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2749 683 3894
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3945 638 8292
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6389 629 1738
7394 829 8300
6273 828 9294
1111 859 6263
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I am called a “New Member” because I have entered a period of time in which I will be called upon to demonstrate that of which I am made. The step I have taken is basic to the existence of man, that of selecting associates and turning away from an existence in solitude.
Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.
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156156113
Once in a place far away, a very long time ago there was an boy named Roger, he was tall but a bit round. He lived in a big city where unusual things seemed to happen everyday. For example, his uncle died. Anyway, Roger had lots of enimes in the city, all the people he used to like were now his enimes because he changed. He used to be a really succesful banker named Ron, but he decided to go another way and now he is a hobo named Roger. Because of this his friends thought they didn’t like him anymore so they said “your our enimy now!!!” and Roger was like “oh no, I have no friends but loads of enimes ”
Roger lives day to tomorrow by the change he gets off strangers outside mcdonalds but sometimes he. When he gets enough money he goes to the local shopping centre called “teco”. He can only buy things when they are on sale so he oinly buys things when they are on sale because he doesn’t have any much money. Sometimes he even gets enough change to buy chicken when its on sale and he goes into Kfc and says “can you cook this for me” and they do it because they are his enimes and spit in the food, yuck.
Today, on the most windy and stormy and rainy and cloudy and sad of days he decided he needed to eat and went to teco. When he went inside there was no baskets, this was weird, Roger thougth that that must be giveing them a break today so he kept going. He saw that thre bread was on sale so he was going to buy it and then an big fat hairy man ran up to him and said “NO That not f”or you! and he took the sale sign away which made the bread go back up to $100,000!! This is all in the future so thats normal for the future. Roger made a face similar to this D: and he said “But if you dont give me that I will strve” and the fat man laughed and his fat went bouncy from laughiung. Then one of ron’s enimies died so ron felt his anger rising (that happens when his enimys die” and he punched the mnan so hard that his fat fell off and the man was so angry that he cried blood. Then the lights went out so fast that roger knew he was going to be murderd. A black mist came out of the cereal boxes and the bacon was flying everywhere, pancake mix splashing over the counters, freezers freezing at higher tempratre that normal so that it was freezing the frozen pizzazas too much. ROn ran way far away to that isle thats always full of people, it has like loadsa sweets and crips, yummy. there was like 10, no wait, 15 monsters there, all black with eyes oogying with blood and tears thhat looked like bacon but were actually dead peoples skin. he screamed “fat man, help!!!” but when the fat man camer he said “You punched my fat and now you will pay………………………………………………I am your enime……” and then he ran and went iunside a freezer but forgot that the freezers froze too hard now and he died from freeze.
Roger ran to a exit and was almost out when he tripeed on something, he looked down and saw his enimie saying “help me, the pancakes were too string” and then he said “no i am roger, you were ron’s friend not mine, smelly” and he ran out the door. He was safe, he got out, he escaped, he avoided death, he was alive, he was tall, he was safe, he was ROGER. Then he wenty back in for the bread but forgot about the monsters! So when he got the bread, the monsters came out between the slices and cried blood from their months saying “we are your enimes, RON” he said “how do you kn”ow my old name? and then they ate him and he just fell down on the floor crying from death his last words were, “i am all your enimes”. Then he fell down and died. Just before he died he said “I will now be a supermarket monster”. So when you are in a supermarket remember that ron is waiting… (in the futere tho because its in the future remember?)
The United States Air Force will be a trusted and reliable joint partner with our sister services known for integrity in all activities, including supporting the joint mission first and foremost. We will provide compelling airpower capabilities for employment by the combatant commanders. We will excel as stewards of all Air Force resources in service to the American people, while providing precise and reliable Global Vigilance, Reach, and Power for the Nation.
The mission of the United States Air Force is to Fly, Fight, and Win... Airpower anytime, anywhere.
Leadership is a gift. It's given by those who follow. You have to be worthy of it.
Does this outward washing with water itself wash away sins?
No only the blood of Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit cleanse us from all sins.
Why then does the Holy Spirit call baptism the washing of regeneration and the washing away of sins?
