Video wird geladen...

Video konnte nicht geladen werden

Beim Laden dieses Videos ist ein Problem aufgetreten. Dies könnte an einem vorübergehenden Netzwerkproblem liegen oder das Video ist möglicherweise nicht verfügbar.

ميس حرب… قبل وبعد… حين تهتف يومًا لإسقاط الدولة، وتصفق لما يُسمّى بـ”الثورة السورية”، معتقدًا أنك تسير نحو الحرية… وبعد 7 أشهر من ما أطلقوا عليه “التحرير”، تصحو على حقيقة مُرّة: “الحرية” التي وُعِدت بها ليست سوى عبودية تحت راية داعش! حينها تدرك أن ما دمّرته أيديكم لم يكن... نظامًا فقط، بل وطناً كان آمنًا، ومستقبل أجيالٍ كاملة، وأن ما ظننتموه فجر الخلاص لم يكن إلا بداية الخراب والويلات…! Mais Harb… Before and After… When you once cheered for the fall of the state and applauded what was called the “Syrian revolution,” believing you were marching toward freedom… only to wake up, seven months after what they called “liberation,” to the bitter truth: the “freedom” you were promised is nothing but slavery under the banner of ISIS! Then you realize that what your own hands destroyed was not only a “regime,” but a safe homeland and the future of entire generations — and that what you thought was the dawn of salvation was nothing more than the beginning of ruin and endless misery…! #Syria #SyrianWar #ISIS #SyrianRevolution #MiddleEast #WarCrimes #SyrianCrisis #SyrianTruth #StopExtremism #NoToTerrorism #SaveSyriashow more

NEMESIS – نيميسس

23,845 subscribers

65,629 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr •via X (Twitter)

Nachrichten & Politik

Anya Rossi• Live Now

Private livecam show

0 Kommentare

Keine Kommentare verfügbar

Kommentare vom Original-Post werden hier angezeigt

Ähnliche Videos

WE EXISTED BEFORE OUR BODIES WERE FORMED… Can you remember who you truly are? Before the first breath tore through the lungs, before bone remembered gravity and blood learned the rhythm of time, you were already here. You were not born into this world. This world was born around you. You were a pulse in the unmanifest, a knowing without a name, a flame that needed no wick. You moved through the great silence as light moves through water—formless, sovereign, whole. The stars were not above you; they were the glittering edges of your own remembrance. The dark was not empty; it was the velvet of your original home. Then came the descent. Not a fall. A choosing. Spirit folded itself into flesh like a secret being hidden inside a letter. Infinity consented to a heartbeat. Eternity agreed to wear a name. And in that sacred compression, most of us forgot. We woke inside the costume and believed the costume was the self. We called the garment “I.” We mistook the vessel for the voyager. But the memory never died. It only slept. It stirs in the strange familiarity of certain nights, when the sky feels closer than the ceiling. It flickers when you meet a stranger and something in you whispers, I have known you longer than this life. It rises in the sudden ache that has no earthly reason—the homesickness for a place you cannot point to on any map. That ache is not depression. It is recognition. You are not a body that grew a soul. You are a soul that consented to wear a body for a little while. The body is the temple. You are the Presence that entered it. Can you remember? Not with the mind that catalogs dates and names, but with the older intelligence that lives behind the eyes, the one that still knows how to speak in symbols, in silence, in sudden tears that feel like coming home. Close your eyes. Go back before the first cry. Before the first wound. Before the first story you were told about who you are. There. In that vast, unnameable stillness— you are still there. Waiting. Watching. Remembering. You have never been only this. You have always been more. And the moment you remember, the body itself becomes luminous. The flesh is no longer a prison. It becomes the altar upon which the infinite agrees, once more, to dance. You existed before this form. You will exist after it. And even now, beneath the noise of this brief incarnation, you are still that original fire. Remember.

WE EXISTED BEFORE OUR BODIES WERE FORMED… Can you remember who you truly are? Before the first breath tore through the lungs, before bone remembered gravity and blood learned the rhythm of time, you were already here. You were not born into this world. This world was born around you. You were a pulse in the unmanifest, a knowing without a name, a flame that needed no wick. You moved through the great silence as light moves through water—formless, sovereign, whole. The stars were not above you; they were the glittering edges of your own remembrance. The dark was not empty; it was the velvet of your original home. Then came the descent. Not a fall. A choosing. Spirit folded itself into flesh like a secret being hidden inside a letter. Infinity consented to a heartbeat. Eternity agreed to wear a name. And in that sacred compression, most of us forgot. We woke inside the costume and believed the costume was the self. We called the garment “I.” We mistook the vessel for the voyager. But the memory never died. It only slept. It stirs in the strange familiarity of certain nights, when the sky feels closer than the ceiling. It flickers when you meet a stranger and something in you whispers, I have known you longer than this life. It rises in the sudden ache that has no earthly reason—the homesickness for a place you cannot point to on any map. That ache is not depression. It is recognition. You are not a body that grew a soul. You are a soul that consented to wear a body for a little while. The body is the temple. You are the Presence that entered it. Can you remember? Not with the mind that catalogs dates and names, but with the older intelligence that lives behind the eyes, the one that still knows how to speak in symbols, in silence, in sudden tears that feel like coming home. Close your eyes. Go back before the first cry. Before the first wound. Before the first story you were told about who you are. There. In that vast, unnameable stillness— you are still there. Waiting. Watching. Remembering. You have never been only this. You have always been more. And the moment you remember, the body itself becomes luminous. The flesh is no longer a prison. It becomes the altar upon which the infinite agrees, once more, to dance. You existed before this form. You will exist after it. And even now, beneath the noise of this brief incarnation, you are still that original fire. Remember.

🧬Maxpein🧬

10,848 Aufrufe • vor 19 Tagen

Most people were taught that Mary Magdalene was possessed by seven demons. Her own gospel reveals something very different and far more radical. The “Seven Powers of Wrath” are not evil spirits attacking you from the outside. They are the seven illusions the soul must shed on its journey back to God within. They are the layers of ego, fear, and separation that keep you from remembering who you are. Here is the remembrance: 1. Forgetfulness The shadow of spiritual amnesia. You forget your origin in God. 2. Craving Seeking fulfillment outside yourself. The soul remembers that nothing external can complete what is already whole within. 3. Ignorance Believing separation is real. Truth dissolves this in an instant. 4. Emotional Turbulence When reactive emotion leads your state. Inner mastery begins when Spirit leads the mind. 5. Attachment to the Physical Identifying with the body or material world. You are a soul, not a role. 6. Arrogance The ego pretending to be your identity. Humility is clarity, not shrinking. 7. False Wisdom The mind trying to replace divine guidance. Stillness reveals the voice of God within. These were never demons to fear. They were illusions to outgrow. Mary’s gospel was silenced because it taught liberation through inner union, not obedience to an institution. Which of these seven illusions are you currently shedding? ~ Juan Gálan ✨🙌🏾💫

Most people were taught that Mary Magdalene was possessed by seven demons. Her own gospel reveals something very different and far more radical. The “Seven Powers of Wrath” are not evil spirits attacking you from the outside. They are the seven illusions the soul must shed on its journey back to God within. They are the layers of ego, fear, and separation that keep you from remembering who you are. Here is the remembrance: 1. Forgetfulness The shadow of spiritual amnesia. You forget your origin in God. 2. Craving Seeking fulfillment outside yourself. The soul remembers that nothing external can complete what is already whole within. 3. Ignorance Believing separation is real. Truth dissolves this in an instant. 4. Emotional Turbulence When reactive emotion leads your state. Inner mastery begins when Spirit leads the mind. 5. Attachment to the Physical Identifying with the body or material world. You are a soul, not a role. 6. Arrogance The ego pretending to be your identity. Humility is clarity, not shrinking. 7. False Wisdom The mind trying to replace divine guidance. Stillness reveals the voice of God within. These were never demons to fear. They were illusions to outgrow. Mary’s gospel was silenced because it taught liberation through inner union, not obedience to an institution. Which of these seven illusions are you currently shedding? ~ Juan Gálan ✨🙌🏾💫

