A local dealership is running a Memorial Day lease special on an jeep GC 4xe EV that qualifies for the $7500 federal tax credit. Despite what I’m reading about income caps that would disqualify me and that $7500 now being $3750 on that model, the dealership is claiming they have a work around for both. How does that work?
And second, I sat in the vehicle on Sat, confirmed it was still on the website Sat night, emailed the sales person that was working with me late that night to find out if I could come in this morning (Monday) to close the deal, crickets. I don’t even want to negotiate, I’m cool with their advertised prices, I’m open to which exact vehicle it ends up being off their lot (including any number of 2022s they already have duplicate of 2023s on their lot) I have tier one credit and my trade is paid off and straight forward on the price, they can take or leave it at $10k. I texted him mid afternoon yesterday to let him know that the email was in his inbox in case it got caught in a spam filter, still crickets. Have I given that sales person enough time? I couldn’t care less, but as someone who also does sales, I wouldn’t want to cut the guy out just because he wanted a day off, I have all the time in the world as long as I still get the Memorial Day sale deal or something close to it, but no response from two main forms of communication over a holiday weekend makes me think he’s just too busy selling cars to care. What’s good customer practice in a situation like this?

Dr. Atul Kasliwal is an esteemed Heart Specialist in Jaipur, renowned for his vast experience and expertise in cardiac care. Regarded as a leading authority in his field, he is highly respected for his advanced clinical skills and compassionate approach towards patients. Dr. Kasliwal is dedicated to delivering personalized treatment options, ensuring the highest standards of cardiac care. By keeping abreast of the latest advancements in cardiology, he offers state-of-the-art solutions. Dr. Atul Kasliwal is a trusted and celebrated name in Jaipur's medical community, recognized for his excellence in treating heart-related conditions with utmost proficiency.

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I (24f) have been seeing an American guy (30m) living in my west European country for 2 months now and things have been going pretty well. We've both gone into this with the objective of a long term relationship and it's been going pretty well except for one issue.
While I'm not American and have never been, I keep pretty up to date on things happening over the pond as they have a tendency of later appearing in some way or the other in my country as well. I'm by no means an expert, but I keep tabs on the politics.
The point of contention is that while we agree on the core values (feminism, LGBTQ rights...) -without which I wouldn't have even pursued anything- we have very differing opinions on basically anything else. I'm (at least by American standards) very left leaning and he's by his own words center-right.
The problem is we keep getting into heated discussions about some of the differing political stances. I know I could just not engage, when these come up, but some of it is causes that are very important to me and I find it hard to keep quiet. Just for example, we've been talking about a politician from a southern US state, let's call him Mickey Mouse, that I find simply terrible. He told me he'd vote for him, because even though he doesn't agree on some like LGBT policies he did, he's still economically sound. I don't know almost anything about economics, but when I present reasons why I think Mickey Mouse is a bad politician and a terrible influence on the state, he says I can't know that, cause I'm not American. Same thing happened when I disagreed about the fact I'd be discriminated against in the US on the basis of being white or that kids are not being taught that they're personally responsible for slavery by CRT teachers. I think he's buying into republican propaganda, he thinks I can't know what I'm talking about, cause I've never been there.
Any advice on how to proceed? Anyone in a mixed-continent relationship care to chip in? Or Americans in general, cause maybe I'm super off base. Or is it too much disagreement too early in? Thanks in advance
TLDR: My (24f) boyfriend (30m) and I can't seem to stop getting into disagreements about US politics and he disregards my points cause I've never been there.

I know it doesn't apply to all women but i've seen this trend repeats often.
I'll take my wife as an example. She used to be fit her whole life but she gained a few kilograms over the last few years (~15kg) mainly because of stress.
Whenever she brought the subject of her weight to her female colleagues and friends, there were often a consensus and she was told that she's beautiful as she is and doesn't need to change. Despite the fact that she wasn't feeling good about her body.
She now hast lost more her weight thanks to her discipline and hard work and those same women are telling them that she looks much better and amazing right now.
I really don't get that change in speech.
Hopefully, her best friend is quite blunt and was very suportful (i was too but i find her sexy even with a few extra kg) during her journey.
Why does some women act like that ? I don't think it helps the person to not acknowledge and validate someone emotions and telling them that they're perfect even if they don't really think it.

I (M, 20) am really becoming frustrated by this, in my mind and emotionally tired, even though it seems that everything is right with me on the outside, i can't help but feel more each day, except for very few occasions, that me, what i am or do, and my whole existence and my thoughts are completely irrelevant, out of place and without meaning, or importance at all, there are days i think about death and just disappearing from the face of earth, turning into dust, and when it happen, it will be as if like i never existed, what i did, what i was, the things i had will just be nothing and will be gone. Despite knowing that many many people out there in the world deal eith similar stuff like what i am saying, and even much worse things. I just feel like being locked, and needing to act as a predictable, under the society expectations and image of what a male figure, a masculine and "normal" should be and how to act and, finally, live as a whole in this position. I know that men had somethings easier than women in some aspects, but we can't close our eyes abput the high expectations society puts and waits for males. I often feel and notice that i am a guy out of place, despite being viewed as straight and masculine to some extent, i have many thoughts and i just feel like shit, and that people see me as an idiot, and pathetic person as a male, i know deep down that i am very insecure and socially anxious, althought i can act in a "normal way" in most cases and just be a quiet and somewhat shy young man, but i feel constantly that i am wrong, that i shouldn't be a male, tha i am not fitting or matching the "ideal" and "normal" male role, the expectancies, i sometimes wanted to disappear or be a girl instead. I look at how many boys and guys, and older men usually are, how they say somethings and i feel very distant or different from these people, but i am not femine guy or enjoy feminine/girly stuff at all, i just feel the pressure and feel inappropriate, and besides i feel that i am bisexual, and this is a real point that goes against what a normal male (straight for that matter) should be/enjoy/do. Maybe my english is not that good, it's not my mother tongue..

