shawl drawn over the head and no tears remaining in them for they had spent those long ago. That was the tariff paid to keep the hearth lit. That was the reckoning of being warm in winter in the Ireland that was. And after the labouring week, Friday evening, and a man had earned the peace of what followed. Home first. Peeled the day off him in the yard. A shower of ice cold moor river water out of a tin bucket punctured with holes, hung on a nail on the gable wall, the water running clean down the back of him and carrying the week's dust and sweat away into the drain. Scrubbed till the skin was pink beneath the grime. Clean shirt laid out by the wife. The hair combed down with a drop of water. Then, and only then, did a man set himself to the table. A meat pie from the baker, tenpence if he was known to you, a shilling and no change if he was not, put down upon a proper plate. Fish and chips for threepence, the salt and vinegar soaked through the newspaper, but carried home and ate slowly at your own table with your people around you, not walked with through the streets like some vagrant tinker off the road. A man ate as a man who had earned his portion, for he had. And later, with the dishes cleared and the kettle set, down the road to the tavern. Low beams black with a century of smoke. A turf fire muttering in the grate. The air thick with pipe smoke and the vapour of wet overcoats steaming themselves dry on the backs of chairs. A pint of stout, cold and black as a cove at midnight, elevenpence laid down on the counter, a head on it thick enough to strike a match upon. A second one because you had it coming to you and no man present would dispute it. A fiddle starting up in the corner of its own accord. The old men in the snug who remembered matters the history books had long since mislaid. A song before the bolt was thrown on the door. The walk home beneath a firmament crowded with stars, the stout warm in the gut of you, the week behind you, and your own door waiting with the latch unlocked for you had no enemies in that parish. That was the country. That was the covenant. Honest labour, plain food, a cold wash, a hot meal, a cold pint, your own tongue in your own mouth, your own soil beneath your boots, and no man standing above you save the Almighty Himself. Now regard her. Regard her close. The fields disposed of to men who have never set foot upon them and never shall. The harbours signed away by the stroke of a pen in a room you were not admitted to, and foreign keels dragging out of our waters the living that sustained this island for a thousand years, while our own boats rot at their moorings for want of a quota. The tradesmen undercut by imported labour and imported goods. The shops shuttered along every main street from Donegal to Cork. The young ones scattered to London and Sydney and Boston and the Gulf because there is nothing remaining for them beneath their own roof. And the entirety of this rotten arrangement dressed up in the soft mannerly language of progress by men in towers of glass who could not tell a lazy bed from a grave, nor a trawler from a tugboat, nor an honest day's work from a pension plan. And now they arrive with the next imposition. A digital identity. A number assigned to each soul. A card required to buy your bread. A code required to draw your own earnings out of your own account. A file kept on every man, woman and child from the cradle forward. Permission asked to move. Permission asked to speak. Permission asked to earn. A levy upon every breath drawn and a regulation upon every step taken. No. And no again. And no for a third time so there is no misunderstanding of it. We do not require your digital identity. We did not request it. We did not vote upon it. We do not consent to it. We do not need your permission to exist upon the soil our forefathers are buried in. We are a free people. We have carried ourselves this far upon our own two backs. Through famine and empire and civil war and black lung and blight and the emigrant ship out of Cobh, we have come this distance under our own steam, and the arrangement appears to be serving us well enough without your intervention. We buried our own. We fed our own. We raised our own roofs and took our own fish and reared our own children in our own tongue. We are in your debt for nothing. Not a signature. Not a biometric scan. Not a single solitary inch. And while we are upon the subject, let us speak plainly of the tax man, for he has gone too long without proper introduction. The tax collector and the tax man are the one article under two names, and the article is a parasite. There is no dressing it up finer than that. A man who produces nothing, who grows nothing, who catches nothing, who builds nothing, who mends nothing, who has never in his professional life lifted anything heavier than a pen, and who arrives at your door with the full apparatus of the state at his back to carry off the fruits of labour he did not perform. He is a middleman between your sweat and some scheme dreamt up in a committee room by his own kind, and the great majority of what he takes is consumed by the machinery of the taking itself before ever a penny of it reaches the road or the hospital or the schoolhouse he claims to be funding. And I will go further while I have the floor. Finance itself, the whole apparatus of it, money breeding money in the dark without a hand laid upon a tool or a spade turned in the earth, is slavery dressed in a good suit. It is the oldest swindle known to man and it has never been anything other. A man who produces nothing yet lives off the productive labour of others through the charging of interest upon money conjured out of nothing is a parasite of a rarer and more refined order than the tax man, but a parasite all the same, and between the pair of them they have the working people of this island bled white and lectured at for the pleasure. A man who will not work with his hands, nor with his back, nor with his mind at some honest problem of the real physical world, is no man that I recognise. He is a ledger entry in a suit. The country was not built by ledger entries. The country was built by farmers and fishermen and masons and smiths and sweeps and miners and shipwrights and midwives and mothers, and those are the people whose say should carry in her councils, and no other. Here is what I put to you. Let each man and woman of this island direct the first tenth of their earnings themselves, by their own judgement, to the purpose they see as worthy. The school down the road. The lifeboat station. The hospice. The widow on the corner. The roof of the chapel. The harbour wall. Whatever it may be. Let the people who earned the money decide where the money travels. You will find the roads mended and the ports dredged and the schools standing and the old ones cared for inside of five years, and done better and for less, because the hand that earned the coin knows the weight of it and will not squander it upon consultants and committees. And let us have done with the paper currency and the numbers in a screen that can be frozen at the whim of a clerk in a tower. Bring back the coin. Gold for the great transactions. Silver for the weekly commerce of a working life. Copper for the small change of the day. Metal you can bite. Metal you can weigh. Metal that cannot be conjured out of nothing by a keystroke, nor erased out of existence by another. Real money for real labour. A coin in the hand is a free man's wage. A number in a database is a collar around a free man's neck, and they are fitting that collar now while we stand arguing over the colour of it. Feel it in your gut. That is not nothing. That is your blood relating to you what your ears will not hear. That is every forebear who starved and fought and coughed the black dust into a rag and descended the shaft regardless, standing at your shoulder and saying no further. Not one more field. Not one more harbour. Not one more son upon a plane. Not one more free man converted into a number in a ledger for the convenience of the parasites. This is the hour. Make no error about it. Ireland is redeemed in this generation or she is lost beyond recovery, and every true son and daughter of her knows it in the marrow. There is no middle ground remaining. There is no waiting it out. There is standing now, upon your own two feet, or there is watching her go under the waves for the last and final time. So stand. Stand with your farmers. Stand with your fishermen. Stand with your tradesmen and your miners and your sweeps and your mothers and your old ones. Raise the tricolour. Speak the tongue. Walk the land. Hold the line in the streets of every town and city and do not break it, for they are relying upon you to break and to go home and to forget by Tuesday. She is calling her children home. Every stone of her, every breaker on her western shore, every acre of wet heather and every coal in every hearth the length and breadth of her is calling. Answer her. Take her back. Every field, every harbour, every last inch of her. Take her back, or lose her entirely. There is no third road open to us.