🧬Maxpein🧬

29,977 Aufrufe • vor 8 Monaten

Children of God, hear me. You have been called into a battle far greater than that of swords and shields, a battle against the unseen powers of darkness that seek to corrupt and consume. Yet, take heart—for the words of the Apostle John ring as a clarion call across the centuries: ‘You are of God, little children and have overcome them, because He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.’ . This is not merely a declaration, it is a promise. The One who resides within you is the very Spirit of God, the breath that stirred the waters of creation, the power that raised Christ from the grave and the flame that ignites the hearts of the faithful. This indwelling strength is mightier than any force of this world, mightier than the legions of hell that march against you. . Do you see the implication of this truth? The ruler of this world, the enemy of our souls, may seek to sow despair and chaos, yet he trembles before the presence of God within you. The forces of evil thrive on fear, yet they are powerless against a heart that beats with the courage of Christ. What army, what king, what demon can stand against the child of God who walks in the fullness of this promise? None. . Consider this: David, a shepherd boy, faced Goliath not with armor or sword but with the confidence that the God who dwelled within him was greater than the giant before him. Gideon, with only three hundred men, routed a vast army because he relied not on numbers but on the strength of the Almighty. And even Christ Himself, in the wilderness, stood unshaken against Satan, for He bore the fullness of God within Him. In each of these, the truth of 1 John 4:4 was revealed: the power of God in His children cannot be overcome. . Do not be deceived, beloved of God. The trials you face, the adversaries that rise against you, may appear insurmountable. But appearances are the weapon of the enemy, meant to blind you to the truth. You are not alone. The Spirit that moves mountains and silences storms dwells within you. Stand firm in this knowledge. Let it be your shield, your fortress, your banner in battle. . Let the world shake. Let the enemy roar. But you, child of God, stand tall. For He who is in you is greater—greater than fear, greater than sin, greater than death itself. With this truth, you are invincible, for the strength of Heaven courses through your veins. Take up this mantle of faith and stride forward as a conqueror, not in your own might but in the power of the Almighty. . Remember this, and let it guide your steps: you are of God, and He has overcome the world. Therefore, you too shall overcome. Walk boldly in the light of this truth, for the Spirit within you is the light that no darkness can extinguish. #ChristIsKing #WeAreTheStorm

Children of God, hear me. You have been called into a battle far greater than that of swords and shields, a battle against the unseen powers of darkness that seek to corrupt and consume. Yet, take heart—for the words of the Apostle John ring as a clarion call across the centuries: ‘You are of God, little children and have overcome them, because He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.’ . This is not merely a declaration, it is a promise. The One who resides within you is the very Spirit of God, the breath that stirred the waters of creation, the power that raised Christ from the grave and the flame that ignites the hearts of the faithful. This indwelling strength is mightier than any force of this world, mightier than the legions of hell that march against you. . Do you see the implication of this truth? The ruler of this world, the enemy of our souls, may seek to sow despair and chaos, yet he trembles before the presence of God within you. The forces of evil thrive on fear, yet they are powerless against a heart that beats with the courage of Christ. What army, what king, what demon can stand against the child of God who walks in the fullness of this promise? None. . Consider this: David, a shepherd boy, faced Goliath not with armor or sword but with the confidence that the God who dwelled within him was greater than the giant before him. Gideon, with only three hundred men, routed a vast army because he relied not on numbers but on the strength of the Almighty. And even Christ Himself, in the wilderness, stood unshaken against Satan, for He bore the fullness of God within Him. In each of these, the truth of 1 John 4:4 was revealed: the power of God in His children cannot be overcome. . Do not be deceived, beloved of God. The trials you face, the adversaries that rise against you, may appear insurmountable. But appearances are the weapon of the enemy, meant to blind you to the truth. You are not alone. The Spirit that moves mountains and silences storms dwells within you. Stand firm in this knowledge. Let it be your shield, your fortress, your banner in battle. . Let the world shake. Let the enemy roar. But you, child of God, stand tall. For He who is in you is greater—greater than fear, greater than sin, greater than death itself. With this truth, you are invincible, for the strength of Heaven courses through your veins. Take up this mantle of faith and stride forward as a conqueror, not in your own might but in the power of the Almighty. . Remember this, and let it guide your steps: you are of God, and He has overcome the world. Therefore, you too shall overcome. Walk boldly in the light of this truth, for the Spirit within you is the light that no darkness can extinguish. #ChristIsKing #WeAreTheStorm

The Redeemed

13,827 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

Jeff Bezos just described the era you are living in. It sounds nothing like what you have been told. Bezos: “The world is so interesting right now. We’re in multiple golden ages at once.” Not one golden age. Multiple. Simultaneous. Overlapping. Bezos: “I think there’s never been a more extraordinary moment to be alive.” He was not being poetic. He was being literal. For the entire history of civilization, humanity got one revolution at a time. Fire. The wheel. The printing press. Electricity. The transistor. One breakthrough. Then centuries of silence before the next. That pattern just shattered. Artificial intelligence. Space access. Gene editing. Energy storage. Quantum computing. Five revolutions running inside the same decade. That has never happened before. Not once in ten thousand years of recorded progress. And the story being sold to you every single day is that everything is falling apart. That the future is something to survive. That the best days are behind you. The people closest to the actual technology do not believe a single word of it. They are not debating whether the world is ending. They are too busy building the next one. Fear is the most profitable product on Earth. It moves faster than any breakthrough ever will. The greatest concentration of technological revolutions in human history is unfolding right now. Most of the world is too busy arguing about which version of collapse to believe in to notice. Bezos did not say a golden age might be approaching. He said you are already standing inside several of them. The gap between that statement and what you currently believe about the world is the most expensive blind spot of your lifetime. You were not born at the end of anything. You were born at the exact point where the entire curve bends upward. That does not happen twice.

Jeff Bezos just described the era you are living in. It sounds nothing like what you have been told. Bezos: “The world is so interesting right now. We’re in multiple golden ages at once.” Not one golden age. Multiple. Simultaneous. Overlapping. Bezos: “I think there’s never been a more extraordinary moment to be alive.” He was not being poetic. He was being literal. For the entire history of civilization, humanity got one revolution at a time. Fire. The wheel. The printing press. Electricity. The transistor. One breakthrough. Then centuries of silence before the next. That pattern just shattered. Artificial intelligence. Space access. Gene editing. Energy storage. Quantum computing. Five revolutions running inside the same decade. That has never happened before. Not once in ten thousand years of recorded progress. And the story being sold to you every single day is that everything is falling apart. That the future is something to survive. That the best days are behind you. The people closest to the actual technology do not believe a single word of it. They are not debating whether the world is ending. They are too busy building the next one. Fear is the most profitable product on Earth. It moves faster than any breakthrough ever will. The greatest concentration of technological revolutions in human history is unfolding right now. Most of the world is too busy arguing about which version of collapse to believe in to notice. Bezos did not say a golden age might be approaching. He said you are already standing inside several of them. The gap between that statement and what you currently believe about the world is the most expensive blind spot of your lifetime. You were not born at the end of anything. You were born at the exact point where the entire curve bends upward. That does not happen twice.