Pick: Heat +8
Is it accurate to consider the Boston Celtics as the favored team to achieve remarkable success? Alternatively, should we view the Miami Heat's performance as a significant failure in the annals of sports history? Time will reveal the outcome. Personally, I believe that Boston will emerge victorious in the series. However, it is noteworthy that the Miami Heat have demonstrated strong performance as underdogs, boasting an 11-4 against-the-spread (ATS) record and a 9-6 straight-up (SU) record in their last 15 playoff games. Throughout the playoffs, the Heat have consistently been profitable for bettors. Considering this trend, I will continue to align myself with their performance and take advantage of the points they offer.

i really only have 2 friends. one of which doesn't even go to my school, and the other is somewhat in a similar situation as me. i don't "go out". like at all. never have, tbh i just don't know what i would even do. what''s even more infuriating is that my younger brother goes out with his friends all the time. also i should mention he's at a new school. so within 1 school year he's already made like 6 friends that like do stuff. i literally don't even know how to talk to people. all i do is waste my life with stupid shit like 3d printing and fucking 30 year old computers. like why can't i be interested in sports or cars or something normal. another thing that annoys me is school, i spend7 hours a day at school not being able to pay attention for even 5 minutes and then i get home and spend another 7 hours trying to rebuild a computer from 1993 or fixing the 100th broken part of my 3d printer, all while being as focused and dedicated as a person possible can be. like how does that work. idk what the point of this post was, congrats if you've made it this far. i'm just tired. of everything.

​
Hi everyone! This is a complete English translation of the Aniara sequel book by Harry Martinson called Doriderna that was put together after the author died. This translation was put together using various translation programs that can be found online, so I can't guarantee that it is a perfect translation, but it's better than nothing. I will also post the original in Swedish so you can improve the translation or look up words etc. if you want. Hope you enjoy!
I would also like to let everyone know that I am also working on my own Aniara fan fiction short story that I call "The Lost Voices of Aniara". This story tells about the events aboard the Aniara from the view point of another passenger and attempts to add more details to the story. It should be ready in the next week or two.
​
HARRY MARTINSON
The Dorides (Doriderna)
Remaining poems and prose pieces in selection and with preface by Tord Hall Albert Bonniers Förlag
​
PREFACE
For reasons I will not go into here, Harry Martinson did not publish any new work in the last years of his life. There is therefore a very large literary legacy, the publication of which began in the fall of 1978 with "Längs ekots stigar" (Along the paths of the echo), published by Georg Svensson. This collection contains only a few purely scientific poems - the emphasis is on nature poetry. The selection was made from unpublished material - which had nevertheless reached the proof stage - in three previous collections.
It remains to address other lines of thought in Harry Martinson's work: the ideas in Aniara, which in various forms occupied his imagination until the end. To follow the continuation of this great theme - at least in part - is what I am trying to do in this second selection from the surviving archive.
​
The 103 songs in Aniara were part of a larger set of poems, and the author then worked for several years on a sequel, to be called 'The Dorids', the people of the tribe of Doris. Around 1959 there were about 80 songs - most of them in more or less completed drafts. The dominant figure in the Dorids would not be Isagel or the Mimarobe, but Nobia, the Samaritan from the tundra planet and deportation site of Mars. Nobia would be a norna (fate goddess), though not a cruel goddess of fate, but a norna who weaves goodness into the fabric of the world.
But the whole project remained a large-scale endeavor. The reasons were many: illness, world events, which seemed to be moving towards a fulfillment of the prophecies in Aniara, and which gave him an increasingly dark view of life: he told me that "Aniara has become a neurosis" ... I feel like Mima being blown apart'. But the decisive reason was surely his demand for absolute freedom in his creativity. He did not want to be confined, and the result was, as he himself said, 'I have stepped out of Aniara'.
The fact that Harry Martinson stepped out of Aniara, and thus also out of the Dorides, does not at all mean that he left the motifs or ideas found there, which cover the scientific field from atoms to stars. Rather, it means that he was able to write without direct connection to the characters of Aniara and the Dorides in particular.
I have therefore considered it justified to call this entire collection the Dorides, even though the prose pieces and several poems do not have a clearly visible connection with such a title.
In order to comment briefly on the selection, I would like to say a few words about Harry Martinson's attitude towards modern science (it is my intention to return to this subject in more detail).
There are two main lines. One is deterministic, and has its roots in classical physics, founded by Newton, which dominated until the end of the 19th century. It has a philosophical form in the law of causation, which means that if you know enough facts about a certain course of events in the present and in the past, you can precisely specify the course of events in the future. Examples of such events in the 'big world' - the macrocosm - are solar and lunar eclipses.