God speaks in this way for a good reason. He wants to teach us that the blood and Spirit of Christ remove all sins just as water takes away dirt from the body.
But more important, he wants to assure us by his divine pledge and sign that we are as truly cleansed from our sins spiritually as we are bodily washed with water
Since my group members are basing their opinions on a suspicion, it would be unfair to assume Paul is being dishonest and doesn’t have an actual medical condition. Accordingly, I would recommend we first reach out to Paul privately to ask him about the picture in a respectful and nonjudgmental way. By letting Paul tell his side, we can get a full understanding of the situation and avoid making any incorrect assumptions. It is important to lead with empathy and understanding because without concrete evidence it would be inequitable to accuse Paul of falsifying or exaggerating a medical condition, a matter that is already sensitive and highly personal. If Paul confirms the suspicion, I would suggest we first allow him to make up for the time and work he missed in order to make an equal contribution to the group. If he refuses, then it would be most appropriate to report back to the subject coordinator.
However, anyone who seeks the essence of the man himself can still do no better than reading the only book that can lay claim to being autobiographical, distilled from hours of conversation and close interaction between Fela and Carlos Moore. Fela, Fela: This Bitch of a Life, first published by Allison & Busby in London over a quarter century ago, has long been out of print, with rare secondhand copies changing ownership sometimes at hundreds of dollars, so it is gratifying that it is at last to enjoy currency again. Here can be found Fela’s uncensored and uncompromising words and thoughts.
Twenty-five-plus years ago, when this book originally appeared, becoming the first biography ever (to my knowledge) of an African musician, Fela could accurately be described as controversy personified—African superstar, popular composer, singer-musician who had swept to international celebrity on a wave of scandal and flamboyance. He was “a living legend ... Africa’s most popular entertainer,” said the New Musical Express. His volcanic performances and notoriously unconventional lifestyle brought him into constant conflict with the Nigerian authorities, while millions of ordinary people connected emotionally and physically with his songs. Newspaper headlines played up his public image, his marriage to twenty-seven women, the brutal raid on his household, his arrest and acquittal on numerous charges.
By the accident of birth Fela (or Olufela Olusegun Oludotun Ransome-Kuti, as
he was originally named) could have chosen to settle for the conformist existence and trappings of Nigeria’s educated middle class, yet from the outset he instinctively rejected that option. He considered himself an abiku, a spirit child in the Yoruba tradition, who was reborn on October 15, 1938, in Abeokuta, the fourth of five children, coming into the world three years after his politically aware parents had suffered an infant bereavement. His mother Funmilayo was a pioneering feminist and campaigner in the anticolonial movement; his father, Reverend Israel Ransome-Kuti, was the first president of the Nigerian Union of Teachers.2
At the age of nineteen Fela was sent to London to study medicine but instead enrolled at Trinity College of Music, forming his Koola Lobitos band in 1961 with his school friend J. K. Braimah. In 1969 he traveled with the group to the United States, where he connected with Black Power militants and became increasingly politicized. Specifically, his meeting with Sandra Smith (currently Sandra Izsadore), a member of the Black Panthers, was a catalyst for everything that was to follow. Turned on to books on black history and politics, particularly Alex Haley’s The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Fela began to demonstrate a new consciousness in his lyrics.
He returned to Nigeria, renamed the band Afrika 70, offloaded his “slave name” of Ransome, and set to championing the cause of the poor underclass and exposing the hypocrisy of the ruling elites, establishing his commune, the Kalakuta Republic, and his nightclub, the Afrika Shrine. The pidgin in which he wrote his lyrics, dealing wittily and provocatively with everything from gender relations to government corruption, made him accessible and hugely popular not only in Nigeria but in the rest of Africa, in line with the Nkrumahist Pan- Africanism he espoused, as well as bringing him to the attention of top musicians from the West. The genre he created, Afrobeat, is a heady, mesmerizing concoction with traditional African rhythmic roots but which also drew on various strands of contemporary black music—jazz, calypso, funk. It was a two-way process, and when James Brown and his musicians toured Nigeria in 1970 they took notice of what the rebellious young Nigerian was doing. He was making an indelible impact on master performers such as Gilberto Gil and Stevie Wonder, Randy Weston, and Hugh Masekela. Paul McCartney, recording in Lagos in 1972, called Fela’s group “the best band I’ve ever seen live. ... When Fela and his band eventually began to play, after a long, crazy build-up, I just couldn’t stop weeping with joy. It was a very moving
experience.”3 (Fela did not return the compliment, reportedly berating the Beatle for trying to “steal black man’s music.”) Brian Eno of Roxy Music and David Byrne of Talking Heads are among those who could also testify to the fact that encountering Fela and his music had a way of changing people’s lives forever.