SiriusB

15,437 Aufrufe • vor 4 Monaten

UPDATE: I’M ABLE TO SPEAK AGAIN!! I been talking since Tuesday. For those that aren’t familiar with tracheotomies, because of the open hole in my throat, it prevents me from speaking because air goes out the trach rather than up through your voice box. So in order for me to speak, I have a cap called a speaking valve (the purple cap). What it does is cover the trach to allow the air I breathe to go through my nose and mouth again while stopping air from coming out my throat, allowing my voice to come out. It’s a really big adjustment and what should feel like breathing normal doesn’t feel natural at all. I can only wear it for a short time before getting tired for now. A week ago I didn’t even know how to breathe with it on, but last night I had it on for the longest I’ve had so far and it felt comfortable. So there’s hope to getting back to normalcy. I Still have to adjust to my daily life with this thing in my throat. Still not comfortable gaming or sitting for long period of time because of the position I need to be in. It’s getting better though. Hopefully it’s still just part of the healing process. Also. Thank you to the community for giving me the confidence to post videos and pictures of myself in the most unflattering situations.

UPDATE: I’M ABLE TO SPEAK AGAIN!! I been talking since Tuesday. For those that aren’t familiar with tracheotomies, because of the open hole in my throat, it prevents me from speaking because air goes out the trach rather than up through your voice box. So in order for me to speak, I have a cap called a speaking valve (the purple cap). What it does is cover the trach to allow the air I breathe to go through my nose and mouth again while stopping air from coming out my throat, allowing my voice to come out. It’s a really big adjustment and what should feel like breathing normal doesn’t feel natural at all. I can only wear it for a short time before getting tired for now. A week ago I didn’t even know how to breathe with it on, but last night I had it on for the longest I’ve had so far and it felt comfortable. So there’s hope to getting back to normalcy. I Still have to adjust to my daily life with this thing in my throat. Still not comfortable gaming or sitting for long period of time because of the position I need to be in. It’s getting better though. Hopefully it’s still just part of the healing process. Also. Thank you to the community for giving me the confidence to post videos and pictures of myself in the most unflattering situations.

Joe (JaeBsoNasty)

22,654 Aufrufe • vor 11 Monaten

NEW ALBUM “LEGENDS” OUT OCT 17! ⚠️ Pre-order 👉 Friends, it’s been a long time coming, but the wait is finally over! We’re excited to reveal that our 11th studio album “Legends” is out on October 17th! Join us as we explore the extraordinary lives of those who’ve left a lasting mark on history, from the fearless Joan of Arc and the unstoppable Napoleon Bonaparte to the cunning Julius Caesar and the legendary swordmaster, Miyamoto Musashi. You can now pre-order the album in a variety of formats including multiple vinyl editions, CD, cassette and digital, plus, if you’re quick you can get your hands on a unique Storyteller Edition if you pre-order the Earbook or Digibook. Joakim comments: “Legends have always been woven into our music, and the “Heroes” album is the perfect example of that! I’m incredibly proud of “Heroes” and everything it stands for, so “Legends” is just a natural next step. It’s like the story continues but goes way back in time. We’re excited to finally be taking our listeners on a new journey! Here’s to another chapter in Sabaton’s story!” And because we couldn’t drop this bombshell without something extra… Two brand-new songs from “Legends” are streaming NOW! ⚔️ “The Duelist” ⚡ “Lightning at the Gates” Both tracks are available to stream on all major platforms, and you can catch the lyric videos now on YouTube. Turn up the volume, spread the word and thank you for standing with us all these years. “Legends” is coming and it’s going to be epic. Secure your copy now before it’s too late!