But in the world of atoms - the microcosm - this determinism does not apply. Heisenberg demonstrated this through his uncertainty relation, also known as the indeterminacy principle. In the atoms, individual events are indeterminate, we cannot discern any causality - there is randomness. But chance can be mastered by the methods of statistics, and we must content ourselves with a "statistical causality", which describes the course of events in the atom with the highest possible degree of probability.
It is this second, indeterministic line that has long been followed by most physicists. But there is one major exception, and that is Einstein. At the 1927 meeting of physicists in Brussels, for example, he asked Bohr, Heisenberg and others with mild irony whether they really believed that God plays dice - "ob der liebe Gott würfelt". Einstein was convinced that the universe follows an ordering principle, a geometric structure, which can be called a world soul. This is a pantheistic view that is reminiscent of Spinoza.
Similar ideas are already present in Aniara, but in this selection the picture has become more sharply defined. Harry Martinson does not believe that chance plays a decisive role in the course of the world, as is clear from several poems and prose pieces. He believes more in Einstein than in dozens of other Nobel Prize winners. Apart from these authorities, he follows his intuition.
His approach to religion has often been quoted: he chooses the Riddler over the God. This belief is reflected in 'The Riddle'. In 'Poems on Light and Darkness', published in 1971, Harry Martinson, with 'The Inner Light' and 'The Bird in the Phoenix Bell', presents the events inside the atom itself. These poems show that - although 'Aniara' and 'The Dorides' are more about stars than atoms - he never lost his interest in the microcosm. In this selection, it is the atoms that are more interesting than the stars.
The bard enters the atom. He describes the course of events in a world which is completely beyond our senses and which, despite the enormous aids of science, we will probably never be able to understand exactly. The story itself probably comes from Gamow's book "Mr. Tompkins Explores the Atom". Published in Swedish translation in 1946, it is, along with "Mr. Tompkins in Wonderland" (also 1946), the versatile Gamow's best popular science books. Harry Martinson rated them highly.
The two poems 'Submerged as in a dream but still awake' and 'Actually, the comprehensibility was slight' depict a journey of thought into the atom, and the same motif recurs in several other places.
The poem "A Cosmic Thickness Lying Boundlessly Spread" poetically depicts a world development related to the hypothesis of the "stationary universe" put forward by Hoyle and others, and to Klein-Alfvén's "symmetrical cosmology". For several reasons - mainly aesthetic - Harry Martinson did not like the theory of 'the big bang', which was celebrated by most scientists. His poem should have been written quite a long time ago, and perhaps he would have changed his mind if he had been given the opportunity to understand what the "cosmic background radiation" - with a temperature of about 3 degrees above absolute zero - means for the credibility of "The big bang". It took natural scientists some time to become convinced that this radiation can best be interpreted as a fading glow after an unimaginable cosmic explosion some 18 billion years ago.
This selection also contains several pieces of prose, which in general do not need any comment. But I would like to mention a few. For "The Figuration Patterns of the Goddancer's Juggling Program", in three sections, there is a drawing by Harry Martinson, reproduced on the cover of this collection. The spread comes from Hindu philosophy: we see 'Siwa's juggling dance before Brama'. The dominant curves are so-called lemniscates, which were already known to the ancient Greeks. The lemniscate looks like an eight and is the mathematical symbol for infinity. It is defined as the trajectory of a point under the condition that the product of its distances to two given points is constant. In the center of the drawing there are several small curves. They are ellipses, and an ellipse - also first studied by the Greeks - is defined as the trajectory of a point under the condition that the sum of its distances to two given points is constant. The result is a geometric pattern, similar to a flower, which at the same time provides a poetic image of the complex interplay of forces in the atom with outward and inward energy impulses The juggler finds it increasingly difficult to work with his ball-particles as he progresses through the periodic table of the elements. In the end, he "dances the spectral theme in the dance of the Phoenix" - a symbol of the indestructibility of both energy and poetry, and a recurring motif in Martinson's poetry.
"Delsaga om tidens ariadnetråd" (Part of the saga of the Ariadne thread of time) is almost a fantasy about four-dimensional space, where you have to be careful not to get on the wrong track. The selection of prose pieces ends with "Some fairies dancing in the summer night near a quiet lake". It is a cheerful tale where the author combines a love of the Swedish summer with a love of light.
​
I made this selection at the direct request of Harry. He even said several times that I should have all his scientific poems and prose pieces. But I think I judged this offer correctly when I saw it as an expression of his great generosity towards his friends. I always replied that he himself should complete and select what was to be published. But in his last years he did not want to publish anything. I therefore promised to make a selection if he did not change his mind.
​
He did not, and this collection is the result.
Finally, I would like to thank Ingrid Martinson and Georg Svensson for the understanding and assistance they have given me in bringing this selection to fruition.
​
Tord Hall
​
​
The Dorides (Doriderna)
The book you hold was written in Mima's hall.
Now, on a secret wavelength, it is sent home to you, my friend, who for some years inhabits a spherical beach called the Valley of Doris.
In other words, it was written so close to your own being that nothing could be closer to you than those described here. You are one of them.
​
Over the graves, the indifferent wind spreads
the whisper of the immortal gods
that no loss is foreseen in the grand scheme of things.