Dustin

21,007 Aufrufe • vor 5 Monaten

Hi Maria Ressa I am addressing this long post to you here on X, knowing it will reach you directly. In a decade from now, you could ask any listener what they remember from your Harvard commencement speech, and the vast majority would only recall these shocking words from your 23-minute address. “Because I accepted your invitation to be here today, I was attacked online and called anti-semitic. By power and money”, Because they want power and money.” Words you carefully selected, reviewed, and edited for months, a speech that you describe was more difficult for you to prepare than your The Nobel Prize acceptance lecture. In the Ethics of The Fathers 1:11, Avtalyon, the great rabbinic sage from Jerusalem, in the 1st century BCE cautioned, "Sages, be careful with your words, lest you incur the penalty of exile, and be carried off to a place of evil waters." Your words hold weight, and it's vital to avoid ambiguity and imprecision, as they can lead people astray. Your Nobel Prize celebrated your defense of free speech and your commitment to combating fake news and misinformation, and speaking truth to power. Your entire career and public role is to amplify the words of King Solomon in Proverbs “Words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit—you choose. You are a leading voice in warning of the danger of how conspiratorial words online can lead to physical hate offline. One of the most pernicious outcomes of social media is the record level of Antisemtic and hate speech targeted at Jews in 2024. Shockingly, during your commencement speech, you violated the values you espouse by allowing your words to be interpreted to fan the flames of age old tropes of Jew hatred of how they lust for money and power. While I acknowledge that your intention may not have been directed against Jews with money and power, but rather against those in politics, media, and business including Harvard Alumni, both Jewish and non-Jewish, who accused you of being antisemitic online, because they seek power and wealth, you knew that your words would easily be misconstrued. When you stood on that podium, it was your voice that was the power. Now it is the public that must demand a clarification to speak truth to your power. The President of Harvard Chabad, Rabbi Hershey Zarchi, was correct to ask you to clarify your words on stage, immediately after the speech, that he and many others found to be antisemitic and when you would not agree to publicly clarify, he did the most important public protest against your easily misconstrued words and walked off the stage. The walk off of the year, this time standing tall with truth to your power. You should clarify your words and explain what you meant and who you were referring to on one side and apologize for failing to be vigilant in avoiding language that inadvertently fuels bigotry, Jew hatred and discrimination. You also used similar words later in your speech to describe Mark Zuckerberg and the tech bros, controlling the world. When George Soros was named in political attack ads by the right, during the last presidential election cycle, it was rightfully called out by the left as antisemetic tropes. I wouldn’t otherwise include your words against Mark Zuckerberg as antisemetic tropes, as I believe his success and the power of Meta/ Facebook to be the fulfillment of what is possible in the USA. Considering how you were carefully vague on who you were referring to in your response to those calling you antisemitic, your attack on Mark Zuckerberg can also be misconstrued as another “Jew” controlling the world. Yes, it is horrible and unnerving to be accused of being Antisemitic, hate speech was hurled at you during your career from being accused of being part of the CIA to being a communist, you should relate personally to what has long been done to Jews no matter if they are rich, poor, exalted or downtrodden.

Hi Maria Ressa I am addressing this long post to you here on X, knowing it will reach you directly. In a decade from now, you could ask any listener what they remember from your Harvard commencement speech, and the vast majority would only recall these shocking words from your 23-minute address. “Because I accepted your invitation to be here today, I was attacked online and called anti-semitic. By power and money”, Because they want power and money.” Words you carefully selected, reviewed, and edited for months, a speech that you describe was more difficult for you to prepare than your The Nobel Prize acceptance lecture. In the Ethics of The Fathers 1:11, Avtalyon, the great rabbinic sage from Jerusalem, in the 1st century BCE cautioned, "Sages, be careful with your words, lest you incur the penalty of exile, and be carried off to a place of evil waters." Your words hold weight, and it's vital to avoid ambiguity and imprecision, as they can lead people astray. Your Nobel Prize celebrated your defense of free speech and your commitment to combating fake news and misinformation, and speaking truth to power. Your entire career and public role is to amplify the words of King Solomon in Proverbs “Words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit—you choose. You are a leading voice in warning of the danger of how conspiratorial words online can lead to physical hate offline. One of the most pernicious outcomes of social media is the record level of Antisemtic and hate speech targeted at Jews in 2024. Shockingly, during your commencement speech, you violated the values you espouse by allowing your words to be interpreted to fan the flames of age old tropes of Jew hatred of how they lust for money and power. While I acknowledge that your intention may not have been directed against Jews with money and power, but rather against those in politics, media, and business including Harvard Alumni, both Jewish and non-Jewish, who accused you of being antisemitic online, because they seek power and wealth, you knew that your words would easily be misconstrued. When you stood on that podium, it was your voice that was the power. Now it is the public that must demand a clarification to speak truth to your power. The President of Harvard Chabad, Rabbi Hershey Zarchi, was correct to ask you to clarify your words on stage, immediately after the speech, that he and many others found to be antisemitic and when you would not agree to publicly clarify, he did the most important public protest against your easily misconstrued words and walked off the stage. The walk off of the year, this time standing tall with truth to your power. You should clarify your words and explain what you meant and who you were referring to on one side and apologize for failing to be vigilant in avoiding language that inadvertently fuels bigotry, Jew hatred and discrimination. You also used similar words later in your speech to describe Mark Zuckerberg and the tech bros, controlling the world. When George Soros was named in political attack ads by the right, during the last presidential election cycle, it was rightfully called out by the left as antisemetic tropes. I wouldn’t otherwise include your words against Mark Zuckerberg as antisemetic tropes, as I believe his success and the power of Meta/ Facebook to be the fulfillment of what is possible in the USA. Considering how you were carefully vague on who you were referring to in your response to those calling you antisemitic, your attack on Mark Zuckerberg can also be misconstrued as another “Jew” controlling the world. Yes, it is horrible and unnerving to be accused of being Antisemitic, hate speech was hurled at you during your career from being accused of being part of the CIA to being a communist, you should relate personally to what has long been done to Jews no matter if they are rich, poor, exalted or downtrodden.

Avraham Berkowitz

193,461 Aufrufe • vor 2 Jahren

Perrie admits she’s “frustrated” by how Jesy Nelson has portrayed the breakdown of her relationship with Little Mix, adding that she feels the group consistently tried supporting Jesy at the cost of their own mental health, and that accountability should be taken on all sides: “Sometimes you just won’t win with people. And what annoys me the most… I have to be careful how I say this because I don’t want to seem like a bitch… But what upsets me the most when situations like this happen is when the other person doesn’t take any accountability. That boils my blood. I’m not blaming everything on you [Jesy]. I’m not saying, ‘She’s this fucking monster and everything was her fault’ and blah blah blah. But take some accountability for your actions and realise you were difficult. You did have difficult moments. Granted, there were reasons for those moments... but you can only pick somebody up so many fucking times before you start losing track of your own sanity. You want to be there for that person, but if they can’t accept the help and they can’t accept the love you’re trying to show, how do you win? You can’t. I hate that. I don’t like putting the blame on people. Don’t put the blame on me and make me out to be something that I’m not. Yes, I’m not perfect. I might not have been there enough, or I could have done better I suppose… but I thought what I was doing was enough. I thought I’d tried everything. So to then sit there in further interviews and discuss it publicly and be like, ‘I wasn’t supported’… You were, though. You were. So just take some accountability and I’ll feel better about it. I’d say [I’m] more frustrated than angry, because I don’t like being painted into a person that I’m not. Because I’m an open book, I have to be real. It exhausts me when I see people that I know inside and out not being genuine. It frustrates me.”

Perrie admits she’s “frustrated” by how Jesy Nelson has portrayed the breakdown of her relationship with Little Mix, adding that she feels the group consistently tried supporting Jesy at the cost of their own mental health, and that accountability should be taken on all sides: “Sometimes you just won’t win with people. And what annoys me the most… I have to be careful how I say this because I don’t want to seem like a bitch… But what upsets me the most when situations like this happen is when the other person doesn’t take any accountability. That boils my blood. I’m not blaming everything on you [Jesy]. I’m not saying, ‘She’s this fucking monster and everything was her fault’ and blah blah blah. But take some accountability for your actions and realise you were difficult. You did have difficult moments. Granted, there were reasons for those moments... but you can only pick somebody up so many fucking times before you start losing track of your own sanity. You want to be there for that person, but if they can’t accept the help and they can’t accept the love you’re trying to show, how do you win? You can’t. I hate that. I don’t like putting the blame on people. Don’t put the blame on me and make me out to be something that I’m not. Yes, I’m not perfect. I might not have been there enough, or I could have done better I suppose… but I thought what I was doing was enough. I thought I’d tried everything. So to then sit there in further interviews and discuss it publicly and be like, ‘I wasn’t supported’… You were, though. You were. So just take some accountability and I’ll feel better about it. I’d say [I’m] more frustrated than angry, because I don’t like being painted into a person that I’m not. Because I’m an open book, I have to be real. It exhausts me when I see people that I know inside and out not being genuine. It frustrates me.”