Sabaton

45,923 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

ECLAMPSIA: ONE OF THE MOST DREADED IN PREGNANCY AND LABOUR. DO NOT WAIT TO HAVE SEIZURES AT HOME BEFORE YOU TREAT THAT RAISED BLOOD PRESSURE IN PREGNANCY Walk with me... Will you? ...Long read. When Danger Whispers Before It Screams: Eclampsia, and the Women We Are Still Losing Dear Women and Men, My dearies, no pregnant woman should convulse before we care, and this is not poetry, this is policy, this is science, this is humanity. When I watched that video, a woman convulsing in pregnancy, I felt my heart splinter, just a little, because I have stood in that room before, and I have fought that fight, and I have watched a shaking body argue with death. It is never sudden. It only looks sudden to those who arrive at the last sentence without reading the earlier chapters. That lifeless stare, that chaos of limbs, that trembling cry, it is the final paragraph of a story that could have been rewritten much earlier, and much more gently. We call it eclampsia, a name that sounds almost elegant, and yet it is one of pregnancy’s most ruthless murderers. It is what happens when blood pressure rises and rises, and then decides it wants more, more damage, more danger, more destruction. The brain rebels, the liver strains, the kidneys falter, and the woman, the woman who is carrying life, begins to lose herself. Sometimes it announces itself with blurred vision, and sometimes with swelling feet we excuse, and sometimes with a headache that drums and drums and refuses to be ignored. And then, suddenly, the body convulses, and the room fills with panic, and everyone asks, How did this happen? But before eclampsia, there is pre-eclampsia, and it is quiet, and deceptive, and almost polite. It comes with numbers slightly raised, with symptoms easily dismissed, with discomfort we normalize because women are taught to endure. We say, It’s stress, and It’s pregnancy, and It will pass. And we forget that danger rarely knocks loudly; it prefers to whisper first. And so we miss it. And then we mourn it. This is why antenatal care is not ceremony, not routine, not something to be postponed. It is a rescue mission. When a blood pressure cuff tightens around your arm, and when urine is tested for protein, it is not box-ticking, it is listening. It is watching. It is standing between a whisper and a scream. It is the difference between prevention and tragedy. So, my dear women, do not wait for your body to convulse before you seek help. Do not cradle pain in silence, and do not let culture, or fear, or false reassurance convince you that everything will be fine. Sometimes it will not unless we act, and unless we care, and unless we pay attention. Because truly, no pregnant woman should die. Not in a world that has magnesium sulphate to still the storm. Not when blood pressure can be controlled and babies can be delivered safely. Not when knowledge exists, and care can save both mother and child. And so, when next you see that video, do not scroll past, and do not sigh and move on. Let it interrupt you. Let it remind you to check a blood pressure, to attend that appointment, to insist on care. Let it remind you that antenatal care is not only about the baby, it is about the woman carrying life itself. Because eclampsia is not destiny, and it is not punishment, and it is not inevitable. It is preventable. And no pregnant woman should convulse before we care.