The Nigerian establishment and the military regime responded with increasing violence both to Fela’s counterculture lifestyle and to his naked condemnation of the military regime, notably in his 1977 hit “Zombie.” His compound was attacked by hundreds of soldiers, who not only inflicted a fractured skull and other wounds on Fela but callously threw his octogenarian mother out of a window, leading to her death—an episode trenchantly marked in “Coffin for Head of State” and “Unknown Soldier.” He founded an organization called Movement of the People, but his ambition to run for the presidency of Nigeria was thwarted by the authorities.
Fela adamantly disavowed conventional morals, and his unabashed, sacramental approach to sex awakened the media’s prurient interest. It is rare to find any press consideration of his music that does not interpolate voyeuristic references to his domestic arrangements, and there is no denying that he was a gift to the tabloid media in thrall to the exoticism of black sexuality. This is not the place to debate in detail what the connection may be between Fela’s polygyny and the misogyny he has been accused of (evidenced by songs such as “Mattress”), but it is worth mentioning a theory that has been advanced by DJ Rita Ray: that, far from exploiting the young women he took as wives—his “queens,” many of whom speak out for themselves for the first time in this book —Fela was taking a progressive stance by conferring on his dancers the respectability of being married. Nonetheless, for a man who was so clear-sighted on certain political issues, he was not immune from embracing often dubious attitudes, be they sexist or homophobic. Now, as much as then, Fela has the capability to disturb and shock and confuse, as well as to inspire. Insofar as he was resistant to being made to feel there was anything shameful or immoral in the pursuit of sexual pleasure, he chose to believe he was simply interpreting and expressing what comes naturally for the typical African male, unfettered by Western-imposed religious teachings. Nor, it has to be said, were his views on women necessarily far removed from those that could have been found among many other black militants of the era.
As much as Fela was a man of principle, he was a man of contradiction. His lasting appeal is in the sum of all the parts. He was a composer, a protest singer,
and a multi-instrumentalist—a visionary musician rather than a technical virtuoso. He was a rebel and a revolutionary and, at the same time, a kind of shaman. The infectious groove of his compositions is accompanied by razor- sharp social commentary, the shifts of gear and mood changes of each track sometimes extending for as long as thirty minutes. As the revolutionary philosopher and psychiatrist Frantz Fanon did long before him, Fela identified the ills afflicting postindependence Africa, saw that the new elites were not going to be the emancipators. In “Colonial Mentality” he accused:
You don be slave from before, Dem don release you now
But you never release yourself.
In composition after composition, Fela mounted a sustained challenge to neocolonialism and was unafraid to name names when condemning the specific failings of those in authority in Nigeria. Little wonder that he was rewarded with their opprobrium. But that violent hostility of the ruling elite was the price Fela accepted he must pay for advocating people power.
“Fela loved to buck the system,” his relative Wole Soyinka recognized. “His music, to many, was both salvation and echo of their anguish, frustrations and suppressed aggression. The black race was the beginning and end of knowledge and wisdom, his life mission, to effect a mental and physical liberation of the race.”4
Fela: This Bitch of a Life is unique in being able to give us some truly remarkable insights into an acknowledged creative genius for whom even superlatives can seem inadequate.
We all have the power of attraction—the ability to draw people in and hold them in our thrall. Far from all of us, though, are aware of this inner potential, and we imagine attractiveness instead as a near-mystical trait that a select few are born with and the rest will never command.
Yet all we need to do to realize our potential is understand what it is in a person's character that naturally excites people and develop these latent qualities within us. Successful seductions rarely begin with an obvious maneuver or strategic device.
