End 2024 Quotes

Like a willow I fought and bent with the wind, I had no direction.

The Great Bubble ended on March 10, 2000 (though we didn’t realize that fact until some months later). On that day, the NASDAQ (recently 1,731) hit its all-time high of 5,132. That same day, Berkshire shares traded at $40,800, their lowest price since mid-1997.

For the first time since 1860, a major American political party doesn’t believe America is a democracy. No Republican will win a contested primary in 2022 or 2024 who will assert that Biden is a legal president. The effect of this is profound and difficult to predict. But millions of Americans believe the American experiment is ending. Stuart Stevens

In the past... when I snap, everything in my mind would go blank. And before I realized it, I would be surrounded by bodies on the ground. Afterwards, I'd feel disgusted. Not being able to fight against my own self made me sick to my stomach. But in the end, I managed to learn how to control myself. Even if I'm just half-assed I was still made human.

The year 2020 will mark the end of the U.S. presidency and the executive branch of the government. Let’s just say the American public will finally be fed up by then and leave it at that. The legislative branch will essentially absorb the responsibilities of the executive branch, with a streamlined body of elected representatives, an equal number from each state, forming the new legislature, which will be known simply as the Senate. The “party” system of Democrats, Republicans, Independents, et al., will un-complicate itself into Liberals and Conservatives, who will debate and vote on each proposed bill and law in nationally televised sessions. Requirements for Senate candidates will be stringent and continuously monitored. For example, senators will be prohibited from having any past or present salaried position with any company that has ever had or might ever have a professional or contractual connection to federal, state, or local government, and each senator must submit to random drug and alcohol testing throughout his or her term. The long-term effects of this reorganized government and closely examined body of lawmakers will be a return of legislative accountability and public trust, and state governments will follow suit no later than 2024 by becoming smaller mirror images of the national Senate.

Matthew Hopkins: Witchfinder General (1645 – 1647) by Stewart Stafford ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ – Exodus, Nor allow legalised killing too cheaply, Twenty shillings of blood money per witch, A charlatan’s extortion for ‘cleansing.’ Witchcraft, the capital crime of the age, Lawyer Hopkins, parasitising laws, Self-appointed Witchfinder General, A reign of terror brought to God-fearing doors. Evildoing’s hunter was its embodiment; A Judas purse wed brutality’s handmaiden, With Stearne, stoked Essex witch hunt mania, Puritanical zeal’s sadistic cruelty. His victims were cast into dungeon pits; Bloodied and broken in outcast desperation; Disease helped some cheat the hangman; The only fortune anyone deemed fair. Extracting confessions through torture’s pain; Their skin pricked to find Satan’s mark, Victims, forced to run until collapse, Sleepless starvation hastened their bleak end. Then to the wicked ducking stool gauntlet, Lowered into muddy ditches or icy water, A survivor’s noose or drowned exoneration? None met the Witchfinder’s imperious eyes. “I, John Lowes, a minister of God, Was martyred so. Hopkins, thou pestilent knave! Bade me to run, held aloft by mocking hands, Funeral rites as I dug mine own grave.” Sensing his gaslit flames turn back on him, Hopkins went to ground with his ill-gotten gains, Slowly he faded, from infamous to obscure, Scars linger on 300 unmarked graves. Some say that Hopkins was executed as a witch, Or faced a tubercular end in his village, Where he is buried, no one knows or cares, Hexed in a barren field for karmic tillage. Rat-catcher to an imagined pestilence, Communities, not covens, he did churn, A toxic chalice for New World lips, Fanning Salem’s pernicious turn. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

Has we close the chapter on yet another year, let this be a reminder to us all that life is what we make it. Love and show appreciation to the people around us. Live life to the fullest and always remember to thank God in all things. Good bye 2023, welcome 2024!

Today I wish to remind you once again that your entire existence is too special, miraculous & purposeful to be living a life that holds no meaning for you. Darling listen – you possess the strength & potential to achieve extraordinary things. God has instilled within you the power to fulfill your life mission & purpose. Giants may stand in your path, but you have the power to overcome them. Dreams that seem impossible right now will become within your reach. Believe me. Sweetheart, your job is to keep doing your best everyday…& when you discover better, allowing it to guide your next steps. Remember those moments when an inner voice whispers, “There. That’s it. That’s why you’re here”, igniting a warm glow within.. I am asking you to focus on doing these activities more & more.. Embrace the magnetic state & attract what is meant for you.. I wish & hope that the remaining days of the year will deliver your expected blessings in unexpected & unpredictable ways..

To this day, I don’t know whether he actually read the advance copy of The Right to Bear Arms I sent him—but more than a quarter of a century later, he announced that the first rally of his 2024 presidential campaign would be held in a familiar location: Waco, Texas.

In Extremis by Stewart Stafford Saturnalia's trumpets sound, The ancestral chorus song, Time's gold web drawn back, For the stocks' denizen throng. Bawdy knights of the feral feast, Daze of snoring stranger sloth, As contagion's banquet guests, Sipping end times' galling broth. Bean found in fortuitous cake, A fool crowned Lord of Misrule, The meek's pantomimed throne, A drone in a queen bee's tulle. Fatted calf, societal scapegoat, Chattels mopping festive vomit, Charon coins on bloodshot eyes, Execution dawn to a dark comet. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

Can you imagine such a road? A road with no end and no destination. When someone goes too far on it, he thinks that maybe he is moving straight, or in the right direction, and sometimes he thinks that he has come in the opposite direction. But he is not able to understand where he should go. And this is his biggest problem, but if he understands that no direction is right or wrong, and it is all about enjoying the journey, whether sometimes he passes through thorns or sometimes flowers, sometimes endures the storm. Or beautiful weather, it's all about enjoying and moving, and his biggest problem is gone, that's life 07-01-2024

