#imagine losing your companion of 73 years...

[longitud-de-onda]

{un veneno} january: captivate

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; the year is 1980. javier peña has been at the embassy in bogotá for a year when he meets you, fresh out of college and brand new to the country. rating; nc-17 warnings; smoking, masturbation word count; 2.4k a/n; so this is a passion project of mine, it will be 12 chapters, full of fluff, smut, warm tropical nights, and later on, a lot of angst. bonus; there’s a playlist for the series! check it out here on spotify or message me for apple music

un veneno masterlist

“Quero um–no, fuck–un paquete de cigarros?” you said to the shop attendant. Spanish was no easy task. It was a dumb decision to come here without any knowledge of the language, but you had assumed some university-level Portuguese would help. Apparently not, because the man behind the counter shot you a confused look as he pulled a pack from the shelves behind them. He understood, that was clear, but you didn’t know the words.

“Ella quiere unas Pielrojas porfa, con filtro,” said a voice behind you, “No esos malditos y caros Marlboros. Bueno, que sean dos y yo pago.”

“Señor Peña, ¿cómo vas?” the shopkeeper said, and you turned to look at this ‘Señor Peña.’

He was a bit taller than you, and more than a bit older. Tanned skin, tight pants, a pink shirt. A large pair of orange-tinted sunglasses masked his eyes.

“Muy bién, Roberto, ¿y cómo va tu esposa?” He said, and the shopkeeper laughed. You only caught a few words of the exchange and were unsure if you were getting your cigarettes.

You flew into Bogotá the day before and had just gotten settled at the hostel you’d be staying in for the next couple of weeks. It had been a solid three days since you’d had a smoke and you wanted to go to the park nearby and relax.

The man turned to you and began to speak with a rough but refreshingly familiar American accent, tinged with the light musicality of the Southern states, “I’m sorry ma’am for the interruption, but Roberto here was going to try to sell you the Marlboros, which are much to overpriced, and I couldn’t let a pretty little thing like you get ripped off like that.”

“Thank you? But I can handle myself,” you said.

“Obviously not, you sound like you’re confusing Portuguese for Spanish, which just won’t cut it here,” he said, turning to pay for the two boxes that Roberto placed on the counter.

He tossed you one pack, which you fumbled with, clutching it against your stomach to ensure it didn’t fall. He laughed.

“That right there’s a pack of Pielroja, it’s loosely packed, so I hope you don’t mind, but it’s cheaper, local, and ten times better,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said. As interesting as the guy was, you really wanted to leave for the park. Colombia wasn’t your first rodeo, but somehow every new country was exhausting between the 24th and 32nd hour marks.

“You’re welcome,” he said as you brushed by him and walked out the door.

Outside the shop, you paused to fish your lighter out of your bag.

“So what’s an American girl doing in Bogotá all alone?” The man was back, standing in front of you.

“You just don’t stop, do you?”

“Not really, no,” he grinned, leaning back against the building.

You opened the pack of cigarettes he bought you, lit one, and drew it to your lips.

“So, do you like it?” he was messing around with his own box and pulled out one. He held it out to you, silently asking for you to light it. You complied.

You weren’t sure if he was talking about cigarettes or Bogotá. “It’s nice. So far,” you said, exhaling smoke.

He laughed again, this time bringing a smile to your face. He had a nice laugh.

“You never answered me, what are you doing here?”

“Teaching English at an elementary school nearby, I start next week,” you said.

His eyebrows shot up, “How old are you? 20?”

“22.”

“What kind of 22-year-old wants to be a schoolteacher?” he said.

“Me, apparently,” you said, “But it’s not my career or anything. Graduated last May, I’ve been traveling and teaching English, got a gig here, whole school year, pays pretty well, I’m excited.”

“You’re crazy,” he said, “22, fresh out of college, your only experience out of the states was probably in Europe, and you’re gonna teach kids? In Colombia?”

“What’s wrong with a bit of crazy?” you said.

“What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring your question.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said. You liked how he said your name. “I’m Javier.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said, staring at him propped up against the building.

The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and a thin sheen of sweat lay over his chest and face. Something about the look with the broad mustache made him appear like he was stuck in ‘73. His smile was one of those that reached the eyes and spilled into those around him.

You exhaled carefully.

“So, what are you doing in Colombia?” you asked.

“I work for the American embassy,” he said. There was a pause as he waited for the impressed look on your face that never came.

“What is this then, a welcome package?” you asked, chuckling to yourself.

“It could be,” he pushed himself off the wall and took another drag, “But then again, you’re only 22.”

“What does that have to—oh.” You found yourself laughing again. Javier was the sort of guy that you’d probably slap in the face back in the USA. But here, with the cloud cover doing nothing to mask the heat and humidity, the smell of papaya and passion fruit wafting through the air, you were only amused.

“See you around, Y/N,” Javier said, and he walked down the sidewalk before turning a corner and disappearing.

Five days of getting to know hundreds of students in different classes during the first week of school, all while trying to develop lesson plans, left you lying in your hostel bed on a Friday night. You were alone in the room, the rest of the residents out partying, as per usual for a hostel in the middle of a city.

You would have loved to be out too, Colombian Rock and rum thrumming through your body, dancing with someone, going home with someone.

But you had spent too much energy this week and partying would have to wait. You had a year left in Bogotá, at least another 50 Friday nights. Lesson planning would let up once you got into a rhythm. And figured out a living situation.

One of the other teachers had offered her spare bedroom during February and a bit of March, but her daughter would be back in town after that, and you’d lose the space. The wait until you got your own space in February felt far away. March even further. But planning for that needed to happen sooner rather than later. The hostel bed was killing you, and you hated the drunk guys coming and going.

At least you knew you’d be alone for another hour. No one dared come back before midnight; if you were caught calling it an early night it was certain fodder for shame the next morning. At least, that was the way your roommates worked.

Still, to be safe, you closed the curtain, encapsulating yourself on your bed in the darkness. You closed your eyes and slipped one hand down your stomach, dipping under the waistband of your pants and into your underwear.

As your fingers brushed over your clit, you let out a small gasp, your free hand fisting into the sheets. The last time you had been touched was over a month ago, back during the cold December winter weather in Brussels. You worked your hand across your slit, telling yourself this had to be a one-time thing. You would go out, find a good hookup this week.

Your brain was overworking, shuddering in pleasure, and the man from last week flickered across your vision: Javier.

You imagined his chest, the open shirt leaving a trail right down his chest, glowing in the sun. You slipped a finger inside, gasping at the sensation.

He would probably take you to bed if you played your cards right. If you found him again. He seemed to have that kind of character. You remembered his last words to you, suggestive and sensual.

He was older, probably by a lot. You shouldn’t be thinking about him, but you wanted him to hold you in his arms, kiss your neck. You imagined how he’d taste, probably like cigarettes and whiskey.

The thought of his hands snaking down your waist, pulling you closer almost sent you over and you moved your fingers faster. His smile, snarky and self-obsessed as it was, had worked its way into your brain, and you wondered where he was now.

Did he remember you? Had he laid in bed like you were now, getting himself off to your name? And that image, flooding into your brain, as unrealistic as it was, caused you to almost scream out loud, your whole body spasming.

Finally relaxed, your body almost limp on the bed, you became aware of the layer of sweat that now covered your body, and made up your mind to take a shower. As soon as you recover. That was the best orgasm you had had in months. But where had those thoughts come from?

You had only seen Javier that one time, right outside the corner store, then tried and failed to shove him out of your mind. In the few minutes you had known him, you had decided he was an asshole who didn’t deserve your time, but the sort of asshole you could see yourself becoming good friends with.

If he was years younger, you could have imagined traveling with him, continuing your round-the-world travels with Javier would have been amazing. You had seen so many things during your six months in Europe and met so many people. Many of the backpackers at the youth hostels you stayed at traveled with others. Mostly, they were single, their companions just good fun and friendship for the journey.

You had long since imagined meeting someone on the road like they did, someone that would sweep you off your feet and set aside a year of their life to spend with you, hopping from country to country, odd job to odd job.

Javier’s shit-eating grin and verbal wit would stick in your mind long after you left Colombia. And here you were, getting off to him.

If he lived in Bogotá? Worked at the embassy, probably lived nearby? You’d probably see him again. And you’d have to look at him in the eye, the only thing running through your mind the memory of tonight.

You wanted to see him again. Wanted to have lunch and smoke with him. Wanted him to show you around. But after what you just did, you didn’t know if that was possible.

Sex was no stranger to you, the one night stands being a common figure in your life throughout college, but even you wouldn’t go for someone as old as him. You had standards. A guy his age was reserved for friendship. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Until now.

“God, I’m fucked,” you breathed out, sitting up and gathering your shower stuff before heading to the bathroom.

Javier had returned to the corner store every day for the past two weeks, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. He was back today, 15:30, hopefully after school got out, he imagined, eyes scanning the store as he lingered by the refrigerators full of six-packs.

The bell rang as someone walked in and he looked up. You stood there, exhausted from a day of child-wrangling and his eyes lit up.

All you wanted was a bottle of something and a shitty candy bar. You were roaming the aisles, trying to settle between the foreign brands of chocolate when Javier approached.

“Y/N,” he said, causing you to startle as you looked up. A deep red blush began to blossom across your cheeks as you took him in. He was even better in person.

“Javier, what a coincidence, running into you here again,” that was a lie. You walked past four other stores just to come here, hoping he would be nearby.

“Yeah... a coincidence,” he said, reaching down to grab a candy bar. “This one’s the best, that is, if you like milk chocolate.”

“So two weeks later and all you’re still giving me local product recommendations? You should write for the newspaper,” you laughed, signaling you didn’t want the chocolate when he tried to hand it to you, “But you’d be wrong, because the only good chocolate is dark chocolate.”

“You like that bitter shit?” he said, still holding the bar in his hands.

You reached down for something that said 85% and figured that would be dark enough for you.

“Gross,” he said.

“You can leave,” you said.

You didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you want to go for a coffee?” he said. “You look exhausted.”

“Real good way to charm a woman,” it should have stung, but when Javier said it, you smiled.

“That, um, sounded bad, didn’t it?” his brow was furrowed and his smile was gone.

“Yeah, it did,” you kept smiling, hoping he would light up again. You wanted his excited face burnt into your memory. “So, what’s the best café around here?”

“Are you some kind of heathen who takes their coffee with no sugar or milk to go with your raw chocolate beans? If so, I have no suggestions because that’s disgusting.”

You laughed, loudly, with your whole body, “Unfortunately for you, I do. But if you give me a good café con leche I’ll drink it.”