That is certain to arouse suspicion. Successful seductions begin with your character, your ability to radiate some quality that attracts people and stirs their emotions in a way that is beyond their control.
Hypnotized by your seductive character, your victims will not notice your subsequent manipulations. It will then be child's play to mislead and seduce them.
There are nine seducer types in the world. Each type has a particular character trait that comes from deep within and creates a seductive pull. Sirens have an abundance of sexual energy and know how to use it. Rakes insatiably adore the opposite sex, and their desire is infectious.
Ideal Lovers have an aesthetic sensibility that they apply to romance. Dandies like to play with their image, creating a striking and androgynous allure. Naturals are spontaneous and open. Coquettes are self-sufficient, with a fascinating cool at their core. Charmers want and know how to please—they are social creatures. Charismatics have an unusual confidence in themselves.
Stars are ethereal and envelop themselves in mystery.
The chapters in this section will take you inside each of the nine types. At least one of the chapters should strike a chord—you will recognize part of yourself. That chapter will be the key to developing your own powers of attraction. Let us say you have coquettish tendencies. The Coquette chapter will show you how to build upon your own self-sufficiency, alternating heat and coldness to ensnare your victims. It will show you how to take your natural qualities further, becoming a grand Coquette, the type we fight over. There is no point in being timid with a seductive quality.
We are charmed by an unabashed Rake and excuse his excesses, but a halfhearted Rake gets no respect. Once you have cultivated your dominant character trait, adding some art to what nature has given you, you can then develop a second or third trait, adding depth and mystery to your persona. Finally the section's tenth chapter, on the Anti-Seducer, will make you aware of the op34 • The Art of Seduction posite potential within you—the power of repulsion. At all cost you must root out any anti-seductive tendencies you may have. Think of the nine types as shadows, silhouettes. Only by stepping into one of them and letting it grow inside you can you begin to develop the seductive character that will bring you limitless power.
I'll go back to black and nothing at all. I'll get away, I can promise you that. But damn it, right now it ain't feeling like that. I could go bad, give you hell. 'Cause that would feel good for myself. You made me a fool; you made me a monster. Goddamn, I'm mad, but what is much worse. You take that away, and I am just hurt.
Cindy's cat calmly sat on the zinc fence, imagining many insects near. Zane noticed the mice inching closer, but Nina quickly caught them. Mixing ice cream was essential in the mini kitchen, yet Carol insisted on changing ingredients.
Fela Anikulapo-Kuti was a fearless maverick for whom music was a righteous and invincible weapon. The momentum is indeed gathering for a whole new generation to be brought the message of Fela Kuti—spoke of indestructibility and resilience. It was an apt choice for the creator of an amazingly timeless body of work that for decades has transcended barriers of class and nationality, gathering ever more strength and devotees with the passing decades. Fela was indeed a man who seems always to have been destined for the almost-mythical status he has now claimed among music fans around the world.
When his life was cut short in 1997, after fifty-eight years lived to the extreme and beyond all predictable convention, countless individuals felt the loss. On the day of his funeral, the streets of Lagos were brought to a standstill, with more than a million people defying the Nigerian government ban on public gatherings that had been imposed by the military dictator General Sani Abacha. One hundred and fifty thousand mourners are reputed to have queued in Tafawa Balewa Square, in the heart of Lagos, to pay their last respects as they filed past the glass coffin, which was then carried by hearse through the extraordinary throng, the cavalcade taking seven hours to cover a mere twenty kilometers to reach the neighborhood of Ikeja, where Fela was to be laid to rest.