JADE tea room ☕️

299,076 Aufrufe • vor 4 Monaten

“Shokunin Spirit” & Trading Last year, while traveling, I saw a Japanese tour bus driver sitting in front of the wheels, carefully polishing them. He was waiting for his passengers and could have easily stayed on the bus to rest or play on his phone. But instead, he chose to clean the bus. At that moment, I understood why Japanese taxis and buses are always spotless and shining. That’s when I truly understood what “shokunin spirit” is all about—the dedication to excellence. I used to encourage people to aim for "financial freedom" or "F.I.R.E." as their goal when learning investing and trading. But in recent years, I’ve realized this approach is completely wrong because it puts the cart before the horse. Investing and trading are not easy. It takes more than just a few years to see results. It’s only those with a craftsman’s mindset—who are willing to constantly learn, refine their skills, and embrace challenges without focusing on immediate rewards—who have the best chance of succeeding. Financial freedom, in reality, is just a byproduct of this mindset. If your motivation is "financial freedom," it’s easy to feel frustrated and give up when progress is slow. But if you approach investing and trading with the craftsman spirit, you’ll see failures as part of the process and face them calmly, focusing on finding solutions instead of quitting. Successful traders (or entrepreneurs) don’t see "financial freedom" as their ultimate goal. Even after achieving it, their work and lifestyle often remain the same. What drives them is the craftsman spirit—the desire to keep excelling in the field they love and to push their boundaries. If you truly love your work and what you do, and you live each day fully, you don’t really need financial freedom. You’ve already found freedom in your mindset.

“Shokunin Spirit” & Trading Last year, while traveling, I saw a Japanese tour bus driver sitting in front of the wheels, carefully polishing them. He was waiting for his passengers and could have easily stayed on the bus to rest or play on his phone. But instead, he chose to clean the bus. At that moment, I understood why Japanese taxis and buses are always spotless and shining. That’s when I truly understood what “shokunin spirit” is all about—the dedication to excellence. I used to encourage people to aim for "financial freedom" or "F.I.R.E." as their goal when learning investing and trading. But in recent years, I’ve realized this approach is completely wrong because it puts the cart before the horse. Investing and trading are not easy. It takes more than just a few years to see results. It’s only those with a craftsman’s mindset—who are willing to constantly learn, refine their skills, and embrace challenges without focusing on immediate rewards—who have the best chance of succeeding. Financial freedom, in reality, is just a byproduct of this mindset. If your motivation is "financial freedom," it’s easy to feel frustrated and give up when progress is slow. But if you approach investing and trading with the craftsman spirit, you’ll see failures as part of the process and face them calmly, focusing on finding solutions instead of quitting. Successful traders (or entrepreneurs) don’t see "financial freedom" as their ultimate goal. Even after achieving it, their work and lifestyle often remain the same. What drives them is the craftsman spirit—the desire to keep excelling in the field they love and to push their boundaries. If you truly love your work and what you do, and you live each day fully, you don’t really need financial freedom. You’ve already found freedom in your mindset.

J Law

33,770 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

🚨🎙️PEP GUARDIOLA: “ARSENAL DIDN’T JUST BEAT CITY — THEY EXPOSED US.” “For years, people said we were winning because we had the best players. They believed the quality of the squad was the biggest reason for our success. But now we see that football is not only about having the best players. It is about organisation, mentality, coaching, control and the ability to make your players believe in what you are asking them to do. Watching Arsenal completely dominate City was painful. Much more painful than you believe. It was not simply a defeat where you can say, ‘Okay, we had chances and they scored.’ No. Arsenal controlled the game, controlled the rhythm and made City look uncomfortable. When you watch your former team struggle to impose itself like that, of course it hurts. But I have to be honest — this has nothing to do with me anymore. This is Maresca’s team now. He has his own ideas, his own players, his own philosophy and his own responsibility. He must find the solutions and take the team forward. My chapter with City is my chapter. What happens now belongs to someone else. I can respect what Arsenal did, I can recognise where City struggled, but I cannot carry the responsibility anymore. Football moves on. Managers move on. Teams change. And sometimes you have to accept that the problems of yesterday are no longer yours to solve.”

🚨🎙️PEP GUARDIOLA: “ARSENAL DIDN’T JUST BEAT CITY — THEY EXPOSED US.” “For years, people said we were winning because we had the best players. They believed the quality of the squad was the biggest reason for our success. But now we see that football is not only about having the best players. It is about organisation, mentality, coaching, control and the ability to make your players believe in what you are asking them to do. Watching Arsenal completely dominate City was painful. Much more painful than you believe. It was not simply a defeat where you can say, ‘Okay, we had chances and they scored.’ No. Arsenal controlled the game, controlled the rhythm and made City look uncomfortable. When you watch your former team struggle to impose itself like that, of course it hurts. But I have to be honest — this has nothing to do with me anymore. This is Maresca’s team now. He has his own ideas, his own players, his own philosophy and his own responsibility. He must find the solutions and take the team forward. My chapter with City is my chapter. What happens now belongs to someone else. I can respect what Arsenal did, I can recognise where City struggled, but I cannot carry the responsibility anymore. Football moves on. Managers move on. Teams change. And sometimes you have to accept that the problems of yesterday are no longer yours to solve.”

MatchReport

53,554 Aufrufe • vor 1 Monat

Questions for Candace Owens Question 1 You have said that you were kicked out of your home at age 14 and lived with a boyfriend for six months, describing yourself as “one of those kids.” How did those early experiences shape your understanding of relationships, authority, and personal boundaries? Question 2 Years later, in your debate with 20 feminists and on the podcast Whatever, you often gave the impression that you were not one of those kids. Maybe I am wrong, Candace, so can you tell us whether you ever talked about your past in those debates, or explained how those early experiences shaped the beliefs you now promote for women? Question 3 You have said that from about ages 8 to 18, you read only fiction books, and that you began reading nonfiction only after you became interested in politics. How did spending almost a decade reading only fiction affect how you understand the world’s complexity and complicated issues in general? Question 4 In 2007, you sued the Stamford Board of Education after reporting racist death-threat voicemails. In 2024, you publicly stated that you were again receiving death threats, but this time from the French government. Given that, according to you, your parents kicked you out of your home at age 14, that you later received death threats from students connected to the Stamford Board of Education, and that you now say you are receiving death threats from the French government, how do you understand this pattern of death-threat claims appearing at major phases of your life? Question 5 In 2015, when you started the project called Degree180, you published articles criticizing conservative Republicans and the Tea Party movement, and mocking Donald Trump, including comments about his penis size. During that same period, you also wrote articles stating that cheating and having affairs could be romantic, and another article suggesting that it could be smart for a woman to marry a gay man. Even if you identified at that time as a Democrat or a liberal, these views are not commonly held within those groups. What values were guiding those arguments at that time? Question 6 In 2016, you launched a project that involved publicly identifying individuals accused of online harassment. After the project was suspended, you were later doxxed. After you were doxxed, you blamed the left. Is that true, and did that experience contribute to your shift toward conservatism? Question 7 You have said that you used Charlie Kirk’s credit card to buy airline tickets to the UK without asking his permission. What was the nature of your professional or personal relationship with him that made you feel comfortable enough to do that? Question 8 In December 2018, during that UK trip, you met George Farmer. Shortly afterward, in May 2019, you made comments at a Turning Point UK event stating that nationalism itself was not problematic, and that Hitler’s issue was his global ambitions rather than nationalism confined to Germany. How do you reflect on the timing and substance of those remarks today? Question 9 After 2019, TPUSA distanced itself from you and you were no longer on the payroll, even though you later spoke at events such as the Michigan event in 2024. How did that distancing affect how you viewed TPUSA from that point forward? Question 10 Is it possible for you, and for your followers, to consider that Erika Kirk is not a perfect human being, like all of us, and that Turning Point USA is not a flawless organization, like any organization, but that your conclusion that they betrayed Charlie could be wrong, especially if that conclusion was influenced by a dream? Cc:Paramount Tactical - Gary Melton Nathan Livingstone (MilkBarTV) NΛTLY DΞNISΞ Alex Jones Tim Pool Tyler Bowyer Andrew Kolvet FBI Donald J. Trump Dr. Phil Dr Jordan B Peterson Elon Musk Patrick Bet-David Adam 🆘 Sosnick