But what do the gods - those wasteful billionaires of the heavens - know about the beautiful and wonderful Doris?
how she was worth saving forever
and that whoever loved her
can never be comforted by the gods' continued waste.
About her a bird sings now alone in the tree of the grave. Of her as she was, the glorious one, if no other, the Dorides' thrush sings.
​
The window was full of stars,
The Leonids' swarm of stars came, then you know the time.
Autumn was gone, its yellowing burnt.
The lookout tower, closed on the wooded mountains.
I stood as a child of a time that saw the stars detach from the roofs towards a room where novas frightened a more distant valley, I found other myths than those I was used to picking hurled at me from the space of the Leonids.
I stood in the cathedral of fear of dreams.
The great copper woman who lay there with her back soldered to the lid of the sarcophagus drove horror into me, cast my foot with lead.
That the copper woman knew who I was, I immediately sensed as a deadly weight, and that I had been summoned here by herself, by the queen of copper, of that I was certain.
In empty benches sat forgotten years, from the emptiness of the auditorium the organ pipes shone like stalactites in the vault of a cave and there was nothing, no light, no hint that gathered my crumbling courage.
For everything was fulfilled as it was written in stone once when the water abandoned the green and it was said that man will go away and become the dead slave of the dead dust.
And as I stood there gripped, filled with horror
for this judgment and epitaph
which was predetermined and rehearsed
in the mute trumpet of the seraphim of the stones,
bells fell suddenly from the towers to the earth that rocked with an ore-broken thunder, and the copper woman rose, a scream of remembrance drawn from afar to her lips as she drew me in close to her copper body in terrified death.
He woke up. There was light. It was day.
And the Samaritan Nobia sat silent, but still heard the echo of the screams his dreams had squeezed out of his fear.
She searched for words simple enough for a stranger to grasp, but not so simple as to drive away his trust, hardly won yet.
In simple action she finally found them.
And she stood up and smiled with milk
From the moors of Gondrin to the mouth of this fugitive.
​
​
It is no exaggeration to say that space gave us long winter evenings rolled into one - the one that lasts. Our leisure time finally became a grim question with ice in our eyes and a frozen flame.
It became necessary to tell stories from reality - as it can be taken. I chose to tell about King Basii, who, supported by Chefone, forcibly turned himself into a god and magician in a celestial drama.
The Goldonder King felt like God and determined to live up to the gods he built himself a city in the sky.
It was a global world city of goldonders assembled into a kind of hive heaven.
But Basil's space-city, though it contained twelve million men in his service, was not enough for him; he had another built, and the greatest city in the world was soon in space. That city was a marvel to behold: a mighty golden dome, surrounded by three bionomically serving drabants, one of which was called the Vegetable City, one the Fish Drabant, and the third the Sting.
​
The names reveal their role and purpose.
So Basii sits in his heavenly land. The aquarium dragon orbits faithfully and Stings follows it with fattened animals and the vegetable moon amounts to the redwood.
The golden dome was the city of retreat for all climbers and celestial rebels, for gamma was a poison to all alike and all poor and rich alike had to choose between death and escape.
So many preferred the city of Basil.
But although he rules over twelve million
inhabitants of the great city of space, he is still very rarely happy.
And although the dragons in a faithful circle
raise animals and grow fish and wheat
Basil's only pleasure is when he gets
with Vulvis, the royal slave, to bathe in Lethe.
But all the deliciously good virginity
that can be enjoyed in Basil's harem
is in its nakedness a skin of fear.
of frightened dissimulation. And his love story
...is but a tale to be seen from the outside..,
and all his lust a forced voluptuousness.
​
Thus in The Night of Aniara I draw a little picture that everyone can understand from the rich treasure of reality.
And every time I make an arabesque in the hall of Mima about this space grotesque that Basil's space city can probably be said to be, I can for an hour or so make people sigh: the best is here anyway.
From Basil's false heaven we preserve. No, I'd rather travel with Aniara.
But soon the alarm goes off. The bells proclaim that the images of the fairy tale are overtaken by visions here that distress ignites.
And quickly to the halls I return.
​
The Goldonder's garden bubbled with glamour. A party was being held there and Chefone was there. He showed us a picture of the smith of happiness: the goldonder king Basii, a portrait jubilantly taken on the day the fifteen thousandth goldonder lay in the field ready for the wave of endlessness.
Then we were each seized by thoughtfulness and went to our own in solitude.
For in every ship of this number there was a Mima locked up in its cage.
The Rapid criminal was much loved and could operate as he pleased under the protection of the admiration he aroused. He always appeared at great speeds and abducted women whom he brought to Chefone in light blue rapid rockets.
Of course it was criminal, the people of the valley thought, but the charm was so close to the deed that the rampart was breached by sheer admiration and open worship soon followed the advice of restraint at the murder pedal.
​
Tucked away in a corner of our gondola, I pretend to smile at some rough fellows who spend their evenings with mockery and violence, with a devilish flutter as their sole aim.
They look at me and find me mortified,
- The clear approval is what they expect...
and I'm close to being squeezed badly
every time they jokingly glance at my grave door.
The brute is approaching, his dull face with many a foolish whim weighing on his mind.
And many a scowl missed by pigs from the worst corners of the soul he throws at me.
And when, full of fear, I strike with depleted strength in the dull face, the troll is only amused by my blow and raises his eyebrow with interest.