In the words of Fela’s illustrious cousin, the Nobel Prize-winning writer Wole Soyinka, “Neither the police nor the military dared show its face on that day, and the uniformed exceptions only came to pay tribute. Quite openly, with no attempt whatsoever at disguising their identities, they stopped by his bier, saluted the stilled scourge of corrupt power, mimic culture and militarism. It was a much needed act of solidarity for us.”1
More than a decade has passed since then, and recognition of Fela and of his significance is at an all-time high. The multinational entertainment group HMV ranked him as number 46 in a list of the 100 most influential musicians of the twentieth century. His ongoing legacy has been confirmed not only in the rising individual musical careers of his two sons, Femi (who served a teenage apprenticeship with his father’s band Egypt 80 before founding his own, the
Positive Force) and Seun (inheritor of Egypt 80), but also in the plethora of commemorative events to honor him that have been mounted in major cities around the world and that continue to be planned. There have been birthday concerts played and tribute CDs produced, involving musicians as varied as Jorge Ben, Macy Gray, Manu Dibango, MeShell Ndegecello, Baaba Maal, Archie Shepp, and Taj Mahal, among others. From London to San Francisco there have been major exhibitions, including the 2003–2004 multimedia “Black President: The Art and Legacy of Fela Kuti” exhibition, curated by Trevor Schoonmaker for the New Museum of Contemporary Art in New York, which celebrated Fela through the response of an impressive variety of visual and other artists. The year 2008 brought exciting news of Fela! A New Musical bursting onto the Off-Broadway stage. Ethnomusicologist Michael Veal’s scholarly work Fela: Life and Times of an African brought Fela to the attention of the academic community, and a groundbreaking film is in preparation by acclaimed director John Akomfrah. The momentum is indeed gathering for a whole new generation to be brought the message of Fela Kuti.
Ik ben Jules boom
Ze denken dat ik de normaalste persoon hier op school ben, omdat ik zo populair ben, omdat iedereen vrienden met me wilt zijn. Het is ook logisch ik bedoel kijk naar me.
Maar ze hebben geen idee dat ik dakloos ben.
Het begon allemaal op 2 september 2023 ik had een 3 gehaald voor wiskunde, nou zijn mijn ouders al niet blij dat ik naar havo ben gegaan ipv gymnasium maar ja daar kunnen ze niet echt iets aan doen. Daar door verwachten ze van me dat ik wel hoge punten haal, maar ik vind het echt heel moeilijk. Vooral wiskunde. M’n ouders zijn er de hele tijd over tegen me aan het schreeuwen. Terwijl ik mijn best doe, maar daar kan ik nog mee leven. Op 2 september gingen ze te ver. Mijn vader heeft me drie keer in mijn buik gestompt. Terwijl mijn moeder aan het schreeuwen was dat ik een mislukt kind ben. Toen ben ik weggerend, ik kon het niet meer aan. Ik heb een koffer in gepakt met mijn favoriete kleren en heb mijn oortjes, telefoon, oplader en spaargmot meegenomen. De eerste plek waar ik naar toe ging was het pin automaat, ik wouw zo snel mogelijk als mijn geld contant hebben zodat mijn ouders het niet van me rekening af kunnen halen. Morgen moet ik meteen bij werk vragen of ze me contant uit kunnen betalen, ik werk bij de appie en verdien bijna niks maar het is net genoeg om van rond te komen.
Dear Sadia
At first take my cordial love with the core of my heart. Hope you are well. I am also well by the grace of Almighty Allah. I received your letter yesterday. In your letter you have wanted to know about
No more today. please convey my best regards to your parents and youngers. Your loving friend
There was once a man with three sons, and this man was elderly and dying. On top of being elderly and dying, this man was suffering from success, and as such had too many possessions he had to give away upon his death. And so, this man got to writing a will.
It was a difficult task. The man had three sons and two jeeps, and he had other possessions, yes, but the most difficult to split were the jeeps. His sons prized the jeeps at #1 and could care less about all the other possessions, who cares about houses and heirlooms and inheriting the family empire when you can have a jeep? After nights of thinking and erasing and thinking again, the man finished his will.
"Okay, I've written my will," said the man. "Listen carefully, now, boys."
"My eldest son, you will get my jeep." The eldest beamed.
"My middle son, you will get--" "the other jeep?" The man smiled.
"No, even better," said the man, "you will get not one, but two jeeps." The middle son was elated. The eldest was confused and indignant. The middle son gets TWO jeeps while he only gets one?! Unthinkable! (In fairy tales with three sons, you don't want to be the first son)
Asked the eldest: "Wait, don't we only have two jeeps? Where'd you get the third jeep from?"