Questions for Candace Owens Question 1 You have said that you were kicked out of your home at age 14 and lived with a boyfriend for six months, describing yourself as “one of those kids.” How did those early experiences shape your understanding of relationships, authority, and personal boundaries? Question 2 Years later, in your debate with 20 feminists and on the podcast Whatever, you often gave the impression that you were not one of those kids. Maybe I am wrong, Candace, so can you tell us whether you ever talked about your past in those debates, or explained how those early experiences shaped the beliefs you now promote for women? Question 3 You have said that from about ages 8 to 18, you read only fiction books, and that you began reading nonfiction only after you became interested in politics. How did spending almost a decade reading only fiction affect how you understand the world’s complexity and complicated issues in general? Question 4 In 2007, you sued the Stamford Board of Education after reporting racist death-threat voicemails. In 2024, you publicly stated that you were again receiving death threats, but this time from the French government. Given that, according to you, your parents kicked you out of your home at age 14, that you later received death threats from students connected to the Stamford Board of Education, and that you now say you are receiving death threats from the French government, how do you understand this pattern of death-threat claims appearing at major phases of your life? Question 5 In 2015, when you started the project called Degree180, you published articles criticizing conservative Republicans and the Tea Party movement, and mocking Donald Trump, including comments about his penis size. During that same period, you also wrote articles stating that cheating and having affairs could be romantic, and another article suggesting that it could be smart for a woman to marry a gay man. Even if you identified at that time as a Democrat or a liberal, these views are not commonly held within those groups. What values were guiding those arguments at that time? Question 6 In 2016, you launched a project that involved publicly identifying individuals accused of online harassment. After the project was suspended, you were later doxxed. After you were doxxed, you blamed the left. Is that true, and did that experience contribute to your shift toward conservatism? Question 7 You have said that you used Charlie Kirk’s credit card to buy airline tickets to the UK without asking his permission. What was the nature of your professional or personal relationship with him that made you feel comfortable enough to do that? Question 8 In December 2018, during that UK trip, you met George Farmer. Shortly afterward, in May 2019, you made comments at a Turning Point UK event stating that nationalism itself was not problematic, and that Hitler’s issue was his global ambitions rather than nationalism confined to Germany. How do you reflect on the timing and substance of those remarks today? Question 9 After 2019, TPUSA distanced itself from you and you were no longer on the payroll, even though you later spoke at events such as the Michigan event in 2024. How did that distancing affect how you viewed TPUSA from that point forward? Question 10 Is it possible for you, and for your followers, to consider that Erika Kirk is not a perfect human being, like all of us, and that Turning Point USA is not a flawless organization, like any organization, but that your conclusion that they betrayed Charlie could be wrong, especially if that conclusion was influenced by a dream? Cc:Paramount Tactical - Gary Melton Nathan Livingstone (MilkBarTV) NΛTLY DΞNISΞ Alex Jones Tim Pool Tyler Bowyer Andrew Kolvet FBI Donald J. Trump Dr. Phil Dr Jordan B Peterson Elon Musk Patrick Bet-David Adam 🆘 Sosnick

Jinet Gharibian

107,867 Aufrufe • vor 8 Monaten

$ADOR never had any intention of truly taking them back. The idea that NewJeans willingly returning under ADOR was part of some “recovery” plan is fiction. That was never the goal. What ADOR wanted was a ruling. They wanted the contract to be declared valid. They wanted leverage. They wanted control. So they went to court and begged for it. They dug up old achievements, repackaged archived content, and paraded the “good old ADOR” image like proof of innocence. Not to protect the girls, but to strengthen their position. Everything that followed was a setup. They announced HH’s return as if it were reconciliation, when in reality it was an attempt to break the bond between the five of them. Divide them. Isolate them. Force a fracture. Unexpectedly, they failed. The unnies stood firm again. Together. And that was never something ADOR could tolerate. So now comes the real move. Unilateral termination. The cleanest way to flip the board. An Uno reverse played by the company that claimed it wanted them back so badly. Of course, Danielle could fight it. She could file another lawsuit, drag this out for another year, burn more time, more money, more mental health. But anyone who understands the system knows what that really is. A loop. An endless trap designed to exhaust artists until they break or comply. This is the ugly truth NewJeans has now proven in real time. Once you sign that paper, you are not an artist. You are owned. You don’t get to push back. You don’t get to say no. You don’t get to be human. You stay quiet. You follow instructions. You take whatever you’re given. And if you don’t, the company rewrites the story. You become “difficult.” “Uncooperative.” “The problem.” Then you’re locked out, erased, punished. NewJeans tried. They really did. And in trying, they exposed how broken this system truly is. So to the girls, don’t ever apologize. Being human is not a mistake. Wanting dignity is not rebellion. None of this was your fault. You were simply trapped in a system designed to crush anyone who steps out of line. We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again. Whatever decision you make next, we’ll meet you there. Always. 🍀 #NJZ #MhDHH_FRIENDS$

ADOR never had any intention of truly taking them back. The idea that NewJeans willingly returning under ADOR was part of some “recovery” plan is fiction. That was never the goal. What ADOR wanted was a ruling. They wanted the contract to be declared valid. They wanted leverage. They wanted control. So they went to court and begged for it. They dug up old achievements, repackaged archived content, and paraded the “good old ADOR” image like proof of innocence. Not to protect the girls, but to strengthen their position. Everything that followed was a setup. They announced HH’s return as if it were reconciliation, when in reality it was an attempt to break the bond between the five of them. Divide them. Isolate them. Force a fracture. Unexpectedly, they failed. The unnies stood firm again. Together. And that was never something ADOR could tolerate. So now comes the real move. Unilateral termination. The cleanest way to flip the board. An Uno reverse played by the company that claimed it wanted them back so badly. Of course, Danielle could fight it. She could file another lawsuit, drag this out for another year, burn more time, more money, more mental health. But anyone who understands the system knows what that really is. A loop. An endless trap designed to exhaust artists until they break or comply. This is the ugly truth NewJeans has now proven in real time. Once you sign that paper, you are not an artist. You are owned. You don’t get to push back. You don’t get to say no. You don’t get to be human. You stay quiet. You follow instructions. You take whatever you’re given. And if you don’t, the company rewrites the story. You become “difficult.” “Uncooperative.” “The problem.” Then you’re locked out, erased, punished. NewJeans tried. They really did. And in trying, they exposed how broken this system truly is. So to the girls, don’t ever apologize. Being human is not a mistake. Wanting dignity is not rebellion. None of this was your fault. You were simply trapped in a system designed to crush anyone who steps out of line. We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again. Whatever decision you make next, we’ll meet you there. Always. 🍀 #NJZ #MhDHH_FRIENDS

𝙡𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧🦞

17,776 Aufrufe • vor 9 Monaten

I’m still here because this was the hardest fan project we’ve faced in these six months. My patience and leadership were tested like never before to the point that I almost gave up in the middle of the preparation. There were nights I whispered to myself, “This will be my last.” I felt so pressured that sometimes I just wanted to hide and run away. On top of it all, I was carrying my own personal struggles, which made every step heavier. We took risks in almost every decision we made during this project. There were times when all we could say was, “Naniniwala kami sa Cheffies.” From tickets and props to the fan project and the fanzone everything was about risk and trust. Trusting the Cheffies that they would show up. Trusting the sponsors that they were only waiting for us to open our plan. Trusting Dustin and Bianca that they would see and hear our efforts. And above all, trusting each other as admins that no matter what happens, we would not give up on this. But it wasn’t just about risks. It was about sacrifices the sleepless nights, the drained wallets, the heavy emotions, and the constant balancing act between work life and fandom life. It was about choosing to fight even when we were tired, choosing to stay even when walking away seemed easier. Every small victory mattered, and every breakdown taught us something new. Looking back at these six months, I realized it’s not only about the events, the projects, or the milestones. It’s about the people who stood by me when I thought I couldn’t go on. The people I met along the way who turned into a second family. The laughter in between the stress, the comfort in the middle of the tears, and the bonds that were built in both the best and worst days. This is why, even when I wanted to let go so many times, I stayed. Because every hardship was matched with a reminder that I was not alone. Because this fandom has become more than just support for Dustin and Bianca it has become a home where friendships are nurtured, where trust is strengthened, and where love is felt. So this 6th monthsary is not just a celebration of Dustin and Bianca, though they remain the heart and reason for all of this. It is also a celebration of the Cheffies who never stopped believing, of the sponsors who trusted us, of the admins who fought side by side, and of the family we’ve built within Casa Dustbia. To Dustin Yu and Bianca De Vera, thank you for being the inspiration that started all of this. You may never fully know the weight of what we’ve gone through, but because of you, we learned to be braver, stronger, and more united. And to my Casa Dustbia family, thank you for reminding me that even in the hardest of our story, there is always something worth holding on to. Six months have passed, but this is just the beginning. More pages are waiting to be written with laughter, tears, risks, and victories. And as long as we continue to believe, to fight, and to love, we will keep turning those pahina together. Happy 6th monthsary, Dustin, Cheffies, Sponsors and Bianca. Mahal na mahal namin kayo today, tomorrow, and in every chapter that’s yet to come. 🫂💛