Then I flee between the troll's legs and out the other side of the danger of death.
How this happened can only be fully explained by the light of the gopher and the fourth tensor theory.
​
Here came the sober, composed and sober man who always kept his soul in trim and stuck to the dry, honest maxims of life.
Now he went into the fire with his imagination.
His cool reason was completely burned His sober composure was fried in seconds when the photo turbo in Xinombra exaggerated the cold matter.
And yet I can't help but admire the man as he made his way to the office where he had been employed for many years
and where, despite offers to flee to the tundra, he provided punch cards for thousands who broke up every day.
There died a man who never raised his voice, who always remained true to his calm tone, the martyr of calm composure who was burned when the cruel fires of excess were lit.
​
One is often chilled to the rock crystal by everything one hears before the ear falls like gray-white ash into the cremation hall.
And the girl from Rind who sees nothing is often heard to ask beyond the eye: how is the world of such torment visible? What is to be seen in this madness, where eeriness against eeriness is heard to answer?
Cultivating insight seemed futile
and many fell away from the faithful crowd.
and its program which was to see through
so that with the transparency of evil
as lens and instrument
try to find new signs
and new ways for the land of Gond.
Most people grew tired and withdrew from the room of the Truth Service, and Nobia sat for long periods almost alone, trying to hold on to her looms, always tormented
by the blood moisture of evil memories, the echoes of horror
surrounded her days
and made the Mara a bedfellow
who tore the fabric of the noman
and raped Nobia's dream
and the mood of life over the moors of Gondria.
It is as important to us to have friends
in the houses of distant worlds as at home by
the familiar road of the green earth.
You are reflected in endless eyes, watched by immense spectators.
They never interfere, but they watch the sewing and the mining,
the nurse and doctor on the rounds and the weapons in the shamelessly cruel wars.
Your own position under their eyes may be likened to the position you take with one whom you do not wish to grieve, but to share joy and to please.
So spoke the old astronomer, and then laid his head down to rest.
And he went smiling to the eternity that had been waiting by his side all his life.
His forehead shone with its ideas, even in the dead of death in the years of space.
He was among those who know the fairies of everything, those who get to comb Berenice's hair.
​
But for the longest time I still want to believe that this is the torment of an evil dream and the ship Aniara a phantom from which I will wake up in the Valley of Doris.
Perhaps everything is a nightmare and I want to wait with poison and a knife. They say there are dreams of a kind that seem as long as a man's life.
Out of the dust you were born, from its gifts you were supported.
You did not manage the gift, many a meadow you made desolate.
What is beyond this sea is called Going down deep among riddles too great to be found in a grave.
Faith can never cover more than what you see in spirit.
​
All the other things are too much to bear.
Do you hear the sound of the rescue team calling from an emergency station that is one of a thousand others, regardless of faith?
Now guess where the road leads and what Paradise is.
One of a thousand rescue stations scattered along the coast here.
Now I want to sing to my ear and ask it to listen to a voice that descends not to destroy the language I have collected for comfort. For the comfort of life and death, I whisper the price of sensitivity every time the sinful flow of language storms the breeze of the spirit.
​
One night Heba lay awake in the city of Aniara and heard the painter's joyful painting.
The skilled varnisher was varnishing the years that would one day end on a stainless steel stretcher.
And suddenly from Heba there was a shout against the smooth roof.
The skilled varnishers know their business well.
Too hard to become joy, too happy to become sorrow. The painters paint everything in Aniara's castle.
​
We know that we have been left out of the higher insight of the ocean of mystery and that we lack the tools to reach the depths of clarity that Mima once gave. But since Mima's death, the average of what we achieve of truth is not very high average is what is required if the choice of new paths is to be avoided.
A small number reach the values that should be the average to reach.
The others are satisfied with the flow of thought,
the rattle with which time is made to pass.
A daughter of my mother, called Tovi, was born in the night of space. Alas, dear ones, where can the crowd's demand for sensation and wonder lead us?
First came, as it should be, the blissfully sweet and indescribably pure birth, when the mimicry lay naked, uncovered and panting in the golden bed of the formula.
To her camp now came the mimicry and winged it
the naked one, as when the butterfly flies the honey chalice of its flower, in Dori's meadows. The description is not given (much to my regret) because there is always the possibility of a wave of miracles taking place in secret, to the great disappointment of many who wish to see how the mimagyne makes love, and from what angle the picture of the goddess's love life should be taken in order to really reach the audience.
Can it not be enough that Tovi gave birth to an allegorical child whom Isagel happily suckled at her breast and practiced miracles and consolation You may think so yourself, but others think otherwise.
For not even a mimagyn can defend the fruit of her womb against the human hyena who demands a clear answer on every point of what precedes it all: the prelude to sowing,
with the insides of the thighs well described in a clear image that gives the "public" a feeling that it was in the bed.
​
Yes, it has happened that I have sometimes asked myself (in private silence, of course) whether the smooth ice of superficiality does not have enough joy, and that the great swallows in these spaces are only terrible wakes which, compared to the agile princess and heartlessly threatening with superior power, will in the end become the cold room of beauty.
So small a strip bears, the other breaks, and all the incomparably large gapes with the same dark death which, unchanging with cold upon cold, only imitates itself.