“Good, because you’re not going to get away with that bar of chocolate and coffee with no add-ins.”

“I worry you have a sweet tooth and can’t appreciate good flavors,” you said. It was so easy to talk with him. He knew exactly what to say to keep you smiling as he leaned against the display like he owned the place.

“I don’t have a sweet tooth, you just like your food to hurt you,” he said, “Let’s go, there’s a good café down the block.”

He reached out to grab your hand and you almost lost it. His palm was soft and his grip firm.

Javier led you to the register where he flung his arm around your shoulders, “Roberto, te acuerdas de Y/N, ¿verdad?”

Roberto chuckled, ringing up your two chocolate bars, “Por supuesto.”

He leaned towards you and said, in broken English, “Careful. Señor Peña is crazy man, yes? He is flirt but he doesn’t mean it.”

Javier laughed, “No somos una pareja, Roberto, somos amigos. Solo amigos.”

You understood that part. You were friends. You grinned. After just ten minutes of talking over two weeks, Javier thought of you as a friend.

next: february: blossom

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights (tumblr isn’t letting me tag so idk if these show up in your notifs)

#javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #un veneno fic #camila writes #rated e #under 5 #reader #fluff #pedro fics #narcos fics #javi x reader

[scartale-an-undertale-au]

holocaust memorial eve 2021 and thoughts

another year, another ceremony, another set of stories all somehow hitting me from new directions, showing me how no matter how many stories i'll hear, i'll never see all the tiny little grooves this war dug into my brothers and sisters, may their memories be blessed. (יהי זכרם ברוך)

and this year, after the corona, after vaccinating more than half the country and dealing with elderly dropping like flies throughout the year... it's scary.

we're losing more and more of those who experienced the horrors of the war. the first accounts of the monstrosities. and we can already see people grasping onto that fact and happily denying the holocaust ever happening. see poland washing their hands from the blood they showered in, the spikes in antisemitism in europe, and israel dealing with the corona crisis while knowing we can't be given a moment to be truly weak unless we want to lose everything.

all of us are just people. people stepping up to help, people using the situation for their gain, people just trying to survive the day, the hour, the minutes.

i returned to campus on monday and the last year suddenly felt like a fever dream. it was like i was back to last year and going to my normal courses.

and if that was like that after a year of crisis (and isn't that sad that wars or constant tension aren't an actual crisis for israel anymore since we learned our lesson from the '73 war? i still remember people confused about not having another big operation after '14) i can only imagine returning after the war and simply trying to return to normal life.

does it feel like everything never happened? does it feel like you're already dead and simply having a last second flash of a whole lifetime? are you even conscious? what if you're still in the war and are dreaming this whole thing?

maybe feeling like a walking ghost, slowly trying to find footing in this new world you have found yourself in, without family or with scraps of your loved ones trying to do the same as you. maybe finding yourself in another war of your own choosing, as you pick up a gun and go defend the only last shred of hope of having an actual safe place for you and your loved ones - living and not yet born.

i am rambling, i know... but knowing the the jewish population world wide still haven't reached the number we had pre-holocaust... it's frustrating. it's so hard to built and so easy to destroy. i keep waking up with the bone deep dread of looking at the news and finding out israel is no more and by now it's so part of me i am no longer bothered by it. it's simply a constant companion, waving at me each time i read another article about the issues in the government filled with babies squabbling with each other. another article about the many issues we're facing now after the mishandling of the crisis.

and i keep wondering. how it must feel to see everything seemingly crumble after living through all of this... because the dread i hold already from a young age, they probably felt for longer and have more knowledge of how is it to be without a safe haven.

to no longer be safe... knowing the world won't extend you a kind hand even after all the good you have brought to it.

how jews are dismissed, their good nature and deeds twisted and erased so that others can be turned against them. how no matter what we do, we are blamed for everything.

*sad chuckle* reminds me of this joke my mom told me which i can't remember from where it is. the joke goes: 'two jews read newspapers. one reading the regular one looks up to see his friend reading an antisemitic newspaper and is scandalized. and he says: my friend, how can you read it? and the friend says: this is actually a much better read. in the usual newspapers there are so many bad news and bad stuff happening to us. but the antisemitic newspapers makes us look so cool and succeeding. like, we rule the world! we have money! that sounds amazing! i wish i was that guy!'

*giggle* i know, a bit morbid, but honestly? the jewish idea of 'if you want to cry, joke about it' works like a charm each time.

if you can ignore the tear stained pillows.

i am rambling even more *nervous giggling* oops? i should probably stop just writing everything going through my brain. we were talking about the holocaust, no?

i should probably wrap it up...

uh... cherish living. it's not a granted thing. cherish being able to go anywhere you want. many in the world right don't have that privilege and the corona restricted many as well.

...if you read all of that... thank you? *sheepish* have a good night ^^

may we meet again in happier occasions. (נפגש בשמחות)

#memorial holocaust day #יום השואה והגבורה

[shortstoriesmk]

Who Called The Uber?

Who Called The Uber?

by Massi Kabir

 Of course, I could tell you now, that my natural curiosity for everything outside the walls of everyday dullness brought me here. That I love flirting with one of my many fears, seducing her, just to slit her throat during one of our first dates.

I could tell you that I think of my comfort zone as a purple ugly pajama, which, whenever my courage lets me, I happily trade for nudity.

There is certainly truth to these points, and yet, they all would undermine the immense irrational power of a man's lust in his early 30's.

So, if you are really wondering who called that Uber last night, let me tell you:

 My dick did.

  So this is how it went:

 One last check in front of the mirror. I like what I see and tell myself silently, "You look fresh, brother".

It's probably mostly my nerves talking, but yes, I did somehow find that sweet spot between under- and overdressed. I can tell that my white button-up shirt and black leather shoes are happy to know that funerals are not their only reason to exist. I promise them something special for tonight. The casual green jeans and a black blazer add to my contentment and make me put my shoulders back. I do that because I recently read that we, humans, derive from the lobsters. Apparently, their postures tell a lot about their ranking within their dominance hierarchy. Low posture, low rank. A balanced upright posture is supposed to increase serotonin levels, which ultimately results, along with other benefits, in better mating opportunities. I believe that, and hence, push my chest out, eager to kiss the world with my nipples.

Lastly, I grab my deo roller. I tell it that I need some more tonight and that armpits ain't enough. It knows I quit perfume a long time ago and hence, complies loyally doing the extra shift while I take it on an extended trip over my body's skin.

 Finally, in the Uber, I count my breaths like a Zen Buddhist despite knowing I'll never be one. I admit to myself that I'm a nervous bloke under the leadership of his lust and throw the driver a grin through his stained rear-view mirror. With every inhale, there is a hail of bravery echoing inside of me. ‘14 minutes till arrival’, says the app that managed to erase my interest in public transport forever. Enough time for me to consider changing the number of open shirt buttons from two to three.

It's a gamble, I know. But, it could pay off. I mean, they will see that my chest has not given birth to much hair yet, but, on the other hand, 3 open buttons demonstrate a sense of willingness and availability. And, in a place like the one I am about to enter, these two attributes are dominating currencies.

So, three it is.

The Uber drops me in front of number 73.

I ring the bell. 80 seconds later, a shrill tone cuts off my stream of doubts, whether this is the right address or not, and lets me open the gate. My balls are hoping it's the gate to heaven. Everything is possible right now. I feel it. I head towards the house.

 A plum, too dry to open doors like that, welcomes me while I gaze at her face. The sperms I brought, that a minute ago were still arguing about who would be the first in line, suddenly start to sympathize with the idea of retreat. Within seconds, the old lady's hands swallow my €80 while her noisy décolleté goes fishing for my eyeballs. My deep Zen breathing turns all the sudden shallow and, my pulse climbs a little mountain, while my face tries its best to not give it away. Then, I stare through the second entrance door, which is out of glass. I already get the feeling that it probably does a better job of serving as an exit.

Whatever. It's too late to get my bucks back and too early to decide to remain clothed, so vamos.

 I'm somewhere in the outskirts of Lisbon inside a villa that will probably never live up to that title.

The smoke in the air forms a maze for my vision. But, it's ok. It doesn't take much vision anyway to understand that pants are outnumbering skirts in this cave that smells like filth. During its amateur application process for this event, I raised the question on WhatsApp of how many people would attend.

‘100’ was the answer. Now, finding myself looking at an empty dance floor, I feel this strong urge to sue the former math teacher of whoever typed that ridiculously inaccurate reply.

The plum, sensing the swelling of my disappointment, urges me to come with her for a little house viewing before I start mingling. If her whole outfit wouldn't scream so loud, "Please, fuck me!" I might have understood her real name when she mentioned it earlier on my arrival. The syllables of her name, however, got swallowed instantly by the kanon that her different overexposed body parts sing tonight. Off-key, sadly.

I follow her walking up the stairs. Her moment to wave her ass cheeks right in my face. She knows what she is doing and does so in pride, reminding me of a patriot waving his country's flag. It has to be a patriot from somewhere within the European Union, though, ‘cause, something is telling me that the borders of her ass must be equally open. The upper floor is dark and arranged with cold walls that shape rooms that are meant to host strangers engaging in the warmest act that God has ever invented for us.

In the aisle, we pass a closed wooden door. "We can't go in here, right now," she informs me, "there are people inside, fucking!" She says that in a fashion more causal than a 'Fruit of the Loom' shirt. In particular, the word "fucking" and the way it sounds trespassing her slightly chapped lips has me irritated immensely. I mean sure, there is not much romance to the word by default anyway, never was. But her tonality and the way she lets the word roll over her tongue makes me somehow want to commit to vanilla sex for the rest of a monogamous life.

The tour through the upper floor continues. She calls it her 'dream villa'. I get introduced to Dark room, glory whole wall, various single rooms, two open fucking spaces, and a little cage. Except for the one room that was closed, it is all still empty here; no sweat yet, no moans, no ripped condom packages. She goes on about how she built it all on her own, how this is all a product of her imagination, and how it took her 6 years to bring this place to where it is right now.

I pretend caring while she keeps massaging her ego. I am too caught up to be real with her. I am still disturbed. I mean, why would she treat the word "fucking" like that? It was this cold aggression in her voice that bugged me. As if she had stored it inside the bottom freezer box of her vocabulary's fridge and made it a habit to bend for it whenever she felt like rebelling onto the world. The hobby psychologist inside me senses that trauma made her a rebel – a rebel that fights with the weapons of vulgarity, just to cover up scars of a past encounter with a cheap replica of love. We all have been there, some way or another, so I try my best not to judge her. And still, I hate her.