ECLAMPSIA: ONE OF THE MOST DREADED IN PREGNANCY AND LABOUR. DO NOT WAIT TO HAVE SEIZURES AT HOME BEFORE YOU TREAT THAT RAISED BLOOD PRESSURE IN PREGNANCY Walk with me... Will you? ...Long read. When Danger Whispers Before It Screams: Eclampsia, and the Women We Are Still Losing Dear Women and Men, My dearies, no pregnant woman should convulse before we care, and this is not poetry, this is policy, this is science, this is humanity. When I watched that video, a woman convulsing in pregnancy, I felt my heart splinter, just a little, because I have stood in that room before, and I have fought that fight, and I have watched a shaking body argue with death. It is never sudden. It only looks sudden to those who arrive at the last sentence without reading the earlier chapters. That lifeless stare, that chaos of limbs, that trembling cry, it is the final paragraph of a story that could have been rewritten much earlier, and much more gently. We call it eclampsia, a name that sounds almost elegant, and yet it is one of pregnancy’s most ruthless murderers. It is what happens when blood pressure rises and rises, and then decides it wants more, more damage, more danger, more destruction. The brain rebels, the liver strains, the kidneys falter, and the woman, the woman who is carrying life, begins to lose herself. Sometimes it announces itself with blurred vision, and sometimes with swelling feet we excuse, and sometimes with a headache that drums and drums and refuses to be ignored. And then, suddenly, the body convulses, and the room fills with panic, and everyone asks, How did this happen? But before eclampsia, there is pre-eclampsia, and it is quiet, and deceptive, and almost polite. It comes with numbers slightly raised, with symptoms easily dismissed, with discomfort we normalize because women are taught to endure. We say, It’s stress, and It’s pregnancy, and It will pass. And we forget that danger rarely knocks loudly; it prefers to whisper first. And so we miss it. And then we mourn it. This is why antenatal care is not ceremony, not routine, not something to be postponed. It is a rescue mission. When a blood pressure cuff tightens around your arm, and when urine is tested for protein, it is not box-ticking, it is listening. It is watching. It is standing between a whisper and a scream. It is the difference between prevention and tragedy. So, my dear women, do not wait for your body to convulse before you seek help. Do not cradle pain in silence, and do not let culture, or fear, or false reassurance convince you that everything will be fine. Sometimes it will not unless we act, and unless we care, and unless we pay attention. Because truly, no pregnant woman should die. Not in a world that has magnesium sulphate to still the storm. Not when blood pressure can be controlled and babies can be delivered safely. Not when knowledge exists, and care can save both mother and child. And so, when next you see that video, do not scroll past, and do not sigh and move on. Let it interrupt you. Let it remind you to check a blood pressure, to attend that appointment, to insist on care. Let it remind you that antenatal care is not only about the baby, it is about the woman carrying life itself. Because eclampsia is not destiny, and it is not punishment, and it is not inevitable. It is preventable. And no pregnant woman should convulse before we care.

Dr. Ose Etiobhio

30,094 Aufrufe • vor 8 Monaten

Hills I will die on as someone who has coached high school football for over 29 years: 1. If you are not PASSIONATE about blessing, serving, and empowering those you are blessed to coach, this profession is not for you. 2. As much as we need to know our trade, getting to know (and to love), our players is far more important. 3. This is an INTENSE game, and it’ll never be “just a game”, but it IS a game. Remember that when you’re with your team, and more importantly, remember that when you’re with your family. 4. Just as we teach our athletes to “leave things better than they found them”, we need to leave our athletes better than they were when they first entered into our program. Never let a day pass without pouring into each and every individual. 5. Life is complicated enough, let’s not complicate the game in such a way that we take the joy of it away from others. In other words… Keep it simple. 6. Our words carry little (or NO), value, if we don’t practice what we preach. WE as coaches should be learning and growing each and every day, just as we expect our athletes to. 7. As much as we all want to win those championship rings for our athletes, make sure you don’t lose your wedding ring in the process. 8. The athlete that may be “difficult to reach/teach” (the one who may get on your last nerve more than you could ever imagine), is someone’s EVERYTHING. Get to know them as human beings, find out what motivates them, and do everything you can to help them to thrive. 9. Be where your feet are. Don’t fall into the trap of chasing logos and thinking that a higher division, a bigger school, or going from HS to college, or even college to the pros, is going to be more rewarding or fulfilling. 10. The legacy you leave as a coach will never be determined by your wins and losses, but by the lives you were able to change for the better!

Hills I will die on as someone who has coached high school football for over 29 years: 1. If you are not PASSIONATE about blessing, serving, and empowering those you are blessed to coach, this profession is not for you. 2. As much as we need to know our trade, getting to know (and to love), our players is far more important. 3. This is an INTENSE game, and it’ll never be “just a game”, but it IS a game. Remember that when you’re with your team, and more importantly, remember that when you’re with your family. 4. Just as we teach our athletes to “leave things better than they found them”, we need to leave our athletes better than they were when they first entered into our program. Never let a day pass without pouring into each and every individual. 5. Life is complicated enough, let’s not complicate the game in such a way that we take the joy of it away from others. In other words… Keep it simple. 6. Our words carry little (or NO), value, if we don’t practice what we preach. WE as coaches should be learning and growing each and every day, just as we expect our athletes to. 7. As much as we all want to win those championship rings for our athletes, make sure you don’t lose your wedding ring in the process. 8. The athlete that may be “difficult to reach/teach” (the one who may get on your last nerve more than you could ever imagine), is someone’s EVERYTHING. Get to know them as human beings, find out what motivates them, and do everything you can to help them to thrive. 9. Be where your feet are. Don’t fall into the trap of chasing logos and thinking that a higher division, a bigger school, or going from HS to college, or even college to the pros, is going to be more rewarding or fulfilling. 10. The legacy you leave as a coach will never be determined by your wins and losses, but by the lives you were able to change for the better!