To raise one's hand then with a light-year pound and demonstrate the fugue of eternity on terrible organs, while the girl in the icy distance dances, hardly greater to see than a fly flown away towards the light, it is to chill with the great weapon as when the superpower with the powers the element hides coldly makes its rows in the land of Gond against unsuspecting cities and, although itself dismissing all talk of sin punishment and trial, nevertheless treats the human with such terrible flame that this terrible torrent of loose gamma released by those who do not mean sin punishment nevertheless cruelly destroys both Yaal and Gena and melts down to ashes the wonder Heba
With the same fire they turned on Chebeba.
​
Posterity does not understand you so easily.
It judges according to the image of posterity
and counts up the time you lived in
as rows of negligence, as offenses
against the spirit of foresight, the duties of thought.
To this it adds the work of suffering
and piles up, as blind as a judge
as you were blind as a criminal, case by case.
Can those who have killed the foundations of joy and destroyed the great city of joy have the right to the joys of life?
Does Cain have the right to be happy?
Can those who strangled the joys of Xinombra and burned the valley of paradise have the right to heights of heaven other than Aniara's daily agony?
I ask but never get an answer. I have to arrange for pastimes
for the hordes of Aniara and manage its entertainment.
​
A wave of newly awakened hatred swept through the mountains where Nobia lived in deep mines and ghostly white lights illuminated every thread of life in the fabrics she wove.
She had sought and found the thread of life - a discovery of how healing rays are empowered by the inner council of things and fused with the heart of the atom.
And while hatred swelled around the mountains
and wounds screamed in the valley of time.
she wove day and night until the color of victory
and the skin of life rose in the hall of death.
Of her beauty little can be said. It was lost in a wave of radiation but the clear purity of the soul could be weighed; in healed wounds we saw her reflection.
​
Then I will throw you out of your chair. I will break your armchair view, because it is false and holds a convulsive security in a time that has slipped out of its rooms, but also the other way around: that it becomes a view without deep insight.
From this world, I shall send you happiness today to the kingdom of love, to the evil shore where the Samaritan Nobia and others spread works of love from country to country.
Figuring out the ways of evil and tracking down all the poison in the city of hate was futile, for hate stood there with heavy blocks united row by row.
Within its walls there was life and movement in the birthing centers and squares where human beings were conceived and human beings were born and human life in the human gap was destroyed. It was best to pretend that this city of self-righteous evil existed as nothing more than a devilish childhood that would mature, grow tired of itself.
We resolved to keep on sending saints there for the longest time.
from the saints' camps as long as the funds lasted
and as far as the need still aroused the heart.
This plan was tried for nine years, during which the Rind camp of saints bled to death: an act of self-sacrifice based on faith in the powers of good. But the heavy wall of hate stood just as hard, and the fatigue of leadership followed the act of hate; only too great was the throne of victory we had.
A single city consumed the power which we had thought sufficient for the transformation of the world.
​
On a rare occasion, the happiness of being free from desire also came.
Then the emptiness suddenly became populated by a kind of spiritualized mystery.
We walked the spirit's path of happiness along the beach, exchanging thoughts, making fortune cards.
It was evening and sunset in the sea.
Night fell, but the land of thought stood firm.
He woke up. She said: guess where.
I can't, he said. How did you get here? The same way you did: up the gravel path and then straight to the left among the cypresses. There was a dewy path the moonlight itself went there with light steps which I tried to imitate.
And when everything was past and the path was over
I managed to become a clear crystal and find you, my friend, on this path.
It is so transparently wonderful here.
We no longer exist. All that was is over.
Neither god nor devil here reaches us anymore and the end is the cruel parody of life.
​
Where is the plain text?
This is what I'm looking for.
The one that fits but still gives song.
After thanking God that he was a wasp and not something else, he continued between the leafy branches and stung the farmer.
Laid out by spiritual mobs, the truth becomes worse than the lie. When the mob washes the barley, it is never clean.
The rabble always wash in the dunghill from the Augean stables.
​
​
Matema's camel bells ring in the deserts of speech where the caravans of unfinished quarrels
never reach their oasis, only become more camels.
Immersed as in a dream but still awake, I found myself changed and so naked that no dream has words for what it was like when, transformed by the stone, I cut down towards the inner realms and while this was happening I became smaller, smaller and even more stripped of layers and layers of time and space as I sank further and further into the stone, deeper and deeper into things.
Who undressed me, wore me down so much that no conceivable smallness so small on this earth can be imagined unless one is long since beyond what every comprehensible thought wants to deny.
And yet I was being stripped and reduced still further in no direction.
So sunk, unceasingly sunk in
towards even more breathtaking reduction
I retained in my dream a way of seeing
and understand that I was traveling into
to the dimensions, the innermost
who with their interior work with their interior
and whose interiors compose the world.
They scare children with darkness, criminals with punishment and sinners with realms beyond death where the vengeful desire to torment has transported its arsenal of tormenting images.
But sorrow follows us every day, and joy follows us every day.
We ourselves are the sorrow, we are also the joy, everything human is rooted in humanity, and no human being can escape humanity, not her hatred and her self-degradation, nor the joy she spreads, nor the love she forms.
There is a third land that is not death and not life, but the reality that pervades all realities, and spins the very thread of the fabric from which dreams are woven. Yes, I had come to the rooms where these threads are spun. When I arrived, I stepped out and saw no longer surprised the smallest fairy, who herself was not at all surprised to welcome me to her inner land.