The f word always was something holy for me, especially out of a woman's mouth. A real lady chooses to use it scarcely, and that's where the magic lingers. Only when a man has already done the necessary, to own the right to hear her language go south, will she choose to dip her words in dirt. Nothing is sweeter for a man than having a well-spoken lady using the f word for the first time while whispering in his ear the request to penetrate her so she can lose her brain. Needless to say, this plum seems to have lost its sweetness a very long time ago.

 We go downstairs again, and I drop my blazer at the cloakroom. Her "see you later" is featured by a gaze of her eyes that tells me that she has plans to liberate me from more than just my blazer at a later point this night.

With her leaving my side, I have finally arrived at my first swinging party. Officially. I welcome myself with a beer that I order from the bar. I speak from my balls while I do so, oiling my vocal cords with some fabricated confidence. The truth, however, is I am nervous.

I came alone tonight in order to not to be alone tonight. I came to let my lust off its leash. Yes. Nobody can see it, but I wear a mask at this moment, one of my favorite ones; it's called anonymity. I am leaning at the bar facing the dance floor and nervously swim in this sensation this mask provides me with, all while sipping on this lukewarm beer. Being anonymous means being a nobody to everybody. It's a chance to flip your skin and dance life with a different set of steps for a little while. You can be a dervish under the disco ball of life, at least temporarily.

But here is the downside: anonymity is a very fragile phenomenon, it cracks the longer you stick around. People get to know you, open their boxes and throw you inside one of them, without caring if you break or not. This makes life easier for them and harder for you.

Right now, however, leaning on this bar, sipping on this bottle, I can feel that I am box-free. I can be whoever I want to be, or better, whoever I am.

This sense of freedom, mixed with the alcohol that starts curving through my veins, calms me down, and I decide to make my way to the other end of the room. My chest stays out, of course, it's mingling time.

 I scanned the room already for all its potential and could only find one young lady that I really desire to undress instantly. I am heading towards her, and position myself next to her, and her male companion, who could be her husband, it's hard to tell. Sure is, they are close to each other and seem to have found a nice way of throwing and catching each other’s smiles. I can tell by the way they treat each other. It looks like love that already ripened for some years. 'Their sex must be good', I am thinking. At the same time, I wonder, 'Why are they here then? Why are they not at home with some candles and a record player spinning a Marvin Gay vinyl?’ They are in their early 40's, I am guessing, which makes me wonder if they have children. If so, what did they tell them where they are going tonight? Theater? Cinema? Dinner with friends? And did they hire a babysitter? The nerd in me wants to know now how many millions have been spent in the history of the world on babysitters so parents can go and exchange body fluids with strangers in a place where glory holes adorn walls. 'The world is sick,' I am thinking, 'in a sweet way. And so am I.'

I heard once that one should always stick to the '3-second rule' when planning to approach his object of desire. That means it should be avoided at all cost to spend more than three-seconds contemplating on the execution of the approach. Now all this thinking got me already to second 42 and I am feeling how hesitation gets the better of me. What if they reject me? What if they don't speak English? What if I am not their type? What will the others think of me when they see how I am getting rejected? All these amateur questions start to vomit over my mind and leave me crippled in the corner, three meters away from the couple my dick would like to have a threesome with.

I tell myself, 'there will be another, better chance later' and shift my focus back to the poorest dance floor I have seen in years.

There is some movement happening. The light is getting dimmed and the plum tells people to make some space for what is about to come. Then she starts speaking with a man whose size reminds me of a vintage wardrobe. His arms are filled with ink and his veins tell an ugly story about steroids. All of a sudden, mid through the conversation, she starts pointing at me and explains to him eagerly something which clearly involves me and my presence. After her briefing, he promptly makes his way towards me. While he does so, he reminds me of a big dog who is going for his bone, which Mama just threw for him. His eyes are getting bigger and there is a rising amount of saliva flowing in his mouth. I dislike the fact that she chose me to be the bone in this scenario, but I guess our brief sighting-seeing tour made her believe that we have a special connection or something. My fault, I should stop being nice to people I hate.   

 I'll never know his name, but there is a 99% chance that his name is Joao, Pedro, or Miguel. The Portuguese are special people, very sensitive and creative. I love them. But when it comes to naming their children, it seems like creativity and originality are two players they constantly put on the bench.

The walking wardrobe, who looks like a 'Pedro' to me, reaches me and screams in my ear:

"Come! She wants you to come."

Maybe he even said:

"Come! She wants you to cum."

Not sure about it, but honestly, in this place, these two sentences point in the very same direction. His right palm eats my left arm as he tries to pull me closer towards his plum, who is waiting on the edge of her small yet still under-crowded dance floor. I brush his hand off my limb and tell him to chill, asking what he wants from me. Pedro repeats his sentence in his broken English and lets eventually go off me. There is some tension between us, I can tell, and so can the few people around us. I'm not a short bloke, but Pedro's height exceeds mine by minimum seven centimetres and he is certainly physically stronger than me. Now that he is so close, I can witness the distinctive features in his face and start reading a bit of the story that is written inside his mime. It's a story of pain, I can tell by the tension of the muscular tissue in his face and the corners of his mouth, which seem to travel more often south rather than north.

I always thought of pain as a huge house, something like a villa. And if sadness is the main hall inside that villa, then aggression is something like the entrance hall or lobby. Behind aggression always lives sadness. Behind every fist always hides a tear. Looking at Pedro now makes me believe that he somehow got stuck in that lobby of pain and that for every tear he swallowed, one of his enemies had to swallow one of his jewelry-adorned fists. I don't want to swallow his fist. Not now, not here, not in this filthy cave that he calls his kingdom.

So, I walk up to the plum with him and ask her, “What's the matter?” She tells me: "You are way too sexy to be standing there all on your own, honey. Sit down here next to my friend". She points at the small sofa next to her, right on the dance floor. Her friend is a lady in her late 30's, a couple of years older than me, who refuses to hide her crooked, brownish teeth, while she grins at me. A small wave of disgust breaks inside me. I usually feel great sympathy for people who carry their imperfections with dignity and some sort of pride because it can show confidence, and confidence has always been a sexy thing to me. But like with everything, there is a line. And unfortunately, her set of teeth is crossing that line by miles.

Despite the lack of resonance I'm feeling, I decide to sit down next to her. I guess Pedro and the plum left some sort of intimidating impression on me, otherwise, I can't tell why I would ever sit on this couch. On her right sits another man, roughly my age, who seems, besides me, to be the only man that picked a white button-up shirt as his attire for this night, which was supposed to be a glorious one. He looks happier and way more at ease compared to me. 'Why am I sitting here? What the fuck am I doing here?' I'm asking myself, while I feel this pressure inside my body. In my mind, I'm comparing this pressure, with how a woman must feel when she is pregnant. I came here, being impregnated by lust, trying to give birth to one of my shadows that lingers in a room inside of me, where society and all its conventions have no access to. But now, sitting on this damn couch, getting my thigh stroked by a woman that never believed in dentistry, I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that tonight, this pregnancy is about to end in a miscarriage. ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’

My pulse climbs again this mountain as I'm starting to understand what is about to happen here. The light is being dimmed, even more, a new song, even worse than the one before, is being played and the plum approaches the pole, which is decorating the center of the dance floor. Her time has come. The plum strip show is about to happen. Finally or, sadly. Depending on whom you ask in here. I stay with my opinion that she is way too old for these type of things. There should be a universal pole dance law in place, forbidding women with a certain amount of wrinkles in her face to ever touch a pole and charge money for it, I'm thinking. I reminisce about my €80 entry fee and what else I could have done with it. There was a commercial by a charity, which I spotted the other day, claiming it would cost only €40 to save a life in Africa. And here I am now, watching these two old white breasts stroking a pole in an unpopular swinging club, somewhere in Portugal, all while I could have saved two beautiful black twins, somewhere in Africa. Bravo!

The strip show continues, and I'm carefully watching her movement and the way she carries herself, sliding around this pole with her 10 cm high heels on. I need to give her some credit even though I struggle somehow finding the right words for it. Maybe for the effort. Or maybe, for the past potential that used to be there. I can imagine how, at a time, when her body didn't show any plum resemblance yet, this pole and these heels used to be her key into a world full of decadence and successful businessmen, who liked to spoil her with material things, after they got their naked part of the deal. Time took this key from her one day like it does to all pretty ladies. Time threw that key overboard into the inevitable ocean of evanescence, and she jumped right after it trying to catch it again and again, without notable success to this day. No anti-aging cream, no surgeon, and no dance pole can prevent that key from hitting the ocean bed. Thinking about this, I almost feel sorry for her. Maybe, it was not her fault. Maybe, we are to blame; we men, by tricking pretty ladies into betting all their chips on their beauty, and making them believe this winning streak will last forever. Sadly, it doesn't.

Physical beauty serves the eyes. And the eyes of humans are little hungry monsters. Monsters that like to eat only one thing and one thing only: Symmetry. Like a dog loves to chew on a bone, our eyes enjoy chewing on symmetry; the more, the better. We simply can't get enough of it. Take the face of Kate Moss, for instance. It's like a five-star dish for these two monsters inside our face, especially for the heterosexual men among us. Scientists discovered that the length and width of a face, as well as the distance between and women's mouth and her eyes, determines how attractive she is to men. Ms. Moss apparently got extremely lucky the day that God handed out facial length and width measures because the distance between the middle of her eyes and her mouth is about 46% of the width of her face, which is supposed to be the "golden ratio". The face of this pole dancing plum in front of me, however, has, apart from those oval over-sized earrings hanging from her lobes, literally nothing golden to offer any more. Time has eaten her symmetry.

As she continues to chase her younger self on this pole, with movements that were not invented for a body aged like hers, she starts looking in our direction. We, the three people on this purple couch, are having the courtside seats in this arena of filth. No one is closer to the action. I'm feeling a bit like Jack Nicholson in the Staples Center or Spike Lee in the Madison Square Garden. Probably more like Mr. Lee, to be honest, since the Knicks seem to have performed equally bad in recent years, just like the plum is now. She starts walking up to us. I'm surprised how stable her walk is, considering her age in combination with those stupidly long heels she is wearing. Personally, I never had a thing for heels; it never did much to me, seeing a girl walking around all stiff and unnatural like that. Marilyn Monroe supposedly said once, "We owe the man who invented high heels so much." I never had a clue what she was talking about until I read again about some scientists that claimed high heels make women's feet look more petite and therefore overall, more attractive to men. Well, I'm a man, and one of the coolest girls I ever dated, came in flip flops to our first date, and instantly gave birth to a butterfly in my belly. But that's maybe for another story. Sure is, I would have made Marilyn wear some Birkenstock's before starting to penetrate her.

