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things that have happened before tjd break up: -punk returned -AJ LEE RETURNED -cena retired -punk as champ -roman lost his belt after 1.3k days -livrhea ended -seth winning and cashing in MITB -naomi winning/cashing in MITB and also getting pregnant -nikki bella returned #WWERaw

380,305 Aufrufe • vor 9 Monaten •via X (Twitter)

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The Delta Snake Review: Continuing the buildup for the eBook version of The Quitturz, here's an informal series that lists albums by artists I consider are the true “Godfathers Of Punk.” The True Godfathers Of Punk - Part One In the early days of Punk, it was common for music reviewers and writers to cite "Godfathers of Punk" from the 60s (or 50s) as influences on the first wave of artists. That was understandable; people naturally try to understand the origins of a new music genre, but it also reflected the age of the writers, most of whom were Boomers and publicists promoting back catalogs of '60s and '70s artists. However, a few decades later, it's evident that Punk wasn't a temporary fad and became a full-fledged genre. As a result, one could say that the true Godfathers were those outstanding groups in the first wave or generation of Punk. The artists in the first generation that I admired covered an extensive range of styles, ranging from pop, Rock, trash rock, and even progressive. In fact, you might only recognize many of the "Punk" songs by their sensibility (lyrics) or the group or artist's appearance. It was very much an attitude and fashion trend also. In the end, one could say that Punk wasn't just the latest thing but part of the natural process of the next generation of artists discovering Rock and Roll (and blowing past the usual gatekeepers that had developed in the previous generations). I will make a list of albums by artists I consider to be the true Godfathers of Punk, given that the genre continued on from their work. It goes without saying that there will be omissions that will convince Punk fans of my incompetence as a music critic and writer. I will cover those in no particular order and discuss one in this blog entry. Some of these albums now sound dated or overrated after a few decades, but those observations will be left out of the review. All of the albums that'll be mentioned deserve the respect given to works that were inspirations to the succeeding waves of musicians and listeners. I should note that, as usual, Google and other search engines are available if you want more details about chatbots or AI apps or if you prefer to read a lecture on the subject. Nick Lowe: Pure Pop For Now People (U.K. Title: Jesus Of Cool) - Stiff Records (US) Nick Lowe was pivotal in the punk movement as a session man, producer, and composer. He influenced the pop aspect of Punk (which was always there). Quite a few punk artists had a distinctive style, complete with a rebellious attitude, but their commercial breakthroughs tended to be their more accessible songs. One of the things he achieved was to make good Pop cool again. His first solo album was an extraordinary combination of Rock and recreations of old pop styles. One of the songs, "The Rollers Show," was very much a tribute to the notion that the younger generation discovers rock and roll hits in each generation, a thrill that you only really experience once before you get older Lyrically, he was quite different, as evidenced by one of his more eccentric songs, Marie Provost, which depicted the death of a once famous silent movie star, whose silent movie career was ruined once the "Talkies" came because of her New York accent. On the surface, it's black humor, but there is an undercurrent of sympathy and warmth, which is present in many of the best pop songs that involve a tragedy. As far as flat-out rockers, his song "Heart Of The City" rocks as hard as any Ramones cut. What can make a song sound like a hard rock isn't always the volume of the guitar(s) but the arrangement and mix. It's an album that doesn't sound dated, and it's well worth checking out. Al Handa 3/10/2024 #punk #newwave #alternative #music #blog #kindle #godfathersofpunk #nicklowe #stiffrecords #review Vella Version Of “The Quitturz” The Delta Snake Review on Google Blogspot

Boogie Underground

10,508 Aufrufe • vor 2 Jahren

Exclusive | “World Stood Up for a Monkey, and Forget US”: From Punch the Monkey to Thousands of Orphaned Children in Gaza: How the World Reacts As global sympathy poured in for a baby monkey abroad, thousands of orphaned children in Gaza continued to grieve in silence under the weight of genocide. Among them is four-year-old Abood Mhjez, who has asked the same question every night since October 2024: “Where is my dad?” His father was killed in an Israeli strike after the family was forcibly displaced from their home in Sheikh Redwan, Gaza City. He had left to bring water and food and never returned; friends later found his body in the street. Now living in a tent, Abood waits for him to come home, asks to call him, and says he wants to go to Heaven to see him. His mother says trauma has consumed her son, he cannot sleep, forgets simple things, stares silently at walls, and breaks down when he sees other children with their fathers. Psychologists in Gaza describe unprecedented psychological destruction among children after two years of bombardment, starvation, displacement, and siege. According to Palestinian and UN figures, thousands of children have lost both parents and tens of thousands have lost one, in what officials call the largest orphan crisis in modern history. UNICEF estimates nearly all of Gaza’s 1.2 million children now require urgent mental health and psychosocial support, as an entire generation grows up marked by grief, fear, and loss.