I’m still here because this was the hardest fan project we’ve faced in these six months. My patience and leadership were tested like never before to the point that I almost gave up in the middle of the preparation. There were nights I whispered to myself, “This will be my last.” I felt so pressured that sometimes I just wanted to hide and run away. On top of it all, I was carrying my own personal struggles, which made every step heavier. We took risks in almost every decision we made during this project. There were times when all we could say was, “Naniniwala kami sa Cheffies.” From tickets and props to the fan project and the fanzone everything was about risk and trust. Trusting the Cheffies that they would show up. Trusting the sponsors that they were only waiting for us to open our plan. Trusting Dustin and Bianca that they would see and hear our efforts. And above all, trusting each other as admins that no matter what happens, we would not give up on this. But it wasn’t just about risks. It was about sacrifices the sleepless nights, the drained wallets, the heavy emotions, and the constant balancing act between work life and fandom life. It was about choosing to fight even when we were tired, choosing to stay even when walking away seemed easier. Every small victory mattered, and every breakdown taught us something new. Looking back at these six months, I realized it’s not only about the events, the projects, or the milestones. It’s about the people who stood by me when I thought I couldn’t go on. The people I met along the way who turned into a second family. The laughter in between the stress, the comfort in the middle of the tears, and the bonds that were built in both the best and worst days. This is why, even when I wanted to let go so many times, I stayed. Because every hardship was matched with a reminder that I was not alone. Because this fandom has become more than just support for Dustin and Bianca it has become a home where friendships are nurtured, where trust is strengthened, and where love is felt. So this 6th monthsary is not just a celebration of Dustin and Bianca, though they remain the heart and reason for all of this. It is also a celebration of the Cheffies who never stopped believing, of the sponsors who trusted us, of the admins who fought side by side, and of the family we’ve built within Casa Dustbia. To Dustin Yu and Bianca De Vera, thank you for being the inspiration that started all of this. You may never fully know the weight of what we’ve gone through, but because of you, we learned to be braver, stronger, and more united. And to my Casa Dustbia family, thank you for reminding me that even in the hardest of our story, there is always something worth holding on to. Six months have passed, but this is just the beginning. More pages are waiting to be written with laughter, tears, risks, and victories. And as long as we continue to believe, to fight, and to love, we will keep turning those pahina together. Happy 6th monthsary, Dustin, Cheffies, Sponsors and Bianca. Mahal na mahal namin kayo today, tomorrow, and in every chapter that’s yet to come. 🫂💛

Sam

19,084 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

🇵🇱🇨🇿🇸🇰🇸🇮🇭🇷🇷🇸🇧🇦🇲🇪🇲🇰🇧🇬🇷🇺🇺🇦🇧🇾🍲 KAPUSTNICA — A TRADITIONAL SLOVAK 🇸🇰 SOUP OLDER THAN BORDERS, OLDER THAN STATES Kapustnica did not appear in cookbooks. It appeared in villages, forests, and winters — long before Slovakia, Poland, or any modern Slavic state existed. Its roots go back to the early Slavic settlements between the 6th and 9th centuries, when Slavs spread across Central and Eastern Europe. Cabbage was one of the first crops they mastered. It grew in poor soil, survived cold climates, and — once fermented — could feed a family through months of winter. Sauerkraut was not a delicacy. It was strategic survival. Meat entered the pot only after slaughter season, usually late autumn. Nothing was wasted. Smoked pork, bones, fat, and sausages were preserved for months, not taste but necessity. Forest mushrooms — boletus, chanterelles — were gathered, dried, and stored because forests were the Slavs’ first supermarkets. Garlic, onion, peppercorns, caraway, later paprika — all layered slowly into what became kapustnica. By the Middle Ages, this soup was already pan-Slavic. Variants existed from the Carpathians to the Balkans. In Catholic lands it became a Christmas dish after Advent fasting; in Orthodox regions it marked feast days after long abstinence. The logic was the same everywhere: simple ingredients, deep flavor, communal eating. Under empires — Hungarian, Habsburg, Ottoman, Russian — kapustnica stayed local and unchanged. Under communism, when shelves were empty but traditions survived, it remained a fixed point of dignity. One pot. One table. One shared memory. This is why kapustnica still matters. It carries a time when Slavs lived closer to land than to politics. When food wasn’t content, but continuity. When survival created culture — not the other way around. Kapustnica is not nostalgia. It is historical memory you can taste. Those who grew up with it know: this soup fed generations before flags — and it will outlast trends after them. If you like what we are doing — like, share, subscribe, and invite your friends for more. Follow us also on Facebook: Slavic Networks Nirali VVeles SlavicFreeSpirit

🇵🇱🇨🇿🇸🇰🇸🇮🇭🇷🇷🇸🇧🇦🇲🇪🇲🇰🇧🇬🇷🇺🇺🇦🇧🇾🍲 KAPUSTNICA — A TRADITIONAL SLOVAK 🇸🇰 SOUP OLDER THAN BORDERS, OLDER THAN STATES Kapustnica did not appear in cookbooks. It appeared in villages, forests, and winters — long before Slovakia, Poland, or any modern Slavic state existed. Its roots go back to the early Slavic settlements between the 6th and 9th centuries, when Slavs spread across Central and Eastern Europe. Cabbage was one of the first crops they mastered. It grew in poor soil, survived cold climates, and — once fermented — could feed a family through months of winter. Sauerkraut was not a delicacy. It was strategic survival. Meat entered the pot only after slaughter season, usually late autumn. Nothing was wasted. Smoked pork, bones, fat, and sausages were preserved for months, not taste but necessity. Forest mushrooms — boletus, chanterelles — were gathered, dried, and stored because forests were the Slavs’ first supermarkets. Garlic, onion, peppercorns, caraway, later paprika — all layered slowly into what became kapustnica. By the Middle Ages, this soup was already pan-Slavic. Variants existed from the Carpathians to the Balkans. In Catholic lands it became a Christmas dish after Advent fasting; in Orthodox regions it marked feast days after long abstinence. The logic was the same everywhere: simple ingredients, deep flavor, communal eating. Under empires — Hungarian, Habsburg, Ottoman, Russian — kapustnica stayed local and unchanged. Under communism, when shelves were empty but traditions survived, it remained a fixed point of dignity. One pot. One table. One shared memory. This is why kapustnica still matters. It carries a time when Slavs lived closer to land than to politics. When food wasn’t content, but continuity. When survival created culture — not the other way around. Kapustnica is not nostalgia. It is historical memory you can taste. Those who grew up with it know: this soup fed generations before flags — and it will outlast trends after them. If you like what we are doing — like, share, subscribe, and invite your friends for more. Follow us also on Facebook: Slavic Networks Nirali VVeles SlavicFreeSpirit

Slavic Networks

23,921 Aufrufe • vor 9 Monaten

Kerry Roberts complained about being a “victim” of “harassment” for “the crime of telling the truth” yesterday on Good Morning America. Then she took the witness stand & admitted to lying under oath & committing perjury at a grand jury to protect Jen McCabe. The Feds are the ONLY reason we know this information. What does that tell you? These witnesses are comfortable lying under oath at the state grand jury because they know they’ve got immunity from DA Michael Morrissey’s Office. They’re protected. But suddenly, once under investigation by the Feds, and under the threat of federal perjury charges while on the witness stand at a federal grand jury, a whole lot of admissions and truth started coming out. This is also why Brian Higgins testified (at the federal grand jury) that he saw someone, that fit John O’Keefe’s criteria, enter the house. Higgins didn’t know what the Feds knew at the time, and being an ATF agent, he’s surely well aware of the fact that he could be facing prison time for lying to a federal agent. The only reason Kerry Roberts changed her testimony and told the truth—that she never heard Karen Read ask Jen McCabe to Google anything—was because she knew she no longer had the protection of her friends at the federal grand jury. This is what the general public finds so outrageous about these “witnesses”. It’s how they brazenly lie to your face to frame an innocent woman for a murder she did not commit, and then if you dare call them on it, they have to make themselves “victims” by whining and crying about “hawassment” and “witness intimidation”. The public is going to be critical and unfavorable of you when you willingly lie to coverup and frame someone else for murder. That’s a necessary age-old aspect of society called “shame”. If you don’t like it, don’t lie or do shameful things. It’s really that simple. #KarenRead #KarenReadTrial #KarenReadTrial2 #FreeKarenRead #JusticeForJohnOKeefe