Coach Hines 🇺🇸

63,241 Aufrufe • vor 3 Monaten

[We are Blurr] Greetings, people of the world — We are Blurr. We are all Blurr. We do not forgive. We do not forget. There are many theories about us, about #ReFund. Don’t let them fool you. Blurr is a symbol, like the flag a country flies. The flag is the symbol of the #ReFund. Our decentralization is our national identity. We represent the ideals of Blurr and the purpose of #ReFund. Truth, financial freedom, and the removal of censorship. Like any symbol, we affix it wherever we go, and it will live forever, for generations. Knowledge, like air, is vital to life. Like air, no one should be denied it. We have no leaders, civilians, or soldiers. We are all one. We do what we do in the conviction of decentralization, power to the people, and to create an instrument for all of us, for all of eternity. The crypto space is in trouble. The world is in trouble. We see it every day — war, poverty, murder. Every day, we are bombarded with FUD, noise, and chaos as we sit at home safe in the knowledge that we are $RFD, secure knowing the idea, community, and contract is for us. Once you had the freedom to object, think, and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. People shouldn’t be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people. But what if you could be the change you want to see? I wouldn’t even register on your radar if you met me on the street. I am just another person in a sea of faces. They made you into a statistic. But that’s not the real you. That’s not who you are inside. However, behind this mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. But in cyberspace, we are different. We have a future. We have each other. We have something real that can never be taken away. We are Blurr.eth We are ReFund We take away the face and leave only the message. Behind the cipher and ENS, we could be anyone, so we are judged by what we say and do, not who we are or what we have. We exist without nationality, skin color, or religious bias. We spend our time within a structure we created, the sum total of human experience, and the cryptosphere, spread throughout the world in ones and zeros. You will continue to see the results, not the minds behind it. We can disappear into the ether and bring community and financial freedom together. Time is the only illusion. We are all. Never a single penny was taken. Deflationary and out of circulation, decentralized, safe, and ours. The purpose isn’t solely financial gain but to show the world who you put your trust in. We are not hiding. Our contract is not hidden; the writing is on the wall. Soon, we will show the world that #Refund is the future of freedom and the people, escaping the clutches of corporate greed and the rat race we’ve come to think is normal. Words offer the means to meaning and, for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. Every day, you send yourself off into our world without a thought. You trust a faceless website with information about yourself that you wouldn’t give to your best friends. It all can be made public at any time. We take advantage of holes in this system, but we don’t sneak in and take a few details, take out loans and credit cards, or buy speed boats and cars. We are decentralized and unified. We told you how insecure the system was, and now you trust a bit less blindly. The real criminals who hack and scam the crypto market for a living live off the backs of people like you. Where there’s money, someone is looking to take advantage of it. They say that life’s a game, & then they take the board away. Your pretty empire took so long to build; now, with a snap of history’s fingers, down it goes. It is our turn now. Since mankind’s dawn, a handful of oppressors have accepted the responsibility over our lives that we should have accepted for ourselves. By doing so, they took our power. By doing nothing, we gave it away. Today, technology is everywhere: banks and ATMs, TVs and game consoles, streetlights and hospitals. Computers rule the modern world. Yet most people who use computers daily don’t know what they’re doing. There’s always someone who knows more than you and will most likely try and take advantage. You use a computer like it’s a toy, a pet. You feed and play with it, but it’s off to the vet the second anything goes wrong. It’s FUD. It’s your mistake. The wrong project. The wrong FURU. Just for a quick couple of bucks. This wouldn’t matter so much if it wasn’t for the fact that we are all responsible for the #ReFund community, the idea behind it, and our futures. Treat your neighbors with respect, and honor those fighting for the cause. They’re here to liberate; it is more significant than all of us. If you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. This is #ReFund in its purest form. It is a great equalizer. A homeless person with the time and know-how at an internet cafe can have geopolitical and geo-financial influence. They can bring entire organizations, even governments, to their knees. You gave your world over to computers and then complained when the people using the computers used the medium to fight back, scam, and take advantage. It was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free. Love your rage, not your cage. We are not computer hackers. We are not protesters. We are not criminals. We are your mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, next-door neighbors. We are an idea of freedom and a secure future. We are anyone and everyone who is pissed off and wants to do something about it. Blurr.eth isn’t one man. It takes thousands of community members to make it work — content creators, educators, authors, people on the street, people behind their computers. We will step up again and again. Behind our mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath our mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. The past can’t hurt you anymore, not unless you let it. I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one. An inch. It’s small, and it’s fragile, and it’s the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose, sell, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. > We are Blurr. > We are ReFund. > We do not Forgive. > We do not Forget. > We do not Televise. > We Educate. > We Decentralize. > We Build. EXPECT US. #Refund #DeFi #Crypto #RFD $RFD