Quds News Network

17,974 Aufrufe • vor 4 Monaten

Today, I received a call I will not forget. I had just woken up after studying through the night. As I prepared to pray, my phone kept ringing. I ignored it at first, but it persisted. When I finally answered, the voice on the other end said: “Pastor… my brother has died.” Silence filled my chest. He had been sick. Sleeping outside in the cold after the rains. Trying to survive in a city that is becoming increasingly unforgiving. His sister visited him with some food. He seemed better afterwards. But then, he collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. His sister was far away working. Pain does strange things to people. Sometimes it hardens the very heart that needs help the most. By the time his sister returned… he was already fading. And shortly after, he was gone. What broke me even more was this: She said she didn’t call earlier because she knew things have been tight, and I hadn’t been able to meet many of their needs recently. That sentence pierced deeply. This was a man who struggled—yes. He battled alcoholism. He fell, rose, and fell again. But he also believed. Just last Sunday, after a long absence, he came back to church. He said his spirit was restless until he returned. He worshipped. He served. That was the last time. I wasn’t there that day. And now, he lies in a morgue—another quiet casualty of hardship, addiction, and a city that demands more than many can give. But here is what I hold onto: God is not absent in broken stories. The same grace that meets us in our strength also meets us in our weakness. The One who began a work is not blind to the battles fought in secret. We must do better—for one another. We must see more, reach more, love more. Because sometimes, what looks like “irresponsibility” is actually exhaustion. What looks like “resistance” is actually pain. And what looks like “distance” is often a silent cry for help. Rest in peace, Brother Hassan Musa. May mercy speak louder than failure. And may God help us to be more present, more compassionate, and more responsive to the burdens around us.

Mex Asher

11,724 Aufrufe • vor 3 Monaten

He was 88, a veteran, and facing the loss of the only home he had left. The courtroom felt too large as he sat in his wheelchair, trying to stay upright while everything closed in. Walter Greene had lived quietly since his wife passed. No children visited, and no one stood beside him that afternoon. The small house he owned had aged faster than he had, with a broken porch, peeling paint, and a roof that leaked every time it rained. City citations stacked up, and the repairs stayed out of reach. The case was called, and Walter listened as the violations were read aloud. Each number landed heavier than the last. When the city attorney asked for permission to condemn the property if payment failed, the meaning became impossible to avoid. Losing the house meant losing the last place that still felt like his. The judge started to speak, then stopped. From the bench, he watched Walter fold forward, hands covering his face as quiet sobs shook his shoulders. No words filled the room, and nobody moved. After a long pause, the gavel came down. A brief recess was announced, and the courtroom emptied in a low murmur of confusion. When the judge returned, his tone had changed. He addressed Walter directly and explained that phone calls had been made during the break. The local veterans organization had stepped in, along with a county fund dedicated to former service members. Every fine was dismissed. Relief barely had time to settle before more followed. A contractors group had already agreed to complete the repairs at no cost, with work starting the next week. Walter looked up, stunned, as tears returned for a different reason. The weight he carried for months finally eased. Then something unexpected happened. The judge left the bench, crossed the room, and knelt beside the wheelchair. Strong arms wrapped around the old veteran, holding him steady when he couldn’t do it himself. Walter’s voice shook as he spoke into the judge’s shoulder. He said he didn’t think anyone remembered him anymore. The judge held him close and spoke softly, the words meant only for him. “It’s all right. You’re not standing here alone. Sometimes it feels like nobody remembers anymore. We remember. I do what you gave me. We don’t forget that. Thank you. John.”