So, as the plum arrives at the sofa, she grabs the hand of the other guy and pulls him towards a chair that Pedro, in the meantime, has put right next to the pole. A new song is being played, and she starts lap dancing on the guy who might share with me the affinity for white button-up shirts but certainly not the taste in women. Some people start whistling and yelling little sounds of excitement while her ass takes a hike up his lap, planting a little lump between his legs. I stare at the grin he parked in his face and discover, to my surprise, that it's really a genuine one. The muscles in our face have always fascinated me; they are like a lie detector. I can always tell by someone's facial expressions how close they live to authenticity in a given moment. A fake smile relaxes fast, too fast. On a genuine smile, the corners of the mouth go back calmly and smoothly, to its neutral position, it relaxes slowly. As I keep witnessing this, for me, rather tragic performance, I can clearly see that the guy is genuinely happy and pleased. Pleased by a woman that I named plum the first minute I caught sight of her; a dry plum to be exact.

I feel like an alien that is stranded on a planet that is illiterate to the language of sex and erotic. Where lust is a hyper-inflated currency, making anyone a millionaire, whipping his ass with bills whenever his hormones hand him a dose of horniness. An alien always feels lonely. A feeling of loneliness can only flourish when there is, for whatever reason, no ground or space for sharing. We share by communicating, mostly through language, which is mostly transmitted spoken or through our bodies. My genitals clearly speaks Suaheli compared to the others in here, so how on earth would I ever be able to communicate and share anything in this cave?

Next to me, still sits the lady with the crooked smile, still rubbing my thigh, still refusing to see a dentist. Just like the interior design of her mouth lacks order and alignment, I am starting to lack some patience. Nothing of what my five senses have been absorbing in the last 70 minutes has been really to my liking, and something is telling me that the worst is yet to come if I don't take immediate action. The little mathematician inside my currently confused brain starts doing his job and calculates the probability of me being next in line for a lap dance, like the one I am forced to watch right now. Considering the fact that I'm the only remaining male on this couch, which feels like a substitute bench, the chance of me being the next player on the lap dance field seems alarmingly high. So high that my heartbeat starts mimicking some dub step rhythm and I actually start feeling a bit scared. "I need to get the fuck out of here" is what my inner voice starts shouting. The thought of me sitting in the middle of this dance floor, being watched by all these horny eyeballs while a dry plum slides down my crotch, lets my heartbeat go even higher, approaching more and more the tempo territory of some ‘drum n bass’ track. This cocktail of emotions my spirit is sipping on right now doesn't taste well- I feel scared, disgusted, and ashamed all at the same time. Not good. I need to leave. Now!

 I stand up, fast and assertive. In doing so, I brush off the lady's hand of my thigh, who then tries to stop me by reaching for my wrist, while mumbling some, for me, indigestible syllable salad. She is obviously trying to convince me that I should be staying. That I should be patiently waiting for this present they got prepared for me. I quickly look back at her and can tell by her surprised look that she has no clue of how I'm feeling. She must really be thinking that I'm letting go of some sort of once in a lifetime chance here.

I rush to the cloakroom, just to find out that it's locked. Fuck. I just want my blazer and escape this place. I look around, trying to find someone who could help me with my dilemma, and see Pedro approaching me. He must have seen how I rushed off the couch and also seems surprised about my sudden change of plans. "What's wrong, my friend?" he asks. For a split second, I'm considering to tell him, that we are further away from being friends than the pope from ever using a pack of condoms in his life, but then, discard that idea quickly and just reply: "I need to leave. Can you open the door? I need my blazer." He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and opens the door, visibly disturbed by my ambition to leave his cave. He almost seems to take it personally and wants to know, "Why do you want to leave? You don't like it here? What's your problem, my friend?" As I take my blazer off the hanger, I tell him that he doesn't have to worry about my problem and that all he needs to know right now is that I need to leave. He senses that I'm serious and decides not to continue his Q&A session with me. He assists me to the exit, where I decide to turn around for one last time and give this place a final look. One last observation that shall be burned into my memory forever, reminding me what I don't want in my still young, erotic life.

I look at the men in here, who are all still excitingly following the narrative of the plum's strip show. She seems to have found another victim that she is now arousing with her clumsy movements. It's a man in green shorts and a blue tank top, who reminds me again of the fact that I'm embarrassingly overdressed tonight. He also seems to have the time of his life, receiving what is, in my view, still Portugal's poorest pole dance performance. I stare at his happy face one last time, observing this sincere, lustful joy that is being displayed in there.

A line from my favorite rapper comes to mind and I whisper it to myself while I finally walked out of my

first swinging party:

 "One man's pain is another man's pleasure.

One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Outside, I button my shirt all the way up to the collar button, grab my phone, and open the Uber app.

This time, it's me who orders the Uber,

 not my dick.

#shortstory #intrigue #literature

[spectraspecs-writes]

Kashyyyk - Chapter 74

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 73. Chapter 75.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

————–

I think I see something else glowing. Not the moss. And it feels familiar. The vision, maybe? The Star Map? Jolee goes one way. I break away towards the glow. And it doesn’t take Jolee very long to find out. “I thought you wanted to find Freyyr,” he says, “We’re not that far.”

“If this is the Star Map, I don’t want to lose it.” Bastila follows me first, and Canderous with her because her ankle still hurts. Jolee huffs, before shaking his head and joining us.

As I get closer, the glow takes on a humanoid shape, before I finally see it all the way. It’s an alien, but not a race I’ve ever seen before. The eyes are separated, and the head rises up into a big hump. Kind of like a shark, but the eyes jut out on stalks like snails. The skin looks very reptilian. There are three fingers on both hands, and three toes on both feet. Each toe ends with a massive claw. It’s quite imposing, just a hologram standing in the middle of the woods. I stand in front of it, and it speaks in Basic. “Life forms detected. Determining parameters. Initiating neural recognition.”

“Obstinate machine,” Jolee scoffs, “I've no doubt it holds what you seek, but good luck getting it operational.”

The hologram processes for a moment. “Primary neural recognition complete. Preliminary match found.”

Jolee sputters. “Match found?” he repeats in disbelief, “What the…? It always muttered something about ‘rejected patterns’ for me.”

“Begin socialized interface,” the hologram says, “Awaiting instruction. Greetings. This terminal has not been accessed for quite some time.”

“Why are you acknowledging me? Why am I a match?” I ask.

“Error.” Damn, did I break it? “Subject displays unfamiliarity to environment. Behavioral reconfiguration will be needed before access. I am sorry, I did not mean to confuse you. I will answer questions to the best of my programming limitations.”

“Behavioral reconfiguration? What does that mean?”

“I have been programmed with a very limited field of knowledge, and I must restrict access to only those that fit my allowed pattern.”

“Which isn’t me.”

“I can't say.” Reluctance in a computer, that’s a new one. “I will try to bring forward the behavior that you need to proceed, as outlined by my programming.”

“That’s helpful,” I say, “Why am I allowed access? Why not Jolee?”

“I can't say.” Again? “Preliminary matching allows for you to be coached.”

I shake my head and take a look at the machinery. “This isn’t Czerka tech,” I say, “Or Aratech, Republic, there’s a little Sith in there, but it’s… different. Like I can see some common elements to Sith, but it’s not completely Sith. Who installed this installation?”

“Error. Corruption.” That’s not a problem I can fix. “Extrapolating.” Good. “This utility was built to monitor planet-wide agricultural reformation. It has since malfunctioned. It can be theorized that the super-growth of Kashyyyk's forests is a direct result.”

“Well, that is surprising,” Jolee says, although I get the feeling he’s heard this before - why else would he have said the trees are strangers? “I doubt any Wookiee would support such a claim. The forest is millenia old.” What I wouldn’t give to count the rings on a wroshyr tree.

“Malfunction occurred 241 years after last builder communication,” the hologram continues, “Last builder communication... 29,642 years before current Republic standard.”

“Then it predates the Republic just like the ruins on Dantooine,” Bastila says while Canderous tends to her ankle.

“Error,” the hologram says, “Information regarding the builders of this installation has been corrupted. No evidence of such a civilization exists in the galactic record.”

“I can’t believe this planet would need agricultural reformation,” I say, “given all the life that exists here.”

“Agricultural record indicates this planet was incapable of sustaining sufficient levels of production,” the hologram explains, “Error. Specific conditions corrupted. It can be theorized that produce was being exported to support a larger demand.”

I take another look at the machinery. The computer core is one type of technology, the holo-interface is another. Built by a different person, different background. Nobody I’ve ever worked with, but they’ve still left a signature. And something looking like sand shields but smaller, maybe for pollen. Systech again? But HK mentioned something about not being produced by Systech. Weird - who else has been making environmental protection like this? “Who installed this holo-interface?”

“This interface was installed to better access the ancient data stored within the pre-existing system. The exact date is unavailable. Programming keys indicate no earlier than five years before current Republic standard.” So someone still alive, probably, is making tech like this. That’s someone I’d like to meet.

“Hmm,” Jolee says, “five years ago? I didn’t notice it. This must have been installed in the strictest secrecy. It couldn’t have been Czerka.”

“No, it doesn’t use Czerka standard parts.” I’d know. Besides, if Czerka installed it, it wouldn’t still be working. Czerka tech is crap.

“No other information on time of installation or identity of user available. Likelihood of removal by user, 100%.”

“Who last accessed?”

“Sorting by identity. Three attempts by the Wookiee Freyyr, all denied. 152 attempts by human Jolee Bindo, all denied.”

He gets a bit red and chuckles. “Call me stubborn, I guess,” he says, “There wasn’t much else to do around here.”

“Error. List of access attempts prior to these is corrupted. Likelihood of removal by user, 100%.”

Never imagined Revan to be the paranoid sort. Because, I mean, it has to be Revan. The timing works out too well for that to be a coincidence. Maybe he didn’t build this hologram, but he definitely had to access it, the Star Map is right over there. Pretty impressive that he figured out the tech well enough to wipe some of the memory. It really is an unorthodox set-up. Personally, I live for unorthodox - doesn’t matter if it looks like shit if it works. “I’m looking for a Star Map,” I say. Let’s get this over with.

“Accessing. Yes, I have found a Star Map in original system memory. Access is restricted.”

“Well, I want access,” I say, “What do I have to do to get it?”

“Your request requires additional security access,” the hologram states, “You must be made to match the parameters I have been supplied.”

“How can I match them when I don’t know what they are?”