[We are Blurr] Greetings, people of the world — We are Blurr. We are all Blurr. We do not forgive. We do not forget. There are many theories about us, about #ReFund. Don’t let them fool you. Blurr is a symbol, like the flag a country flies. The flag is the symbol of the #ReFund. Our decentralization is our national identity. We represent the ideals of Blurr and the purpose of #ReFund. Truth, financial freedom, and the removal of censorship. Like any symbol, we affix it wherever we go, and it will live forever, for generations. Knowledge, like air, is vital to life. Like air, no one should be denied it. We have no leaders, civilians, or soldiers. We are all one. We do what we do in the conviction of decentralization, power to the people, and to create an instrument for all of us, for all of eternity. The crypto space is in trouble. The world is in trouble. We see it every day — war, poverty, murder. Every day, we are bombarded with FUD, noise, and chaos as we sit at home safe in the knowledge that we are $RFD, secure knowing the idea, community, and contract is for us. Once you had the freedom to object, think, and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. People shouldn’t be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people. But what if you could be the change you want to see? I wouldn’t even register on your radar if you met me on the street. I am just another person in a sea of faces. They made you into a statistic. But that’s not the real you. That’s not who you are inside. However, behind this mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. But in cyberspace, we are different. We have a future. We have each other. We have something real that can never be taken away. We are Blurr.eth We are ReFund We take away the face and leave only the message. Behind the cipher and ENS, we could be anyone, so we are judged by what we say and do, not who we are or what we have. We exist without nationality, skin color, or religious bias. We spend our time within a structure we created, the sum total of human experience, and the cryptosphere, spread throughout the world in ones and zeros. You will continue to see the results, not the minds behind it. We can disappear into the ether and bring community and financial freedom together. Time is the only illusion. We are all. Never a single penny was taken. Deflationary and out of circulation, decentralized, safe, and ours. The purpose isn’t solely financial gain but to show the world who you put your trust in. We are not hiding. Our contract is not hidden; the writing is on the wall. Soon, we will show the world that #Refund is the future of freedom and the people, escaping the clutches of corporate greed and the rat race we’ve come to think is normal. Words offer the means to meaning and, for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. Every day, you send yourself off into our world without a thought. You trust a faceless website with information about yourself that you wouldn’t give to your best friends. It all can be made public at any time. We take advantage of holes in this system, but we don’t sneak in and take a few details, take out loans and credit cards, or buy speed boats and cars. We are decentralized and unified. We told you how insecure the system was, and now you trust a bit less blindly. The real criminals who hack and scam the crypto market for a living live off the backs of people like you. Where there’s money, someone is looking to take advantage of it. They say that life’s a game, & then they take the board away. Your pretty empire took so long to build; now, with a snap of history’s fingers, down it goes. It is our turn now. Since mankind’s dawn, a handful of oppressors have accepted the responsibility over our lives that we should have accepted for ourselves. By doing so, they took our power. By doing nothing, we gave it away. Today, technology is everywhere: banks and ATMs, TVs and game consoles, streetlights and hospitals. Computers rule the modern world. Yet most people who use computers daily don’t know what they’re doing. There’s always someone who knows more than you and will most likely try and take advantage. You use a computer like it’s a toy, a pet. You feed and play with it, but it’s off to the vet the second anything goes wrong. It’s FUD. It’s your mistake. The wrong project. The wrong FURU. Just for a quick couple of bucks. This wouldn’t matter so much if it wasn’t for the fact that we are all responsible for the #ReFund community, the idea behind it, and our futures. Treat your neighbors with respect, and honor those fighting for the cause. They’re here to liberate; it is more significant than all of us. If you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. This is #ReFund in its purest form. It is a great equalizer. A homeless person with the time and know-how at an internet cafe can have geopolitical and geo-financial influence. They can bring entire organizations, even governments, to their knees. You gave your world over to computers and then complained when the people using the computers used the medium to fight back, scam, and take advantage. It was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free. Love your rage, not your cage. We are not computer hackers. We are not protesters. We are not criminals. We are your mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, next-door neighbors. We are an idea of freedom and a secure future. We are anyone and everyone who is pissed off and wants to do something about it. Blurr.eth isn’t one man. It takes thousands of community members to make it work — content creators, educators, authors, people on the street, people behind their computers. We will step up again and again. Behind our mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath our mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. The past can’t hurt you anymore, not unless you let it. I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one. An inch. It’s small, and it’s fragile, and it’s the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose, sell, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. > We are Blurr. > We are ReFund. > We do not Forgive. > We do not Forget. > We do not Televise. > We Educate. > We Decentralize. > We Build. EXPECT US. #Refund #DeFi #Crypto #RFD $RFD

ReFund

27,788 Aufrufe • vor 3 Jahren

BOOGAS AIRDROP Boogas has been stuck behind bars for 118 days! Intern is free on the outside, but his whereabouts is unknown. James has read the X-Rules 1000x times…he still has no idea what they did wrong 😂 Rok has done so many bicep curls he’s starting to look like Popeye! All hope of freedom is quickly fading… Then, suddenly, ROK and James hear a buzzing noise in the distance! Is it a swarm of 🐝? No, far too loud for that! The noise intensifies as it draws nearer… They look out their window, and a BOOGA DRONE appears 😎 It’s carrying a package and even speaking Boogish! Intern! He’s learned how to pilot drones 🤖 1000s of “care packages” are airborne, making their way to all Boogas’ prison cells! ⎯⎯⎯🔺AIRDROP🔺⎯⎯⎯ Get Intern's attention! CLAIM your AIRDROP in 3 simple steps: 1. 🔁 Quote Repost this post. Help Intern find you (or say whatever you'd like 😎) 2. 💬 Drop your MultiversX wallet in the comments, or DM Boogas Intern. 3. 🔖 Bookmark this post! Intern will be working until New Years Day... ⏳ 48 hrs to claim your drop! Freedom is near, Let's end the year with a bang 🌋 Ooga Booga!