And although we were both unimaginably smaller than two grains of traveling dust on a suit on earth, we thought we were big here in this smallest room to which I have now come and which nevertheless encloses with its vault a separate world of realities formed.
On the contrary, I cannot describe what I saw of strange things, but that will follow when the habit of telling stories has been practiced for other habits than what life offers,
and other things than those called death.
For though beyond all I have known
this was not death
and though within all I have known
this was not life.
​
Actually, the comprehensibility was slight, as when multiples arranged in layers, and layered in the directions of space, make the fabric of the dream omnidirectional structural and become a fabric consisting of paths where the thread is only thought of as a path as a sign that here the shuttle has gone, but where is the thread? The thread is the path. I saw how the gnome was in a quandary as to which of two different possibilities to give clarity.
Then came formulas of such an elusive nature that the gnome was again gripped by the anxiety
which arises when the explanation is attempted but little response is felt by the pupil.
And with a look that shone as if with sorrow, he signaled a break in the dilemma. And with a formula more magical than comprehensible, we left the atom.
We expanded to other contexts and sat on a leaf next to a bee eagerly searching for honey in a meadow.
​
The Dance
Around the great star of the day we shall orbit the years we have been given to live, and our family for a few thousand centuries, perhaps more, perhaps less, no one knows.
But the time that we are orbiting is so small compared to that of the suns where they wander around in orbits in the galaxy our family named the Milky Way, luminous to behold.
What can our eyes see, our hearts cry out at the thought of atoms going around in the same way with waves and particles.
Some have called this the dance of the gods - it is always being danced by everything in the universe.
All indications are that among the arts of the muses
the art of dance is the first and the last,
and we are in it, dancing out
our role in the dance, it is already being danced
in other worlds separate from our time,
in other dance theaters,
yet one thing is clear
that we are dancing our turns.
Our role in it
is ours and no one else's.
Our own role in the dance art of all worlds.
​
Economic overview
Our earth wanders alive alone, around the sun our dear parent.
As far as the giant tubes reach no living neighbor to see.
Desolate and empty on the one who received the name of the god of war, burning hot and desolate on the one who received the name of the goddess of love.
Jupiter, planet of Zeus
ice-clad to two hundred times the height of the Himalayas.
The others are death's door.
Beyond that, light years to the next planetary village.
So each sun has only one living person, and that one is a leased farm, indefinitely and to an unreliable and dangerous race.
​
Here is a world of light distributed in the mystery of things.
Here is the salvaged light in the innumerable rooms of the stone.
Wands point with poles directed to their rooms inside mountains and stones, spinning mystery.
Deep in her fairy tale, she lives for the sake of the tale.
the norn who has learned to spin the yarn from the wool of the riddles.
​
The spirit of Ideema from space in endless lines gathered the seeds into the durable wood of the suns.
From far beyond time the hydrogen came in modest garb and built for its God the ingenious nests of the atoms.
Come, let us nurture the foundation of our life. The green sphere we have been given to live on in the universe's lottery system.
When the next lucky draw can get rid of the Milky Way's big tombola we do not know and can never reach.
But we do know one thing for sure: the next draw will not include us.
​
A stranger called chance shuffles the cards and deals them to the local players.
Every single poker face keeps a straight face.
There are plenty of goldfish in the tureen here.
According to the law, the silent coincidence itself is the last to raise its hand, with ice in its stomach.
Soon jaws of granite are chewing the cigar.
Where is the bundle of happiness among the starlings?
That question is answered when chance wins.
Then the shot goes off, chance's life disappears. His house of cards collapses, but soon everyone at the counter thinks it was a nice fish, that no one won, that chance herself was told by Smith and Wesson what chance was.
by Smith and Wesson what chance should do.
( translation to be continued )

I just moved back to my favorite city in the world. Deliriously happy about that.
A year ago, a former undergrad classmate of mine that lived in this city started texting with me. It became clear to me that he seemed interested, and I felt the same. This went on for a few months, before he ghosted me! I confronted him and he admitted that he needed time after breaking up with his girlfriend of 3 years. I told him I was happy to know him in any capacity and he said "lets be friends for now.".....Fine, I was a few time zones away anyhow and we were both busy.
Over the course of the next 8 months, I saw him a few times during visits to the city and we always spent a few hours together over a meal. No romantic contact at all, but he would pick me up and often pay for dinner. It was always really lovely. A lot of tension lol. We didn't really text, as I learned he is just not a digital communicator. Remote Interactions were largely limited to him occasionally liking or responding to an instagram story. But he would drop hints that he wanted to spend more time with me.
Now I'm back in town permanently. We are getting dinner tonight. I really want to see him regularly, but I am so scared to say anything because I'm afraid that maybe I'm moving too fast or that my expectations are unreasonable. I'm tired of ignoring the elephant in the room, and I'm the type of person that likes to have frank and open discussions (he is more reserved). What should I say? If anything!
thank you all!
tl;dr: Talking stage of 1 year told me "lets just be friends for now" back 8 months ago. Now I live in the same city and I want to date him. Totally unsure how/if to bring it up at dinner tonight.