“There are measures available.” Well, that’s handy. “Personality profiling will verify the basic structure of your conscious mind. With that, I will determine whether you are ready to receive the Star Map, or can be made ready.”

“Made ready? What does that mean?”

“Information unavailable.” Lovely, just great. “If you have further questions, ask them now. Access will terminate with success or failure of evaluation.”

No questions from me. “Then let’s begin evaluation.”

“Evaluation commencing. Results will be compared against the pattern in memory. Just act like you should.” Is it weird that I’m a little nervous?

“You travel with a Wookiee and have encountered complications. Hypothetical: you and this Zaalbar are captured and separated. If you both remain silent, one year in prison for each of you. However, call Zaalbar a traitor, and he will serve five years, while you serve none. He is offered the same deal, but if you both accuse the other, you both serve 2 years. What do you do? What do you trust him to do?”

Don’t know how he knows about Zaalbar, maybe from Freyyr, but the situation still stands. “I trust Zaalbar,” I say, “I would say nothing, and neither would he.”

“Are you sure?” the hologram asks, “If you turn, you risk two years, or none at all. If you rely on loyalty, you risk one year or *five.* Your loyalty is dangerous. Your companion could take the opportunity to benefit by turning on you. Zaalbar's family is mired in treachery. What loyalty do they know? Your answer is incorrect.”

“I thought this was an evaluation, not a quiz,” I say, “How can my answer be wrong?”

“I must match your behavior to the pattern in memory. You must answer truthfully, knowing the consequences.”

I sigh. “Continue the evaluation, then.”

“The previous incorrect response will be discounted. Future incorrect responses will result in rejection.

“Hypothetical: you are at war. Deciphering an intercepted code, you learn two things about your enemy. A single spot in their defense will be at its weakest in ten days, and they will attack one of your cities in five days. What do you do with this information? What is the most efficient course of action?”

“Efficient?” I repeat, “Well, the most efficient thing to do is to prepare my forces to attack in ten days, leave the city alone.”

“Very good,” the hologram says, “If you had moved to evacuate the city, you would have alerted the enemy to their lost codes. Ultimate victory required the deaths of the people in that city. You wisely ignored sentiment in your decision.”

“That’s just one victory,” I say, “Stopping the war saves more lives in the long run. That’s more efficient, that’s what you asked.”

“You achieved the proper result with logic that does not match the pattern in memory.” I think I just confused the hologram. “I shall adjust my evaluation.

“Hypothetical: remove the ongoing war from the previous example. Consider enemy states to be weak and remote. With no external threat, your empire stagnates. Your people become complacent and begin to question you. Same scenario as before; you discover an impending attack, but also a weakness that will come after. How do you react?”

“As a leader,” I say, no question, in my mind, “it’s my job to keep my people safe. I stop the attack.”

“But if nothing happens, your people will have no need of you. No, they don't see a threat. You have coddled them. Your empire will be brought down by introspection. You have failed to match the pattern in memory. Access denied. This system will purge the subject as false. Defense mode initiated.”

I hear a thrumming from where we came in. Two droids. Energy shields. They look like the ones from Dantooine. With those shields up, lightsabers won’t do much good. But if I can concentrate for a moment, reach out, I can shut the shields down. Just… give me a… got it! With the shields down, they’re far more susceptible to lightsabers and Canderous’s blaster. He chucks an ion grenade between the two droids and it explodes in just the right place to knock out the flame thrower on the one and the carbonite projector on the other. “Concentrate on the leg joints!” Bastila says, “That’s the weak spot.” Usually is. I focus my efforts there. With the special weapons taken out blaster fire is my only concern. I spin both my lightsabers and take off a front leg on each droid. Still standing. I take off the back legs. They fall over, unbalanced. Still shooting, futilely. The mechanisms are exposed on the belly of the droids, there’s far less armor there than on the top side of the droid. I deactivate both lightsabers and hop over one droid. Activate the lightsaber right in the middle, blowing out its primary circuits, and then I do the same thing to the other droid. Now that that’s over with, I can get back to thinking of another way to access the Star Map.

“Neural scan complete,” the hologram says. I’m surprised it hasn’t deactivated itself yet. “Analyzing... Well, it would appear initial assumptions about you were incorrect. Secondary scans during battle have revealed much. Under duress, your emotions were easier to read. Programming now instructs that I give you what you seek.”

Wait, what? “Why the change?” I ask, “If I failed your initial test, why can I have the map now?”

“That information is unavailable.” Of course it is. “Soon you will recognize the proper course to follow.” What? “The Star Map is yours. This unit has now completed its primary duty and has finished with the subject. Executing final action. Activation of Star Map commencing. Parameters reset. Stasis initiated. End communication.”

I mean, if the machine wanted a fight, it could have just said so. I could have dueled Jolee or something.

When the Star Map opens, I feel the Dark Side the same way I did on Dantooine and Tatooine. Bastila shudders. “Well, well,” Jolee says, “A Star Map. An ancient artifact of dark side power. Can't say I'm surprised. I always knew there was something funny down here. I wonder if the Star Map has had an effect on the evolution of the creatures here in the Shadowlands. Might explain why it's so dangerous down here.”

“Well, the Star Map on Tatooine attracted a giant krayt dragon, so it’s certainly possible,” i say, loading the coordinates into my datapad. Okay, that’s that. “Now, Freyyr?”

“Yes, the other reason you’re down here,” he says, “Let’s go, then.”

#knights of the old republic #star wars #kotor #autistic artist #fiction #kotor fic #specs writes stuff #rena visz #oc #fem!revan #ls!revan #jolee bindo #bastila shan #canderous ordo #kashyyyk #chapter 74 #the quest for the star forge

[wisdomrays]

Task Management and Family Life

QUESTION: In addition to his duty as a Prophet and state leader, God’s Messenger, peace and blessings be upon him, was a father, spouse, and the closest friend of his Companions. He divided his time so justly between them that he did not violate the rights of anyone. Accordingly, as far as the volunteers devoted to high ideals are concerned, how should they manage their time so that they strike a balance at observing everybody’s rights over them?

ANSWER: Time management means taking into consideration everything that needs to be carried out, determining their order of importance, and planning life accordingly. It needs to be done in such a way that our acts of worship, such as the prayers, remembrance, and supplications, must also be included in it, as well as our responsibilities toward the people we are primarily responsible for such as one’s family and children.

For example, a believer cannot, and must not, abandon nightly devotions on the grounds of serving faith during the day. Be it only two units of prayer, a person with a believing heart must do some worship at night. A person who gets up in the night and spends some ten to fifteen minutes for the Tahajjud (Late Night) Prayer or supplicating to God does not lose anything in terms of serving faith, but on the contrary gains much, because a person who makes use of the night in this sense is counted as have set foot on the path to revival. Nocturnal devotions are among the deeds to be applauded by the High Assembly (al-mala al-a’la) in the Heavens. Supplicating to God by prostrating oneself in the profound silence of the night, meeting the prayer rug, humbling oneself before the Almighty, and shedding a few drops of tears is incomparably more virtuous than at other times. In this respect, nightly devotions must never be neglected when planning one’s time.

Give every rightful one their due!

As individuals must never neglect the devotions which nourish them with respect to the heart and spirit, by considering all the rights to be observed in their social lives, they must put these in an order of importance and try to give each its due. As it is known, in address to the Companions who neglected their families by devoting themselves to worship, the Messenger of God, blessings and peace be upon him, stated: “Your soul has rights over you, your family has rights over you, God has rights over you… so give those with rights their due.” As is understood from this hadith, even a person’s devotions must not give way to neglecting the rightful ones such as one’s spouse, children, and the person himself.

Indeed, as the five prayers’ specific assignment to five different time segments of the day gives important lessons to believers for time management, the verses relating the wisdoms of the creation of night and days also gives them certain clues in this issue. For example, it is stated in chapter al-Qasas: “It is out of His Mercy that He has made for you the night and the day so that you may rest (during the night) and seek after His bounty (during the day), and that you may give thanks (to Him for both)” (al-Qasas 28:73).

With this and other similar verses, the Qur’an guides us in terms of time management and gives us the following message: if you put your life in order and do what needs to be done in the proper time of the day by making good use of the night with a separate depth and the day with a separate horizon, then you will be saved from living haphazardly, not be hindered by obstacles that stem from lacking a plan and program, and thus you will lead a much more fruitful life.

Planning of the Twenty-Four hours

In order to be disciplined and efficient with time, it is possible to write down a 24-hour plan. If this can be done, from gathering together with friends for a talk of the Beloved to individual reading from tidying our room to spending time in remembrance and recitations from consulting with our spouse and children about certain issues to having a rest, which task to carry out what time of the day will have been clearly determined. Even the timespan to be spared for drinking tea or eating a meal can be considered within this planning. For example, if twenty minutes are sufficient for eating, one must suffice with that and not waste time with empty talk. It is even necessary to place precautionary time segments within this 24-hour planning so that extra factors to keep us busy do not upset our program.

From the essential to the trivial, if all things to be done can be planned with such elaboration, then our time will become more fruitful and the results obtained will rise from one to ten. When life gains such an orderly fashion, then in the long run the person will become fully disciplined, be accustomed to act within a certain program, and with the motivation obtained, the person will do what needs to be done without difficulty. Let it not be misunderstood—such a course of action does not mean resembling a machine. On the contrary, it means being a disciplined person and leading life in an orderly fashion. One with such discipline neither misses personal devotions, nor makes concessions with remembrance and recitations, nor neglects personal duties, nor violates the rights of family members.

Convincing the people we walk together

Another point of consideration with respect to time management is that a person must first reveal the plan to those in that person’s life who have rights over him or her, learn their thoughts and considerations, and then convince them in mind and heart about the significance of the duties he or she must carry out. That is, along with the rights of one’s spouse, children, and parents, it is necessary to explain as much as possible that God, religion, and the Qur’an also have rights over a person. If a person can maintain a consensus at this issue with the people who share the same home, then it becomes possible to carry out what needs to be done more comfortably and easily without being hindered by negative words and attitudes by the family environment.

Imagine a man who has convinced his carnal soul that he should devote a considerable part of his time to the path of glorifying the name of God and has heartfelt belief in this respect. Let this be a man who has internalized this issue in a way to fulfill this duty without avoiding any sacrifice. However, if the people with whom he shares a life are not aware of the greatness of the rights of God, the importance of making His Name resound in all corners of the world, the fact that this religion is a heritage entrusted to us and requires constant vigilance, and that it is a duty of crucial importance to restore a stronghold that has been damaged for centuries, from its essentials to details, then they will not wish to walk alongside him. The man, therefore, needs to make extra efforts to walk together with them. Otherwise, this will cause a weariness in the journey of that person.