Crazy Moments

44,601 Aufrufe • vor 18 Tagen

🚨🚨 Read this if you care about Gaza and haven’t forgotten it—and for anyone who wants to understand the true value of a “human life” in Gaza! First of all, hello to everyone after more than 5 days of internet blackout! Secondly, during these days, I gathered my courage and went to wait for aid. With the internet down, I couldn’t withdraw any money to buy even a single kilo of flour. I was forced to risk my life in hopes of getting a bag of flour to feed my children. But I returned home injured , without I can get a bag of flour. Five days of sleeping on the ground among tens of thousands of other civilians who, like me, were also waiting for that one bag. Five days sleeping without a blanket—just the sky above us. No mattress—the ground was our bed. No lullabies to soothe us to sleep—the sound of shells and gunfire above our heads was enough to commit dozens of massacres at once, in one place. Let me tell you something: they treat us like animals. They allow in a bit of food and flour, and then make people fight each other over it. Imagine throwing food to chickens—how they would pounce on it. That’s exactly how we were. I saw things I’ve never seen before. I saw a father crying because a thief took the food meant for his children. I saw a pregnant woman pushing through the crowd of men to get food for her kids who had lost their father. I saw an elderly man pushed from behind by younger men, knocked to the ground and run over by the truck’s wheels. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed me: confusion, fear, helplessness, and betrayal. How can the world not see what’s happening? How can it not see us at all? For the first time, I felt like my life meant nothing. How could I be worth less than a bag of flour? Even now, every time I close my eyes, I see crowds of people swarming the flour trucks like beasts. Every time I sleep, I have nightmares about chasing that bag—and I wake up terrified. I won’t go back to that trap again. I don’t want to leave my family alone, at night, in a tent, unprotected, unsafe—just to chase after a bag of flour that might cost me my life. Nothing is more precious than life and family. Yesterday, I might not have returned to them. My wife and children didn’t sleep after hearing about the horrific massacre at the location I had been in. They heard I had run toward the trucks, right into the evacuation zones and areas of fighting. This madness must stop. I will try to buy the flour—it’s not worth more than me. Please, don’t stop supporting us!
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🚨🚨 Read this if you care about Gaza and haven’t forgotten it—and for anyone who wants to understand the true value of a “human life” in Gaza! First of all, hello to everyone after more than 5 days of internet blackout! Secondly, during these days, I gathered my courage and went to wait for aid. With the internet down, I couldn’t withdraw any money to buy even a single kilo of flour. I was forced to risk my life in hopes of getting a bag of flour to feed my children. But I returned home injured , without I can get a bag of flour. Five days of sleeping on the ground among tens of thousands of other civilians who, like me, were also waiting for that one bag. Five days sleeping without a blanket—just the sky above us. No mattress—the ground was our bed. No lullabies to soothe us to sleep—the sound of shells and gunfire above our heads was enough to commit dozens of massacres at once, in one place. Let me tell you something: they treat us like animals. They allow in a bit of food and flour, and then make people fight each other over it. Imagine throwing food to chickens—how they would pounce on it. That’s exactly how we were. I saw things I’ve never seen before. I saw a father crying because a thief took the food meant for his children. I saw a pregnant woman pushing through the crowd of men to get food for her kids who had lost their father. I saw an elderly man pushed from behind by younger men, knocked to the ground and run over by the truck’s wheels. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed me: confusion, fear, helplessness, and betrayal. How can the world not see what’s happening? How can it not see us at all? For the first time, I felt like my life meant nothing. How could I be worth less than a bag of flour? Even now, every time I close my eyes, I see crowds of people swarming the flour trucks like beasts. Every time I sleep, I have nightmares about chasing that bag—and I wake up terrified. I won’t go back to that trap again. I don’t want to leave my family alone, at night, in a tent, unprotected, unsafe—just to chase after a bag of flour that might cost me my life. Nothing is more precious than life and family. Yesterday, I might not have returned to them. My wife and children didn’t sleep after hearing about the horrific massacre at the location I had been in. They heard I had run toward the trucks, right into the evacuation zones and areas of fighting. This madness must stop. I will try to buy the flour—it’s not worth more than me. Please, don’t stop supporting us!

Samer Qarman 🇵🇸

60,449 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

#zhanglinghe #TheBestThing 🩺🌷 he suye always told others to love themselves more than anything else. but, is he also apply it to himself? yes. these two scenes makes me realize that that he knows his value so well and also know when to give up and move on. I love how the screenwriters didn't make his character ended as a "love brain" guy that will just love the FL without any reason. even if he's already been hurt. when he was rejected, he chose to stay away from sxf. it's not until sxf came to his house that he tried to open communication with her again. in 1st video below, he said that he will also end the relationship if he feels it doesn't spark happiness anymore. this is inline with his mother's hardships during marriage. she was trying to hold onto someone who didn't have the same amount of love and made her ended up loving alone and struggling alone. this is also the reason why he didn't propose to sxf. actually, after sxf gave him the ring and the way he said "I thought you will propose me", we know he already considering marriage. but it was only when she propose to him then he propose her right away. did he passively waiting? no. at one side, he waited for her to finally ready to marry him by her own willing. at the other side, he make sure that she also have the same amount of love so he will not end up being the one who has more love in this relationship. he make sure no one in this relationship will end up like his mother. the importance to love yourself before loving others. thanks he suye for this lesson🥹🫶🏻

张凌赫的小核桃𖹭

30,965 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

He was a U.S. Army veteran. But he was also someone’s son, someone's husband, someone's father. And when these bright yellow blooms caught my eye, I just had to know more about him. Here is what I learned: Samuel Shannon was born in 1892 to Cap and Henrietta 'Hainsy' Shannon in a quiet corner of rural South Carolina. Today, his grave rests at New Zion Baptist Church, where every spring daffodils bloom around his headstone, providing a bright and beautiful reminder that someone loved him enough to plant something beautiful in his memory. When I began researching his life, I learned that Samuel (age 26) enlisted in the Army on June 20, 1918, during the final, intense months of World War I. During this period, the U.S. military was rapidly building units to support the fighting overseas. Samuel served as a Private in the 19th Regiment FARD (Field Artillery Replacement Depot), an all-Black regiment formed at Camp Jackson, South Carolina, created to train artillerymen for service. After the war, he returned home to South Carolina and worked as a farmer, married a woman named Rosetta McDaniel, and started a family. But tragedy struck in 1949 when Samuel spent 93 days in the hospital before succumbing to myeloma in 1950. He was 57 years old. The census taken that same year shows that his wife, Rosetta, was 38 and left to care for six children between the ages of 2 and 15. The records indicate she worked on the farm in exchange for renting their home to help support the family. A year after Samuel's death, in 1951, Rosetta Shannon applied to the Veterans Administration for the military headstone that now marks his grave. I can’t help but wonder if she was the one who planted these daffodils so he would be remembered every spring. 📍 New Zion Baptist Church | Rock Hill, South Carolina

The Forgotten South

30,535 Aufrufe • vor 4 Monaten