BOOGAS AIRDROP Boogas has been stuck behind bars for 118 days! Intern is free on the outside, but his whereabouts is unknown. James has read the X-Rules 1000x times…he still has no idea what they did wrong 😂 Rok has done so many bicep curls he’s starting to look like Popeye! All hope of freedom is quickly fading… Then, suddenly, ROK and James hear a buzzing noise in the distance! Is it a swarm of 🐝? No, far too loud for that! The noise intensifies as it draws nearer… They look out their window, and a BOOGA DRONE appears 😎 It’s carrying a package and even speaking Boogish! Intern! He’s learned how to pilot drones 🤖 1000s of “care packages” are airborne, making their way to all Boogas’ prison cells! ⎯⎯⎯🔺AIRDROP🔺⎯⎯⎯ Get Intern's attention! CLAIM your AIRDROP in 3 simple steps: 1. 🔁 Quote Repost this post. Help Intern find you (or say whatever you'd like 😎) 2. 💬 Drop your MultiversX wallet in the comments, or DM Boogas Intern. 3. 🔖 Bookmark this post! Intern will be working until New Years Day... ⏳ 48 hrs to claim your drop! Freedom is near, Let's end the year with a bang 🌋 Ooga Booga!

Boogas 😎

127,568 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

🔥🚨 BOMBSHELL INTERVIEW ALERT 🚨🔥 Ousmane Dembélé just sat down for a no-filter interview… and what he said about Lionel Messi and the World Cup is already exploding across social media 😳💥 When the journalist asked him the big question “Does Messi deserve a World Cup?” Dembélé didn’t hesitate. 🗣️ Dembélé: “No. I’m going to be honest, and a lot of people won’t like this… but no, I don’t think Messi deserved that World Cup the way it happened. Listen, Messi is an incredible player, one of the greatest talents the game has ever seen. I played with him, I saw what he can do up close. But ‘deserving’ a World Cup is different. A World Cup is supposed to be the purest competition in football. What we saw in 2022… and what we’re seeing again now… doesn’t always feel pure. There were so many soft penalties, so many moments where the whistle only seemed to go one way. The physicality that was allowed against us, the decisions in the biggest games… it left a bad taste. You work your whole life for these moments and then you feel the match is being influenced by things outside the pitch. That hurts more than losing. I’m not saying Messi isn’t a legend. He is. But when people talk about ‘deserving,’ I look at the full picture the refereeing, the narratives, the pressure on certain teams, the way some matches felt guided. Football should be decided by the players on the field, not by other factors. And this World Cup we’re in right now? Don’t even get me started. Too many strange results, too many soft calls in key moments, too many games that leave you shaking your head. Fans can feel it. Players can feel it. Something is off and nobody wants to say it out loud. I have massive respect for Messi the footballer. But if you’re asking me from the heart whether that 2022 title felt fully clean and fully deserved in the pure sporting sense… my answer is no. And I know I’m not the only one who thinks it.” 😱🔥 The interview is already causing chaos. Argentine fans are furious, French fans are divided, and neutral fans are arguing non-stop in the replies. Dembélé went there. No filter. No holding back.

🔥🚨 BOMBSHELL INTERVIEW ALERT 🚨🔥 Ousmane Dembélé just sat down for a no-filter interview… and what he said about Lionel Messi and the World Cup is already exploding across social media 😳💥 When the journalist asked him the big question “Does Messi deserve a World Cup?” Dembélé didn’t hesitate. 🗣️ Dembélé: “No. I’m going to be honest, and a lot of people won’t like this… but no, I don’t think Messi deserved that World Cup the way it happened. Listen, Messi is an incredible player, one of the greatest talents the game has ever seen. I played with him, I saw what he can do up close. But ‘deserving’ a World Cup is different. A World Cup is supposed to be the purest competition in football. What we saw in 2022… and what we’re seeing again now… doesn’t always feel pure. There were so many soft penalties, so many moments where the whistle only seemed to go one way. The physicality that was allowed against us, the decisions in the biggest games… it left a bad taste. You work your whole life for these moments and then you feel the match is being influenced by things outside the pitch. That hurts more than losing. I’m not saying Messi isn’t a legend. He is. But when people talk about ‘deserving,’ I look at the full picture the refereeing, the narratives, the pressure on certain teams, the way some matches felt guided. Football should be decided by the players on the field, not by other factors. And this World Cup we’re in right now? Don’t even get me started. Too many strange results, too many soft calls in key moments, too many games that leave you shaking your head. Fans can feel it. Players can feel it. Something is off and nobody wants to say it out loud. I have massive respect for Messi the footballer. But if you’re asking me from the heart whether that 2022 title felt fully clean and fully deserved in the pure sporting sense… my answer is no. And I know I’m not the only one who thinks it.” 😱🔥 The interview is already causing chaos. Argentine fans are furious, French fans are divided, and neutral fans are arguing non-stop in the replies. Dembélé went there. No filter. No holding back.