However, if the person can make the latter believe in the ideal he possesses, share the same feelings and thoughts, and evoke the feeling of upholding the services he carries out, then he will have seriously facilitated his task at time management. When he does not fulfill the duties he should have fulfilled, if for example he does not attend a certain meeting or reading program that he was supposed to join, he will receive the first reaction from the people he shares his life with, which will be a strong recommendation for him.

Otherwise, if your spouse, children, or other people in the same household are unaware of the task management you have made in your mind and of the significance of practicing it, after some time it will be inevitable to have some conflicts in feelings and thoughts, and this will cause Divine support behind you to cease because the glorified guidance and assistance of God comes upon concord and unity. If you wish to become eligible for God’s making you succeed, you first must maintain concord and unity, no matter in what sphere.

Incidentally, spouses must behave tolerantly toward one another at delays caused by some task that needs to be fulfilled. It should never be forgotten that during such a wait, the hours, minutes, and even seconds are counted as worship with respect to those who wait; indeed, such a waiting is a serious kind of sacrifice. Each one of the spouses that shares a home needs one another. There are certain issues and troubles a person needs to share and speak about with a spouse. In spite of needing to have one’s spouse at home, the seconds of a believer who waits for a marriage partner for the sake of serving faith can become as precious as years of worship unawares because the intention of a believer is better than his or her deed. While one of the spouses is busy with some benevolent act and the other one is giving material and spiritual support to the other spouse, then by God’s permission, they both have a share of the reward to be given for that righteous deed.

#allah #god #muhammad #prophet #quran #ayat #hadith #sunnah #revert #convert #islam #muslim #muslimah #hijab #religion #reminder #dua #salah #pray #prayer #help #new muslim #new revert #new convert #convert help #revert help #islam help #muslim help #revert help team #convert to islam

[2feet2theleft]

DC's most inappropriate story involves drugs and a dead cat

DC Comics has produced some incredible stories over the years, but one story stands out as one of the worst and most messy comics ever published. Arsenal once tarred in a book that made him go back to drugs and pretend that the body of a cat was his dead daughter … yes, really.

Arsenal, whose real name is Roy Harper, is one of the oldest DC heroes. Originally known as Speedy, Harper first appeared in More funny comics # 73 in 1941 and has been featured primarily as the companion to Green Arrow. One of the best DC Comics stories ever told is Dennis O & # 39; Neil and Neal Adams' "Snowbirds Don & # 39; t Fly" arc, which revealed that Roy had a secret heroin addiction. While that story had an important conversation for readers, another story in which Harper takes heroin again could be the worst DC story.

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Related: Green Arrow's True Legacy Confirmed In DC's Future

In Justice League: The Rise of Arsenal # 3, Roy is recovering from losing his arm in a fight with Prometheus and the subsequent death of his daughter, Lian, at the hands of the villain. Pain takes Arsenal, now with a cyber arm, to the streets, where it beats up criminals to feel something. However, after feeling overwhelmed by the death of his daughter, Roy decides that the best way to cope with it is with some heroin. The drugs serve as an escape, as Harper imagines that his daughter is still alive, but after seeing a handful of bad guys trying to kill her, he shoots them all down. The hallucination ends with Harper standing on unconscious bodies, sweating while holding a cat's carcass.

While the theme of the story carries weight, the messy moment is unintentionally hilarious as Harper holds up a dead and smelly cat with a strangely drawn look on his face. Batman appears to remind him that his daughter is dead. Harper's re-use of drugs is far less powerful than it should be due to his heroin-fueled rampage. Instead of a relapse-focused story after experiencing extreme tragedy, what you get is a half-hearted attempt to bury the comic entirely. It's not supposed to be funny, but it is. Holding a cat's carcass at the end of its hallucination is one of the biggest WTF moments in the comics. It doesn't help that art ranges from solid to ridiculously bad. All the comic is everywhere. And considering how good the original drug story was, it's a real shame.

The book ends with Batman throwing the shit out of Arsenal and the partner getting institutionalized. In the next issue, Arsenal sees a zombie version of their daughter, escapes, kills people, and burns their own home. It is unnecessarily nervous, unintentionally hilarious, and memorable for all the wrong reasons. Reviewing your drug problem could have been very shocking; instead, it is treated as a complete joke. Take first place as not only worst Arsenal story never told, but one of the worst in DC Comics.

Next: Green Arrow: Best Archer Costumes On TV And Movies

Wolverine explains how he can be killed (forever)

About the Author

Liam McGuire is a comic editor for Screen Rant. Hailing from Nova Scotia, he has worked for numerous publications including Cineplex Canada, MLB.com, Vice, CBR.com and more. He can be reached directly at [email protected]

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[airmom]

THE ASTEROIDS OF PAIN, LOSS AND ABUSE

- source

◊(5) ASTRAEA

Staying until the bitter end. While this may show someone with perseverance, the asteroid Astraea more often indicates someone who stays in a bad job/relationship/friendship far too long, or doesn’t know when to let go.

◊(6) HEBE

While asteroid Hebe normally indicates service-oriented work, such as clerks, waiters or administrative assistants, I’ve also known Hebe to show up in relationship readings where one of the partners was a slave to the other.

◊(18) MELPOMENE

Grief, loss, mourning. Next to any of the love asteroids (Amor, Eros, Psyche) this can make for disastrous or painful love affairs, and can even indicate death or loss of a partner.

◊(28) BELLONA

Bellona was the Roman Goddess of War. While not necessarily bad (it can stand for an assertive, power-house type of personality, particularly in women), Bellona strongly placed in charts can be extremely confrontational or willing to fight.

◊(55) PANDORA

Pandora is both an asteroid as well as a Moon to Saturn, here we only speak about the asteroid Pandora. Many of are familiar with ‘Pandora’s Box’; this asteroid is named after the very same lady who famously released evil energy into the world by opening a box sent to her by the Gods. Similar to the Christian myth, Pandora was the original woman, fashioned out of water and earth, and of course, everything wrong with humanity is her fault (eye roll).

Pandora’s themes include: curiosity, especially curiosity that ‘kills the cat’,  initiating change through curiosity, unintended consequences, caught off-guard, restlessness, rebelliousness, meddling troublemaker.

◊(56) MELETE

Melete is connected to the Greek word for anxiety, and as such, can indicate anxiety disorders, panic attacks and other forms of mental anguish.

◊(60) ECHO

Echo was the fairy-like creäture that fell in love with Narcissus but was ignored and held in disdain by him. Eventually, she became such a shell of a being that all that was left of her was her echo.

When poorly afflicted, Echo individuals do not believe in themselves, copy others, have little original thought, have no self-esteem or self-worth or have a hard time valuing/defending them against narcissistic partners.

◊(71) NIOBE

Grief, sorrows. Niobe loses her entire family.

◊(73) KLYTIA

Jealousy, especially acts driven by jealousy that end poorl, a tattle-tale, a gossip. Desperate, senseless romances. Being in love but being ignored.

Klytia was in love Apollo (or Helios, the Sun God), but he had another lover. Dejected, Klytia told Apollo’s potential father-in-law, who killed his own daughter as a punishment for her actions. With Apollo’s love gone, Klytia hope’s to be snatched up by her paramour – but he once again ignores her, and she withers away on a rock, staring at him, until she dies.

◊(84) KLIO

Asteroid Klio is commonly associated with history, storytelling and writing, so is not a ‘bad’ asteroid per se. However, when asteroid Klio is poorly aspected in the chart, there can be an attachment to ‘history’ or to the story that keeps running in one’s mind, which leads to a type of neuroses about the event, person or situation.

◊(111) ATE

Goddess of blind folly, rashness, infatuation, and mischief. Ate was said to be behind the curse that started the Trojan War. Ate may show where one is likely to respond to real or imagined threats in an exaggerated fashion.

◊(128) NEMESIS

Nemesis, enemy, downfall, revenge.

◊(157) DEJANAIRA

Abuse, violation of physical boundaries, sexual abuse. I have seen asteroid Dejanaira come up time and time again as a reliable indicator of childhood abuse, especially sexual abuse.

See also: Nyctimene (2150)

◊(171) OPHELIA

Although asteroid Ophelia has many themes, many astrologers have noticed a link between this asteroid and accidental drownings.

◊(208) LACRIMOSA

“Weeping”, tears, grief, sadness.

◊(239) ADRASTAEIA

“Who does not flee”; “the inescapable one”. Asteroid Adrastaeia can show those who do not leave abusive situations, or, can show moments and traumas where we were unable to escape, as in the case of abusive childhoods. This asteroid can also talk about areas of wounding we cannot escape, such as alcoholism or drug abuse.

◊(248) LAMEIA

Grief at losing a child, sterility, sleeplessness, trauma, PTSD, intense jealousy from other women, ‘vampires’ (Lameia sucks the ‘lifeblood’ out of young men).

Lameia had affairs with Zeus, and many children from him. Hera killed all of her children as a punishment. She became overcome with grief, unable to sleep, and thereafter alternated between sucking the life out of young men, or murdering other people’s children.

◊(273) ATROPOS

Asteroid Atropos is one part of the “Moira” fates (in addition to Klotho & Lachesis). Atropos as a theme has a relationship to endings of all kinds: relationships, business, death, accidents, and illness.

◊(258) TYCHE

Tyche was the Greek Goddess of Fortune, so when afflicted can show poor fortune or luck.

◊(381) MYRRHA

Can indicate incest, sexual abuse or sexual relationships that go against ‘natural law’ (bestiality, incest, et. al.).

◊(399) PERSEPHONE

Persephone’s story is one of the great myths of Greece. I say great, but as we’ll see, it quickly turns into not so great.

Persephone (aka Proserpina)  is attached to her mother Ceres – they are the best of friends and completely inseparable. Persephone is well-known for her beauty, but constantly rebuffs marriage proposals to stay as companion to her mother. One day Persephone is out picking flowers when the God of the Underworld Pluto (aka Hades) kidnaps her; he makes her the Queen of the Underworld. Nice having a title and all, but surely not one’s first choice. To protest, Persephone stopped eating when she was in the Underworld. Eventually, her mother finds her and negotiates a life where she will live above ground 6 months of the year, and below the other 6.

Persephone and Proserpina’s themes are: separation anxiety, separation from the parents, rape, retreating into fantasy after a trauma, loss of innocence, being ‘pulled into the underworld’, PTSD, addictions, abduction, food complexes and/or anorexia, relationships with ‘Plutonian’ partners.

Nota Bene: it’s possible this myth has been twisted, and many people note that in some versions of the myth Persephone willingly went into the Underworld with the dark and sexy Pluto.