Kerry Roberts complained about being a “victim” of “harassment” for “the crime of telling the truth” yesterday on Good Morning America. Then she took the witness stand & admitted to lying under oath & committing perjury at a grand jury to protect Jen McCabe. The Feds are the ONLY reason we know this information. What does that tell you? These witnesses are comfortable lying under oath at the state grand jury because they know they’ve got immunity from DA Michael Morrissey’s Office. They’re protected. But suddenly, once under investigation by the Feds, and under the threat of federal perjury charges while on the witness stand at a federal grand jury, a whole lot of admissions and truth started coming out. This is also why Brian Higgins testified (at the federal grand jury) that he saw someone, that fit John O’Keefe’s criteria, enter the house. Higgins didn’t know what the Feds knew at the time, and being an ATF agent, he’s surely well aware of the fact that he could be facing prison time for lying to a federal agent. The only reason Kerry Roberts changed her testimony and told the truth—that she never heard Karen Read ask Jen McCabe to Google anything—was because she knew she no longer had the protection of her friends at the federal grand jury. This is what the general public finds so outrageous about these “witnesses”. It’s how they brazenly lie to your face to frame an innocent woman for a murder she did not commit, and then if you dare call them on it, they have to make themselves “victims” by whining and crying about “hawassment” and “witness intimidation”. The public is going to be critical and unfavorable of you when you willingly lie to coverup and frame someone else for murder. That’s a necessary age-old aspect of society called “shame”. If you don’t like it, don’t lie or do shameful things. It’s really that simple. #KarenRead #KarenReadTrial #KarenReadTrial2 #FreeKarenRead #JusticeForJohnOKeefe

Olivia

58,743 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

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 5 Monaten

Today I had my first demo drive in a Tesla. It was also my first time ever sitting in one. This was the first car I’ve ever sat in the driver’s seat of where I didn’t touch the steering wheel for over 20 miles. Before I even got to the car, the people who had demoed it before me were an older married couple who were absolutely euphoric. They thought it was so cool that the car could drive itself. The Tesla employee told me this happens all the time. People come back from demo drives and tell the next test driver that they’re about to have an amazing experience. Little did I know, I’d end up carrying on the torch to the next couple demoing it after me. There was a ton of construction where I demoed the car, and FSD handled the entire drive extremely well. And yes, it can go through a drive-thru and stop at each window. The only thing I had to do was tap the pedal because it wouldn’t leave on its own, but it was still wild seeing the AI stop perfectly at the second window and wait. There are a million things I could write about why a Tesla feels like a better car and how much more it offers compared to a regular car. But for now, I’ll stick to FSD. There were only two moments that made me a little uneasy. The first was pretty minor. The car slightly hesitated going up a driveway, but quickly made up its mind. The second was more noticeable. I didn’t realize the car was nagging me. Once I touched the steering wheel, nothing happened, so I pulled it right a little harder, then let go. After that, the car turned left and crossed a double yellow on a backroad. (and yes I know you can sue the volume knob) I’m not totally sure if it was trying to pull over or what it was doing. I wanted to see how it would handle the situation, but there were cars coming, so I took over and corrected it. One of the coolest moments was when I thought FSD was glitching because it came to a complete stop in the middle of a busy road. Then I looked around and realized why. On the right side, there was a bicyclist waiting at a yellow crosswalk. The cars behind me didn’t honk, and the Tesla stopping actually incentivized another car in the right lane to stop and let him pass. The car is almost too nice to pedestrians, because 99.999% of humans would’ve blown through that, especially with no flashing light. For 99.9% of the drive, the car navigated confidently and smoothly. It was a real “feel the AGI” moment. Please do not let the media, the general public, or anyone else convince you that this technology is just some kind of auto assist or glorified cruise control. This is undoubtedly getting extremely close to feeling superhuman. You still have to pay attention to the road, but after experiencing it myself, I’d be shocked if HW4 Teslas aren’t unsupervised within the next couple years. The car was extremely smooth. There was no harsh braking, and it even avoided something in the road that I didn’t see. Driving with FSD made me realize I probably wasn’t driving as well as I could be. Hopefully, eventually, everyone’s car can be as mindful as a Tesla. I’ve never seen a brand so far removed from the public’s sentiment. I’m so happy I ordered one.

Chris

18,859 Aufrufe • vor 3 Monaten

Cher did not leave Sonny Bono because the act got old. She left because the marriage and the business had become the same trap. They met when she was 16 and he was 27. He named her, dressed her, wrote the jokes, and built Sonny & Cher into a hit. For a long time she called him mentor as much as husband. America thought they were a team. On paper they were not. The company was called Cher Enterprises. Sonny owned 95 percent. His lawyer owned 5 percent. Cher owned nothing. She was listed as an employee. She could not take a job without his permission. She has said that if he had torn that up and split it 50-50, she would never have left. Before the contracts came fully into view, she was already breaking. In the early 1970s she stood on a hotel balcony and thought about disappearing. Then she thought of her child, her mother, her sister. She stepped back. She realized she did not have to jump. She could leave. Sonny filed for separation in 1974. The divorce was finalized in 1975. The split was ugly. He sought custody. She cited “involuntary servitude.” They still worked together after, and they stayed in each other’s lives until he died in 1998. She has never told a simple villain story. She has also never pretended she was a partner when the paperwork said employee. What came next was hers. Solo records. Movies. An Oscar for Moonstruck. Stadiums. The second career most people now think of as Cher. Sometimes leaving is not a speech. It is walking out of a company that used your name and paid you like hired help. That is the story. The picture is the couple America saw. The text is what the contracts said.

Cher did not leave Sonny Bono because the act got old. She left because the marriage and the business had become the same trap. They met when she was 16 and he was 27. He named her, dressed her, wrote the jokes, and built Sonny & Cher into a hit. For a long time she called him mentor as much as husband. America thought they were a team. On paper they were not. The company was called Cher Enterprises. Sonny owned 95 percent. His lawyer owned 5 percent. Cher owned nothing. She was listed as an employee. She could not take a job without his permission. She has said that if he had torn that up and split it 50-50, she would never have left. Before the contracts came fully into view, she was already breaking. In the early 1970s she stood on a hotel balcony and thought about disappearing. Then she thought of her child, her mother, her sister. She stepped back. She realized she did not have to jump. She could leave. Sonny filed for separation in 1974. The divorce was finalized in 1975. The split was ugly. He sought custody. She cited “involuntary servitude.” They still worked together after, and they stayed in each other’s lives until he died in 1998. She has never told a simple villain story. She has also never pretended she was a partner when the paperwork said employee. What came next was hers. Solo records. Movies. An Oscar for Moonstruck. Stadiums. The second career most people now think of as Cher. Sometimes leaving is not a speech. It is walking out of a company that used your name and paid you like hired help. That is the story. The picture is the couple America saw. The text is what the contracts said.

Trump Girl

51,110 Aufrufe • vor 28 Tagen

SCOTT RITTER is an external Contributor to Energy Intelligence. He is a former US Marine Corps Intelligence Officer whose service over a 20-plus-year career included tours of duty in the former Soviet Union implementing arms control agreements, serving on the staff of US Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf during the Gulf War and later as a Chief Weapons Inspector with the UN in Iraq from 1991-98. “Just so you know, I have a little bit of background in the Philippines. In 1986, I was deployed there as a platoon commander to reinforce the Subic garrison. After the fall of the Marcos regime, there was concern about the new people’s army. “So I have a warm spot in my heart for the Philippines. Let’s build upon what Colonel Wilkerson had said earlier. The United States is incapable of fighting a sustained conflict against a peer-level force. “The United States cannot fight and engage China and win. We will not beat the Chinese. We cannot beat the Chinese. “And we know this, and yet we’re using the Philippines to create the conditions of potential conflict with the Chinese. Please understand that for the Filipino people, this is a recipe for disaster. You think America is your friend. “So too did the Ukrainian people, and they are dying by the hundreds of thousands. Friends don’t let friends die in those quantities. The Ukrainians have been displaced by the tens of millions. “Friends don’t let friends have their cities destroyed in this manner. Friends don’t let friends have families separated, have mothers and children destined to a life of refugee status in perpetual poverty. That’s not how friends behave. “America has never been the friend of Ukrainians, and we are not the friends of the Filipinos. We don’t like you. If we did like you, we wouldn’t be doing this to you. “We are using you. You are a tool, nothing but a tool. And when the tool ceases to be useful, we will discard you. “And discard you means usually after a war that devastates you. We are using you to gain some sort of momentary leverage over the Chinese. We will fail. “The Chinese will win, and you will be destroyed. End of story. It’s high time the Filipino people pressure their government to start sitting down and engaging the Chinese government responsibly. “China is not your enemy. China is your neighbor. China is your friend. “China doesn’t want war. And if you would engage China in diplomacy, and as we’ve all indicated here, America has long since lost the skill set necessary to carry out diplomacy. But the Filipinos, the Philippine people can reignite this, to relearn it, to use this skill to prevent a war. “But if you continue to behave as colonial subjects, and I know that’s a sore, sore, sore subject of the Filipino, because you were the colonial subjects of America. We still view you as our colonial subjects. We don’t like you. “We don’t care about you. We just want to use you. Grow up. “Grow up and act responsibly. Take control of your own future. America is not here to help you. America is here only to use you until there’s nothing left. And then we will discard you on the trash heap of history.”