I'm looking for recommendations on how to organize my business for information. I would like to use a system to organize my whole business that I could share with the top management. That system would allow me to keep track of: - Project - Issues within the company - Key information - For HR - Access passwords - Tax numbers - etc. - Human Ressources - Each person with information about them - Objectives (KPIs & OKRs) Any recommendations on the best way to do it? It's kind of like an Intranet. I had thought on using either a CRM or a tool like Notion or Evernote but I was wondering if anyone had a better idea... Thanks!

I see posts like this are an everpresent question of DDLC.
What’s the problem with Monika (or even Sayori for that matter) being evil? I see all these reactionary posts (most memes but still) where a straw man is made out usually as "Monika is evil", when the whole situation that she’s in is A LOT more complex than that. What’s with this temptation/tendency to reduce Monika to being evil? And plus, what’s wrong with that notion of an evil character? Good stories are, by and large, tales of good and evil, and ddlc is a story. So by that truth alone, it should be evident for evil to present SOMEWHERE in the story…right? Otherwise, where would the story be? Or what would it even be? Are people just upset at the idea of an antagonist being cute? Does the irony bother them, or something like that? Whatever the “evil” is in DDLC, it’s there. And the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, and neither is ddlc…and that is what makes ddlc so good, because it reflects that about reality.

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Hey guys I wanted to write a post to talk about wallet security and hopefully educate people on the importance of protecting your Private Keys.
The most common wallets used for ETH and BSC are Trust wallet and Metamask. Trust wallet is a mobile application with no PC version and Metamask is a chrome browser extension. Both wallets have a ton of utility in that you can add multiple networks (RPCs) and multiple tokens by including the contract address. These wallets are also interchangeable meaning that you can import your keys from trust wallet into metamask and use it just like your trust wallet. The same is true for importing your metamask keys to trust wallet.
When you create a new wallet regardless of the wallet type, you are given private keys that are randomly generated words in the amount of 12 or 24 words. Some wallets do have more. These private keys are your only security for your wallet. These private keys should NEVER be given to anyone. NOBODY holding a legitimate role or title in any project will EVER ask you for your private keys. If anyone asks you for your private keys, that person is attempting to steal your money. There is no customer service or admin that needs your private keys. I literally don’t know any other way to say it NEVER give ANYONE your keys.
Now lets talk about your Compromised wallet. A compromised wallet is one that you own and you gave out your private keys to or you connected to a phishing link and the malicious link stole your keys and accepted your crypto that you gave it permission to. Crypto can be filled with scams so it is very important that you only connect your wallet to official trusted links. However back on topic, once your wallet is compromised. Say bye bye and create a new one. Nobody can help you. Your done, its like hitting the restart button on your favorite game but all your weapons and power ups are gone, just like your crypto.
Common scams- the almighty airdrop sure there are some opportunities to get free tokens from legit projects but they are few and when they do provide them it is from a legit source and not some twitter bozoo that created their account 1 minute ago with zero followers. The customer service link with space to fill out your complaint and also your private keys info, we covered this. The suspicious link from some random person claiming to be admin. The duple ganger on twitter that pretends to be an influencer and follows you. Soon as you follow back you get a message, hey bud hows your trade going… block. The new crypto project that just launched and you got a custom invite because your special even though you just got into crypto yesterday. Be very very careful on socials especially TG and Discord, as soon as you ask a question you will be blitzed with customer support scams.
Although I try to throw a little humor in here, there is nothing funny about losing your money. You are an investor, you keep all your profits and do with them as you please (After taxes of course). Do not blame anyone else for YOUR decisions. Take ownership of your choices.
Thank you for reading and please be careful. Not your keys not your crypto

I am a foreigner and this guy is German, we can communicate in English without any problems. we go to the same school.
He treats me well, he writes first quite often, and he always answers with long messages, always trying to continue the dialogue. Often compliments me like "Ohhhh thoseeee Outfitsss that looks soooo good on you ", "Ur style is awesome rt i like that", "If someone says ur ugly pff they just have a bad taste". When I write to him first and he is busy or playing games, he says that he will write to me later today (later he actually writes). He often tells me something about himself, and is interested in me like “how are you doing? How was your day?". He also wrote me several long messages about the fact that he wants to continue communicating with me, he says that I am a good person. For example "i like u ur a nice person", "ur actually a nice person yk and i like those tiny conversations between us". He always offers to help me learn German. Worries about my health because I don't eat much. I have a lot of things with him in which we are similar, there are so many of them that sometimes it seems strange.
we have known each other for about a year, but we started talking recently.
After reading this, what do you think, he likes me or he just wants to be friends with me.

We all know how it is. We’ve got so much technology and choice under our fingertips but sometimes we just need to play. We don’t need something modern tight metal. We don’t need ambient trickery. We don’t need anything special.
Just a clean, crunch and lead. With a bit of delay and reverb.
What’s your goto stuff?
Personally I really love to use the Princeton model. For a gain sound that cleans up nice with the volume control the Britt 2204 is lovely.

I'm looking for recommendations on how to organize my business for information. I would like to use a system to organize my whole business that I could share with the top management. That system would allow me to keep track of: - Project - Issues within the company - Key information - For HR - Access passwords - Tax numbers - etc. - Human Ressources - Each person with information about them - Objectives (KPIs & OKRs) Any recommendations on the best way to do it? It's kind of like an Intranet. I had thought on using either a CRM or a tool like Notion or Evernote but I was wondering if anyone had a better idea... Thanks!