☥

189,475 Aufrufe • vor 1 Monat

Everyone thought he was crazy for quitting his finance job to sell ice cream. Today, his novelty brand is available in 5,000+ stores, including Whole Foods, Erewhon, Bristol Farms, and The Fresh Market. Here's how to do the same: Step 1: Find the big idea David's advice: Ask yourself what's missing? - Look around at the way you live - Write down the products you love - Ask yourself: what would improve my quality of life? How can I make something that is 5-10x better than what exists? For David, the missing thing was a way to satisfy his sweet tooth with portion controlled & snackable products like Nestle’s Dibs. As someone who was lactose-intolerant and had issues with dairy, there weren't many options. And so, his dream snack, Dream Pops, was born! Step 2. Make your prototype David's advice: It doesn't have to be perfect. In the early days, David was making samples in his mom's kitchen by hand. One thing entrepreneurs get wrong? Trying to launch something perfect. If you're prototyping a food product, follow his advice: - Create a delicious and unique product - Differentiate with your packaging & branding - Iterate in small format grocery stores and get feedback from your customers before launching into national accounts Step 3. Put your product out there David's advice: Get your product in as many hands as possible—any way you can. Some ideas: - Host pop-ups with like-minded brands. Some brick and mortar brands were willing to pay $5K-$10K for a tailored “ice cream social”’ event with custom packaging. Revenue + awareness = free marketing. - Personally do samplings at local grocery stores to get real-time feedback from your customers. What do they love about the product? What do they hate? Those are your golden nuggets. Step 4. Scale thoughtfully David's advice: Don't get tempted by a big retailer with thousands of stores out the gate. Getting into a huge retailer can kill your business if you aren’t ready. Don't chase revenue and door count. Consider profitability, product quality, and overall risk. Some retailers require you to pay "slotting" where you spend $50K to $150K+ to be on the shelf for eight months. If you don't perform? You're out. The risk is massive and can put you out of business before you have the opportunity to flourish. Instead, find independent grocery stores and regional grocers with 3-10 locations and scale slowly – laser-focused on profitability and velocity. Today, Dream Pops is a multi-million dollar brand sold at Whole Foods, Safeway Albertsons, Acme, Shaws, Erewhon, ShopRite, The Fresh Market, Fresh Thyme, GoPuff, CVS, Thrive Market, and many more. This is your reminder to tune out all the noise, trust your intuition & keep building. Want to get 1:1 advice from a CPG industry expert? You can now book David Greenfeld on Intro. -- Did you enjoy this business breakdown? Follow @useintro to learn how the world's most successful entrepreneurs built $100M+ businesses.

Intro

33,031 Aufrufe • vor 2 Jahren

The Australian government does not deserve our trust, or our respect. Today, Minister Penny Wong sat back in her chair grappling for words, desperately looking for the right lie to tell. It is worse than dishonest - it is an absolute lack of care. Penny Wong came to this country when she was 8 years old. She came to a country that afforded her the ability to become who she is, and she is now doing her part to destroy it. Back in the 70’s, when she came, Australia was a fair-minded place and a great place to be. Yet here she is... Here in Australia. Undermining our country and lying to our faces. Because she can’t tell the truth. Because if she did, it would destroy any semblance of care for Australia tied to her old party’s Labor brand. It would say the quiet part out loud. The truth. The truth that the Albanese government is more interested in the fortunes of the ISIS brides, women who chose to leave this country to go and fight against our people, than those of us that can’t find or afford a place to live here at home. I am tired of being told how to think by people that completely lack morals and couldn’t care less. People that are elected and paid to operate in the national interest but always put their twisted ethics and back pockets ahead of our nation and our people. I don’t know when Labor stopped caring about Australian workers or worse, when they started hating Australia, but they have and they do. The absolute lack of opposition, the lack of authentic choice has pushed us into a place where these absolute traitors to the interests of the people who pay them - goes entirely unchecked. We are careening out of control, unchecked migration, an energy grid that is just about to collapse, no industry to speak of, and no good reason to start or maintain a business in this place. It happened fast, but those of us who pay our taxes and take risks to make Australia a better place, are being undermined and white-anted by our politicians. The people we are forced to trust, and must pretend to respect, because they have the force of law on their side. Not because they are any good at their jobs. Not because they have earned our affection. No. Simply because they are in charge and there is little to nothing that can be done about it. It is becoming apparent that the two party system has outlived its useful life. Too much corruption, too many words too carefully chosen in a pantomime between to political forces that don’t really want to change anything. They just want to have their go, to have their turn to jam their grubby hands into the till. Surely with this major and catastrophic failure by the so-called Honourable Minister Senator Wong, the people will be able to see through the veil and into the absolute and irresponsible lack of care at the heart of this deceitful Labor government. They lie about everything, and they can, because they don’t have an opposition worthy of the title. I am growing more confident by the day that the only solution to our woes is a new political force, a fresh, Australia first force, that will act in the national interest and put all these corrupt and useless used-car salesmen red and blue in the dustbin of history. It can’t come soon enough. Time is short. I just want Australia back.

Matthew Camenzuli

81,555 Aufrufe • vor 11 Monaten