SCOTT RITTER is an external Contributor to Energy Intelligence. He is a former US Marine Corps Intelligence Officer whose service over a 20-plus-year career included tours of duty in the former Soviet Union implementing arms control agreements, serving on the staff of US Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf during the Gulf War and later as a Chief Weapons Inspector with the UN in Iraq from 1991-98. “Just so you know, I have a little bit of background in the Philippines. In 1986, I was deployed there as a platoon commander to reinforce the Subic garrison. After the fall of the Marcos regime, there was concern about the new people’s army. “So I have a warm spot in my heart for the Philippines. Let’s build upon what Colonel Wilkerson had said earlier. The United States is incapable of fighting a sustained conflict against a peer-level force. “The United States cannot fight and engage China and win. We will not beat the Chinese. We cannot beat the Chinese. “And we know this, and yet we’re using the Philippines to create the conditions of potential conflict with the Chinese. Please understand that for the Filipino people, this is a recipe for disaster. You think America is your friend. “So too did the Ukrainian people, and they are dying by the hundreds of thousands. Friends don’t let friends die in those quantities. The Ukrainians have been displaced by the tens of millions. “Friends don’t let friends have their cities destroyed in this manner. Friends don’t let friends have families separated, have mothers and children destined to a life of refugee status in perpetual poverty. That’s not how friends behave. “America has never been the friend of Ukrainians, and we are not the friends of the Filipinos. We don’t like you. If we did like you, we wouldn’t be doing this to you. “We are using you. You are a tool, nothing but a tool. And when the tool ceases to be useful, we will discard you. “And discard you means usually after a war that devastates you. We are using you to gain some sort of momentary leverage over the Chinese. We will fail. “The Chinese will win, and you will be destroyed. End of story. It’s high time the Filipino people pressure their government to start sitting down and engaging the Chinese government responsibly. “China is not your enemy. China is your neighbor. China is your friend. “China doesn’t want war. And if you would engage China in diplomacy, and as we’ve all indicated here, America has long since lost the skill set necessary to carry out diplomacy. But the Filipinos, the Philippine people can reignite this, to relearn it, to use this skill to prevent a war. “But if you continue to behave as colonial subjects, and I know that’s a sore, sore, sore subject of the Filipino, because you were the colonial subjects of America. We still view you as our colonial subjects. We don’t like you. “We don’t care about you. We just want to use you. Grow up. “Grow up and act responsibly. Take control of your own future. America is not here to help you. America is here only to use you until there’s nothing left. And then we will discard you on the trash heap of history.”

Mark Lopez

30,253 Aufrufe • vor 2 Jahren

THIRTEEN MINUTES OF HOPE: MAYA FINALLY FOUND HOME 🐾❤️ Maya’s first taste of happiness lasted only thirteen minutes. She had spent an entire year inside a shelter after being abandoned by the people she once trusted. At first, she waited by the kennel door every day, watching and hoping they would return. But as the months passed, that hope slowly disappeared. She eventually stopped waiting and began spending her days curled up quietly at the back of her kennel. Then, after 365 days, everything seemed to change. A young couple arrived looking for a calm dog to share their apartment. The shelter worker explained Maya’s history and reminded them that she would need patience and time. They promised they understood. At 10:15 that morning, Maya climbed into their car. For the first time in months, there was a little spark in her eyes. But just thirteen minutes later, the shelter phone rang. “She’s too energetic,” the woman said. “She’s running around, sniffing everything, and she even jumped on the sofa. We aren’t ready for this.” By 10:40, Maya was back at the shelter. She quietly stepped out of the car as the couple hurried away without looking back. Maya turned toward the worker, her tail moving uncertainly, her eyes seeming to ask the most heartbreaking question: “What did I do wrong?” The worker refused to put her back in a kennel. Instead, Maya was given a soft chair in the office. “You did nothing wrong,” the worker whispered. “You were excited because you thought you were finally home. You ran because you were happy. You jumped on the couch because you wanted to belong. You were simply being a dog.” For weeks, they worked patiently to rebuild Maya’s confidence. Then one afternoon, an older woman named Claire walked into the shelter. “I’m looking for a dog that nobody else wants,” she said gently. “One who needs patience and understanding. I’m learning how to live alone in a big, quiet house too.” When Claire met Maya, something beautiful happened. Maya cautiously approached the kennel bars, sniffed Claire’s fingers, and gently licked them. That was all it took. Three days after taking Maya home, Claire called the shelter with tears in her voice. “Maya sleeps at the foot of my bed,” she said. “And on her first night, she ran around the house and jumped on the couch. I didn’t mind. I knew she was celebrating finally being free.” Two months later, the shelter began receiving photographs of Maya sleeping peacefully in warm patches of sunlight. Her eyes no longer seemed to ask, “What did I do wrong?” They simply said: “I’m home.” ❤️🐶

THIRTEEN MINUTES OF HOPE: MAYA FINALLY FOUND HOME 🐾❤️ Maya’s first taste of happiness lasted only thirteen minutes. She had spent an entire year inside a shelter after being abandoned by the people she once trusted. At first, she waited by the kennel door every day, watching and hoping they would return. But as the months passed, that hope slowly disappeared. She eventually stopped waiting and began spending her days curled up quietly at the back of her kennel. Then, after 365 days, everything seemed to change. A young couple arrived looking for a calm dog to share their apartment. The shelter worker explained Maya’s history and reminded them that she would need patience and time. They promised they understood. At 10:15 that morning, Maya climbed into their car. For the first time in months, there was a little spark in her eyes. But just thirteen minutes later, the shelter phone rang. “She’s too energetic,” the woman said. “She’s running around, sniffing everything, and she even jumped on the sofa. We aren’t ready for this.” By 10:40, Maya was back at the shelter. She quietly stepped out of the car as the couple hurried away without looking back. Maya turned toward the worker, her tail moving uncertainly, her eyes seeming to ask the most heartbreaking question: “What did I do wrong?” The worker refused to put her back in a kennel. Instead, Maya was given a soft chair in the office. “You did nothing wrong,” the worker whispered. “You were excited because you thought you were finally home. You ran because you were happy. You jumped on the couch because you wanted to belong. You were simply being a dog.” For weeks, they worked patiently to rebuild Maya’s confidence. Then one afternoon, an older woman named Claire walked into the shelter. “I’m looking for a dog that nobody else wants,” she said gently. “One who needs patience and understanding. I’m learning how to live alone in a big, quiet house too.” When Claire met Maya, something beautiful happened. Maya cautiously approached the kennel bars, sniffed Claire’s fingers, and gently licked them. That was all it took. Three days after taking Maya home, Claire called the shelter with tears in her voice. “Maya sleeps at the foot of my bed,” she said. “And on her first night, she ran around the house and jumped on the couch. I didn’t mind. I knew she was celebrating finally being free.” Two months later, the shelter began receiving photographs of Maya sleeping peacefully in warm patches of sunlight. Her eyes no longer seemed to ask, “What did I do wrong?” They simply said: “I’m home.” ❤️🐶

DE GOLDSMITH🪙🪙🪙⭐ ⭐⭐

11,882 Aufrufe • vor 19 Tagen