Also look at: (26) Proserpina.

◊(407) ARACHNE

Weaving, woven items, weaving things together, jealousy of god-given talents, talents that lead to pain or persecution, arrogance, boastfulness.

Arachne was an incredibly talented weaver, and compared herself to the Gods (and actually, said she was better than them!). She unknowingly challenged a disguised Athena, Goddess of weaving, to a weaving duel. In the end, Arachne can’t go without diminishing the Gods, therefore royally pissing of Athena, who as punishment turns her into a spider.

◊(430) HYBRIS

“Hubris”, excessive pride, arrogance or foolishness that leads to an inevitable downfall. Over-confidence. Any behaviours that challenge the “gods” of your life (parents, partners, bosses).

◊(588) ACHILLES

The asteroid Achilles is one of my key tools, alongside (3811) Karma and (2060) Chiron. Achilles is incredible for highlighting potential areas of deep wounding, or the ‘achilles heel’ of the chart when prominently placed in the natal chart.

◊(638) MOIRA

Moira is derived from the Greek word ‘the fates’. Moira’s location by sign and house can indicate an area of life that is governed by fate or karma. Moira may show ‘negative’ karma in a chart or a very fated life.

◊(849) ARA

Asteroid Ara is only bad, per se, when poorly positioned or afflicted within a natal chart. Normally, asteroid Ara would show where and how one is likely to give aid or be aided by others. When opposed or squared by natal planets, Ara can stand for a lack of aid, care or support.

◊(896) SPHINX

Secrets, hidden things, mysteries. Bill Clinton had the asteroid Sphinx next to the asteroids ‘Paul’ and ‘Monica’. Need I say more?

◊(897) LYSISTRATA

Asteroid Lysistrata refers to the heroine of an infamous Greek comedy of the same name. The women of Greece, led by Lysistrata, led a protest of sexual abstinence against all men until they stopped the perpetual wars.

When badly afflicted, Lysistrata can talk about someone that uses sex as a tool of manipulation or power.

◊(1198) ATLANTIS

Related to the mythical, lost kingdom of Atlantis, asteroid Atlantis can also talk about excessive pride or hubris that leads to a downfall, as well as extinction, cultural snobbery, a sense of imminent doom, expiation; use of karma to rationalize events.

◊(1277) DOLORES

Pains, suffering. Can indicate illness and agony.

◊(1489) ATTILA

Named after Attila the Hun, the famous barbarian warrior. When afflicted, this asteroid can indicate a kind of ruthless, all-or-nothing brutality to winning or victory.

◊(1566) ICARUS

Accidents, excessive risk, gambles that don’t pay off, moving too fast, driving too fast, games of speed/risk. Muhammad Ali had Icarus next to his Sun – talk about speed!

◊(1685) TORO

Aggression, strength and power. Not bad unless afflicted in the chart. I don’t like it when Toro crops up around a personal planet like Venus, as it can sometimes indicate violent or intense and aggressive relationships.

◊(1808) BELLEROPHON

Overreaching, fatal crashes, being disabled or ‘crippled’ in some way.

◊(1866) SISYPHUS

Unending suffering and struggle. Being forced to do the same thing over and over. Draining monotony. Stuck in a vicious cycle of rebuilding.

Sisyphus was punished by being forced to roll a boulder up a mountain every day, only to awaken the next morning and find himself again at the bottom of the mountain. Groundhog Day, for Greeks. He was later freed by Heracles.

◊(1896) BEER

Just like it says on the tin: Beer is commonly found in strong positions in the chart of heavy drinkers, or those who have or have had issues with alcohol.

◊(1912) ANUBIS

Anubis is named after the jackal-headed Egyptian God of the Dead. Often, Anubis strongly placed in a chart means that death is more than a passing issue; death may become the focus or a recurrent theme in the individual’s life.

◊(2102) TANTALUS

‘Tantalus’ is closely related to our modern word, ‘tantalize’. Themes here include: always out of reach, never getting what you want, testing others, taunting others, nearly having it, temptation without satisfaction.

The myth of Tantalus is pretty full-on. Originally known for having stolen ambrosia from Mount Olympus and taking it down to humans (therefore revealing the secrets of the Gods to humans), he then served up his dead son’s body parts to the Gods of Olympus. As punishment, he was kept in a pool of water with branches of fruit above him. Whenever he was thirsty and tried to drink the water, it would evade him; when he felt hungry and reached for a piece of fruit, the branches would lift out of reach.

◊(2060) CHIRON

Chiron was the first centaur discovered and equally the most well-known of the mythical centaurs; arguably Chiron is the most important of all the centaurs. He was the son of Saturn and a sea-nymph. Early on, he is abandoned by his mother (his first ‘wounding’), who is horrified at his half-man, half-human form; he is soon taken to the Sun god Apollo, who teaches Chiron everything he knows about the healing arts. Chiron is later wounded by an arrow from Hercules. The wound never heals despite his healing knowledge, which explains Chiron’s well-known nickname as the “Wounded Healer”.

Chiron’s themes include: the “wounded healer” archetype, learning through suffering, compassion for others’ suffering, resistance to pain, “liminal” reality, pre-birth influences, ancestral influences, exile, healing, transformation.

◊(2150) NYCTIMENE

Nyctimene is a particularly painful asteroid. Nyctimene was the daughter of a prominent man, who is seduced by her father. She hides away in the forest out of shame, and is turned into an owl by Athena (note, that of course, owls are a nocturnal bird).

Nyctimene in a birth chart closely aspecting the Sun, Moon, Venus, or strongly placed in the 5th or 8th Houses has on several occasions indicated issues of incest, rape, and abuse by the father or father figure.

◊(2938) HOPI

This asteroid is named after the Hopi tribe of North America. Hope has astrological significance of ambush, attacks, prejudice, territorial disputes, Native Americans, minority experiences. Ambushes can be psychological as well as physical.

◊(3200) PHAETHON

Phaethon is generally associated with out of control, dangerous behaviour, people that get carried away, car crashes and accidents.

Phaethon was the son of the Sun God, Helios. He asked his father if he could drive the chariot of the sun – but when he took the reigns things span out of control rather quickly. The Sun chariot ended up scorching Africa, accounting for it’s desert areas; eventually Zeus struck him off the chariot to save the world and Phaethon died.

◊(3811) KARMA

Karma, like Achilles and Atropos, is one of my absolute go-to asteroids. Asteroid Karma stands for exactly what it should: Karmic connections, relationships, pain or circumstances that go back lifetimes. Sometimes in life we may feel that certain events were ‘fated’ or pre-told. Asteroid Karma is a great indicator of such energy within a birth chart.

◊(4451) GRIEVE

Grieve, grief, mourning, sorrow.

◊(5335) DAMOCLES

“The sword of Damocles” is quite well known as an expression: in short, it encapsulates the danger that rulers/leaders live with as a by-product of their power. Said another way – with great power comes great responsibility.

Generally in chart readings, I see Damocles in the chart of very powerful and successful people (investment bankers, military generals). On the other hand, their jobs/success/position stifle their ability to have a relationship, spend time with family, or have true friends. This is where asteroid Damocles can come in.

◊(6630) SKEPTICUS

Skepticus means skeptical, skepticism, doubting or discerning. This doesn’t have to be a bad asteroid whatsoever, as I’ve seen it prominently placed in the charts of journalists and researchers, as an example. However, when Skepticus is placed very near to asteroids like the Moon or Venus, the ‘skepticism’ carries over to emotions and/or love, creating an impossible situation.

◊(8690) SWINDLE

Lie, cheat, fraud, steal. Swindle has got it ALL. Would it surprise you if Swindle shows up prominently in the chart of the Donald?

No, no it would not.

◊(26955) LIE

Lies, liars, lying. Not much more to say than that – when you find this little dude in close aspect to someone, run. Especially potent when used to look at charts for business transactions and mergers.

◊(37117) NARCISSUS

I’m sure according to Narcissus, I’ve saved the best for last. Narcissus is naturally named after the infamous Narccissus, who loved himself so much that he became transfixed with his own image and committed suicide when he could not have the object of his desire.

Narcissus obviously talks about grandiose consideration for one’s self, disapproval or disinterest in others, self-obsession and the anger that comes from being spoiled, or not getting what you want.

#LONG POST #ASTEROIDS #ASTROLOGY #AYY #not mine tho mlsmfa;

[vsplusonline]

Music from the string quartet that raised the level of Indian cricket

New Post has been published on https://apzweb.com/music-from-the-string-quartet-that-raised-the-level-of-indian-cricket/

Music from the string quartet that raised the level of Indian cricket

India have had more successful spinners since the last of the spin quartet played his final Test in the 1980s; two of them, Anil Kumble and Harbhajan Singh have claimed more wickets than the four of them put together in nearly the same number of Tests combined. Yet, the quartet had a romance and a vulnerability that has ensured their charm has wafted over generations.

Three of the four celebrate significant milestones over the next few weeks. The oldest (and possibly craftiest), Erapalli Prasanna turns 80 next month, five days after his Karnataka teammate Bhagwat Chandrasekhar turns 75. Srinivas Venkatraghavan turns 75 too — next week, in fact. The baby of the lot, Bishan Bedi celebrates his 74th birthday in September.

Winning combination

From January 1962, when Prasanna made his debut, till September 1983 when Venkatraghavan played his final Test, one or more of the quartet played in 98 matches. India won 23 of them. Which was huge for a team which had won only seven of their preceding 76 Tests.

Till they came along, India had not won a Test abroad. Encouraged by skipper Tiger Pataudi, who believed that the best bowlers should play rather than a combination of great spin and mediocre pace, the foursome stamped their mark on the game.

Prasanna’s six for 94 led to India’s first win abroad, in Dunedin, 1968. Three years later, Venkatraghavan’s five for 95 was India’s best in Port-of-Spain as they beat the West Indies for the first time. Chandrasekhar’s six for 38 wrapped up the Oval Test and the series in England.

When India beat Australia for the first time, Chandrasekhar had figures of six for 52 and six for 52 in Melbourne in 1977-78. The only player to be a part of all these teams was Bedi who claimed 16 wickets in those victory Tests.

Poetry in motion

To speak of the finest only in terms of numbers does them a disservice; it somehow diminishes the sport too.

Those who never saw Bedi bowl missed one of the great sights of the game. It wasn’t just poetry in motion, it was a specific kind of poetry — a love sonnet perhaps, where you had to display the beauty, splendour, longing, and sheer allure of the form within a specific number of lines. Discipline is an unacknowledged companion of artistry; here art cannot lose sight of its objective: to take wickets.