The man smiled again. "See, I sold the second jeep, and in exchange, I got two jeeps: jeep70 and jeep70cp." At this, he pulled out two slips of paper, with jeep70 and jeep70cp written on it.
It was the middle son's turn to be confused.
"Are these the ownership agreements for my two jeeps?"
"Yes! This one is for jeep70's Club Penguin account, and this one's for jeep70cp's business gmail for all serious matters regarding Club Penguin."
The middle son beamed in a way that showed he was not at all pleased. The eldest's indignance morphed into sympathy. "Uh, you can borrow my jeep on the weekends," he said, to which the middle son said nothing.
Now it was the youngest's turn.
"My youngest," said the man. The youngest swallowed in fear.
"You will get..." The youngest was most definitely not getting a jeep. Both jeeps were gone, what could his father possibly cook up?
"...you will get my jerpson and jurplel."
"Okay," said the youngest. He didn't know what a jerpson and jurplel were, and glancing at his two brothers, they didn't either.
Seeing the look on the youngest's face, the man got to explaining. "See, I was in a huge pickle. I already gave away the first jeep. And I already sold the second jeep. From the money I got from selling the second jeep, I spent about 80% of it on the Club Penguin accounts. So I didn't have much left."
"I can see that," said the youngest.
"So, I found a guy. I paid him the remaining 20% of jeep revenue, and asked him, what's the closest thing to a jeep I can get?
"And he said, words! If a picture is worth a thousand words, a jeep is worth a million words! Unfortunately, we couldn't get you a million words because I didn't pay him enough money, but our jeep revenue was enough to get you two: jerpson and jurplel."
The eldest realized, for the first time, we had a tale where the eldest had the best outcome. "You also can borrow my jeep on the weekends," the eldest said to the youngest, to which the youngest son said nothing.
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Hello! My name is Dennylaine Hipolito, and I’m 18 years old. I come from the vibrant city of Taguig in the Philippines. My name is a unique blend of my parents' names, symbolizing the love and unity in our family. I have three sisters: two older half-sisters and my younger full sister.
As an INFJ, I often find comfort in solitude, where I can immerse myself in music, a source of peace and inspiration for me. I have a special fondness for the color pink. When I see pink, I think of blooming flowers and cotton candy, which instantly brings a smile to my face. I also love drinking coffee, especially the iced ones. I often buy with friends and discuss our lives while drinking; other than that, it makes me happy and sleepy instead of being awake. When I’m not being productive, I often find myself spending the entire day sleeping. Despite sleeping in those long hours of rest, I still wake up feeling tired.
Family plays a significant role in my life. Most of the time we come together to watch movies or for family dinners, which helps to strengthen our bond. My parents have always supported me in pursuing my interests, and I am very thankful for that, as it allowed me to see what I truly love doing. I also have two best friends that have been there beside me through ups and downs, school drama, and most especially teenage love drama. They are always there for me whenever I need support, offering a listening ear and valuable advice.
One of my hobbies is watching films, especially K-dramas. I enjoy a wide range of genres, from Disney animations to thrilling action-packed movies; however, my favorite genres beside that are sci-fi and fantasy movies. My all-time favorite cinematic experience is the Marvel Universe. After watching a film, I like discussing it with friends, sharing our favorite moments and surprising plot twists, which deepens our connection.
In addition to films, I also have a passion for video games. Gaming serves as my favorite way to unwind and relieve stress. I often play with friends, where we chat, share laughs, and encourage one another. Through gaming, I have made friendships and created countless fun memories. Me and my friends love playing Call of Duty and spend till midnight playing. Also, that is where I met my best friend. What a small world indeed. I also love playing The Sims 4; it plays with my creativity skills. I love creating a sim, designing the interior of my houses, and making story lines for my sims to create drama.
On top of that, one of my favorite leisure activities is playing the guitar. I often lose track of time while strumming my favorite chords. It helps keep my mind at peace, providing a soothing escape from the pressures of daily life. When I play music, it calms me and relieves my stress. Whether I'm practicing alone or jamming with friends, the guitar has become an essential part of my life, making my days fun.