Shorter than the others, Prasanna flighted the ball more and made it do things in the air that seemed to indicate he had it on a string and could make it dance.

It is said of the best batsmen that they own the 22 yards they play on. Prasanna owned the air above the 22 yards, inviting batsmen to step out only to realise the ball hasn’t reached, or to play back to an innocuous-looking delivery only to have it crash through.

Unpredictable

Chandrasekhar was a law unto himself, although that sounds far too aggressive for this most gentle of men (“I see god in Chandra,” Bedi once said). When he was on song (literally, as he loved to hum his friend the playback singer Mukesh’s best), he was well nigh unplayable. Viv Richards has said that the only bowler who gave him nightmares was Chandra.

One of the great cricketing occasions of the time was Chandra bowling to a full house at the Eden Gardens and the crowd going ‘bowled’ in step with his run-up. He claimed 35 wickets against England in 72-73, which remains an Indian record for the most wickets in a series.

Chandrasekhar often said he just needed a slip and short legs — the others could field wherever they wanted.

“When I am bowling well, the catches go there; if I am bowling badly, 22 fielders wouldn’t be enough.” Self-deprecatory humour was a speciality; yet that said something about the man. He was self-contained to a degree unusual in international sportsmen, seldom needing others for his own validation.

Astute and versatile

Had Venkatraghavan, tall and spare, been born a generation earlier or later, he might have been a long-term captain of India, and one of the best.

He is a student of the game, something he emphasised when he returned as an umpire for 73 Tests after bowling off spin in 57. His reserve was mistaken for aloofness. But in a closed group he was unguarded, funny and had sharp views on most things. He was in the classical mould and bowled a mean leg-cutter.

For such a passionate cricket man, Venkatraghavan had time for other interests too. Classical music, history — he was the one player to visit Mohenjo-daro on India’s tour of Pakistan — and in the early days, movies.

He was too the fittest of the four, a brilliant catcher at gully, and had a first class century to his name.

Four men, so different, yet so similar; technically sound, and blessed with imagination. Generous too. Coming together at roughly the same time to lift Indian cricket to a level we now take for granted.

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[itsadvocatesimranjeetsingh-blog]

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[webittech]

WatchOS 5 first take: Walkie Talkie, exercise auto identify, and more intelligent Siri Advantageous correspondence and wellness highlights touch base on the Watch this fall.

Only three years after the arrival of the principal Apple Watch, Apple reported the fifth cycle of its wearable working framework at WWDC 2018.

Not at all like iOS refreshes, most watchOS refreshes haven't acquired intense changes to Apple's gadget terms of look and feel. WatchOS 5 doesn't fundamentally change the experience of utilizing an Apple Watch, yet it adds various supportive highlights crosswise over various utilize classifications like wellness, correspondence, and general life association. We invested some energy demoing the product refresh to take in more about the progressions.

Exercises and Activity

My associate Samuel Axon and I were promptly energized by the declaration of exercise auto location. (Auto recognition permits the Apple Watch to know when you've been working out regardless of whether you haven't formally begun an exercise on the watch.)

To start following an exercise, you ordinarily tap on the kind of exercise you need to record; doing as such promptly dispatches a three-second commencement clock that ushers you into your exercise. Beforehand, in the event that you didn't choose an exercise to track before you started, the Apple Watch wouldn't record the activity by any stretch of the imagination. In watchOS 5, however, regardless of whether you begin practicing before counseling your Apple Watch, the gadget will identify your development and prod you following three minutes of action. This haptic criticism prompts you to tap the screen to formally begin that exercise. When you do, the watch switches into exercise following mode—and even incorporates the measure of time it missed before you squeezed begin.

A lot of different wearables, including those from Fitbit and Garmin, have some type of auto recognition. Like those different gadgets, the Apple Watch can just auto recognize certain activities: strolling, indoor and outside running, pool and vast water swimming, paddling, and curved preparing. This is likely because of the way that these activities have unmistakable arm movements. (The main inconsistency is strolling, which has a 15-minute acknowledgment limit to represent individuals who do short spurts of strolling consistently, for example, amid their drive.)

Auto discovery can detect the finish of an exercise, as well. I've frequently completed a quality instructional meeting at the exercise center, bounced in my auto, and drove home, just to understand that I never "finished" the exercise. Inside three minutes of consummation your session, auto recognize should stop its exercise following.

While I was wanting to see auto practice acknowledgment or rep including presented watchOS 5, auto location prods the wellness part of the OS forward decidedly. Auto location is standard on most other mid-to top-level wearables made by enormous makers, and it makes the smartwatch less demanding to utilize. A considerable lot of us neglect to begin following an exercise on our watches previously working out, and it's an awful learning about to work yet not have it "check." Auto acknowledgment ought to keep that from happening, at any rate with its eight current exercise profiles.

Apple has likewise added two new exercise profiles to its extensive rundown of trackable exercises: yoga and climbing. Both of these used to be names under the "other" class in the Workout application, however now they have their own particular gadgets. With the gadgets comes more exact information, including better caloric use gauges. Both the yoga and climbing exercise profiles consider heart rate while deciding calories consumed; climbing considers too. Much like when following outside runs and strolls, following a climb will deliver a height change metric and a guide of your course when wrapped up.

The Activity application on the Watch stays overwhelmed by your three rings, illustrative of the amount you moved, worked out, and remained for the duration of the day. Be that as it may, Apple developed its Activity Sharing element by adding Competitions to the blend. These are one-on-one difficulties that clients can do with their companions, and they make finishing your rings to a greater degree a game. Clients can challenge any companion to an opposition; that companion has 48 hours to acknowledge or decay. Rivalries keep going for seven days, so they don't get excessively drawn out. Every client gains focuses by shutting their rings; for every rate point that you close a ring, you'll get one point in the opposition. Shutting each of the three rings gets you 300 focuses for the day, and you can get significantly more focuses by outperforming your objectives.

We saw a demo of Competitions on the WWDC stage, and it fits in pleasantly with the Activity Sharing controls on the Watch in the Activity application. The greater part of your present rivalries show up at the highest point of the screen, and you can look down to see whatever is left of your Activity Sharing contacts and details.

Walkie Talkie

Ostensibly the component that stole the watchOS 5 demo at the keynote was Walkie Talkie. This basically gives Apple A chance to watch clients speak with each other utilizing short voice messages sent over Wi-Fi or LTE. It's much the same as a wearable adaptation of Amazon's Drop-In highlight on Echo gadgets, yet less frightening.

In the private demo we got, watchOS 5 demonstrates a little orange hover at the highest point of your watch face to show your Walkie Talkie status—accessible or inaccessible. Walkie Talkie will suit any of the new Do Not Disturb highlights you set in iOS 12, and its own Do Not Disturb inclinations (you can be inaccessible for Walkie-Talkie correspondence for 60 minutes, while you're in a specific area, and so forth).

In case you're accessible, you can choose an Apple Watch client in the Walkie Talkie application. Just Apple Watch clients will come up in your proposed contacts at to begin with, and you can pick choose individuals to utilize Walkie Talkie with too. Squeezing the orange "talk" hover on the show gives you a chance to record a message to send to that client. The beneficiary will get a unique haptic ready when they get the message out of the blue, enabling them to turn their wrist upward to tune in or cover the watch with their hand to reject it.

Notwithstanding watchOS 5 as yet being in beta, the Walkie Talkie include worked shockingly well. The Apple Watches got recorded messages rapidly (inside a couple of moments of being sent) and messages played back on the Watch were clear and fresh. It additionally advantageously works over Wi-Fi, so it's not restricted to Apple Watch Series 3 and LTE clients.

Siri and everything else

The Siri watch confront presented with watchOS 4 gets significantly more helpful in watchOS 5 and with iOS 12. Apple included more data, which means you can see things like games scores, maps, and heart rate bits of knowledge straightforwardly on the watch confront itself. Contingent upon your propensities, Siri can think of opportune updates too, such as instructing you to arrange espresso from your most loved bistro in the meantime every morning.

That capacity reaches out to outsider applications too. In watchOS 5, Siri can show data from outsider applications notwithstanding the majority of Apple's local applications. Course headings from CityMapper show up nearby Weather figures and News features, as do suggestions to log your breakfast nourishment in the Lose It! application.

The Siri watch confront has been kept down by the impediments of Apple's virtual aide and by Apple's general unwillingness to open up parts of its stage to engineers. Outsider application data in the watch face will undoubtably make it more helpful for clients who don't live completely in Apple's biological system.

Likewise, it will get more brilliant when Siri gets more brilliant in iOS 12—the new Shortcuts you can make on iOS 12 will be accessible on Siri on the Apple Watch. Easy routes let you bunch activities together, doling out them a voice summon that starts that gathering. For instance, saying, "Hello Siri, take me home," may influence your iPhone to raise Maps bearings to return home from work, turn on your HomeKit-associated front room lights, set your keen indoor regulator to 73 degrees, and start playing a digital recording from the Apple Podcast application. Easy routes must be altered on an iOS gadget, however Siri on the Apple Watch will know them. That way you can bring out a Shortcut without having your iPhone or iPad adjacent.

While the Siri watch confront gets a great deal of affection in watchOS 5, outsider watch faces don't. Most other smartwatch creators enable outsider engineers to make watch faces for the network to download and utilize, yet Apple still isn't giving designers this capacity. The organization is infamous for keeping its working frameworks shut off to engineer tinkering, especially with regards to UI and appearances, and there's no telling if or when we could see outsider watch confront bolster go to the Apple Watch.

Be that as it may, Apple tossed an issue that remains to be worked out sweethearts all over the place—the Apple Podcasts application goes to the Watch in watchOS 5, and it looks much like the Apple Music application. Digital recording work of art of your bought in demonstrates fills the small screen, which you would then be able to look through to pick the scene you need to hear. You can download and tune in to webcast scenes on the wearable, and it will naturally adjust your most recent scenes for speedy tuning in. The Now Playing UI still shows up when you're playing a scene from your iPhone, however generally the Podcast application will be the fundamental web recording control focus in watchOS 5.

Different upgrades coming to watchOS 5 incorporate the capacity for outsider applications to play foundation sound, the capacity to alter the request of symbols in the Control Center, WebKit bolster in Mail and Messages, and intelligent notices. The last two of those highlights are especially intriguing. WebKit bolster gives you a chance to pull up connected site pages in the Mail and Messages application or their warnings. The Apple Watch's show isn't the best for Web perusing, however at times you need to investigate a connection instantly when it arrives in a critical message or email. Intuitive notices let designers program fast activities into their application's wearable cautions.