Don't Let The Devil Hear You Weeping by Stewart Stafford Don't let the Devil hear you weeping, Or darkness comes as your friend, Saying God sent it to save you, And be with you until the end. Tail wrapped around you snugly, Gripped firmly in meaty claws, Only then get its beastly odour, Against which there should be laws. Dancing the inferno's fiery rim, Spitting bile in your begging bowl, Paper cut, a blood pact union, To steal away your purest soul. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

Maelstrom Rock by Stewart Stafford O, obsidian jagged island, This playground of the gods, Distant white novice waves, In warhorse slam into rock. Be this witchcraft or wit's raft? Conducting the vast elements, With lava-hot passion mustered, Spinning whirlpool shipwreck tales. A walker between the winds comes, Both Nature and shaman within it, Of coral and shell and weed growth, Compassion at flaying whip's end. Bid goodbye to the demi-paradise! On the gloomy prow, watch it flee, An aria's dreams of magic ebbing, Freed thralls clasp earthly chains. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

In the end, we are all characters in other people's stories." District #3 (November 2024 pub. date)

The Triumph of Goodness" If only the reality was like cartoons like teenager books and stories or like the countless movies and soap operas produced specially for the naïve in which goodness triumphs at the end… Anyone who follows the reality of the world closely and deeply, shall find that the triumph of goodness is nothing but a myth a trick created by the evildoers themselves to trick us into thinking that goodness, honesty, and virtues win in the end… The world turns upside down when we discover that all these good and well-selected virtues are nothing but myths fabricated by the vicious and the evil ones to permanently maintain their control over the naïve who believe that goodness triumphs just like at the end of movies… [Original poem published in Arabic on February 26, 2024 at ahewar.org]

The great philosophical traditions know nothing of the ‘pursuit of happiness’ in the modern sense. They spoke rather of ‘the good life’ which is to say, the pursuit of virtue and truth. These two ends are as different as night and day.

etc." I have been searching for my self everywhere, but I can’t find it! I can’t even remember when exactly I lost it… I search for it in everything I love and hate in foreign and familiar cities in all the kind, exhausted, and mean faces… I search for my self near water springs and along river shores On mountaintops and in the scent of wildflowers… Between the branches of olive and fig trees, but without any trace or hope… I search in teacups, in the corners of old cafés In songs and interludes… In books In the memories of everyone who ever knew me Everyone I betrayed or was betrayed by… I search in lines and sentences, But all in vain… I even search unsuccessfully in the sentences that list options, including the examples and each “etc.” after each list of options… I keep wondering how did I so quietly lose it? And each time I ask the loved ones about my strong desire to reunite with my lost self, I realize they have no leads other than long and wide lists of places, things, activities, individuals, and hobbies where I may possibly “find” my self… In each list they suggest, I find countless options and countless lines ending with “etc.” They don’t understand that I have turned every rock and searched behind every “etc.” And today I finally realized That my self wasn’t from here, and thus, it was never here… That, all along, I have been searching for an illusion that never existed… [Original poem published in Arabic on March 11, 2024 at ahewar.org]

Regret Roulette by Stewart Stafford Evening's breath caressed in, Across a mind's cracked land, On raven's wing in twilight air, A doused flame's colder hand. Dead-end gallery of exit signs, Contrition's dog whistle song, Eye of Horus in a looking glass, Blindfolds of a corrupted throng. Feral brunch on a sheepish plate, The curate's egg fried with shell, Bellini confession, in vino veritas, Burnt offerings to show-and-tell. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

The Caesars by Stewart Stafford A dynasty regurgitated: The Emperor is mad, Bloodily decadent, Corrupt in the mind. Thank the Gods, No hubris eclipses Rome's, Let them have their toys; Lives to violate and end. Satire prickles august flesh; As Suetonius's profiles bite, Caligula's infamy was my youth, Now déjà vu relative Nero reigns. Bull and Aquila check Caesarean power: Senatorial consensus, martial muscle; Praetorian fealty is the Golden House, Whilst gory "games" slake Plebeian thirst. The ghost of the Old Republic, Laments its peacock successors; Barbaric beasts to wrestle with, Not sport for imperial whims. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

Death's Embrace - A Soliloquy by Stewart Stafford In sincere tongue, declare with heart: Art thou but a mimic, shadow of the art, Or standest thou bold, architect of the new, Crafting the morrow in thy vision true? Unburden me from this oppressive weight, I cannot bear this overwhelming force. Despair hath found its pinnacle in me, And I must peer into realms unknown, If cherished sight fails me at mine end, I shall renounce all chimeras of the light. But fall not tamely from Life’s precipice, Death presses hard on thy frail fingers, Hold on, cry, resist thy certain ruin! Trouble's court, may yet bestow thee favour. Dreams are but fancies giv’n swift wings, That soar beyond the bounds of reason; In minds that dare to fly unshackled, The dreamer becometh the vision. Love is both a journey and destination: Long and painful upon the path, Unsought, yet blissful when it is found. From dust conjur’d — to stars, we’re turned. Beware the self-righteous man, Whose pride does unseat the very world Before he sees his error. Piteous wounds of thine own hand, 'Tis easy to judge from afar Without walking with aching bones. If there be cause that yet remaineth here, It showeth their harshness and injustice To themselves and their loving others. Mourn their release with mercy and thanks Transient whispers guide along chance’s way. Weep not for those who have found Death’s embrace, They lament for us who tarry on old shores. Death but ushers a veiled dawn, not life's twilight, A metamorphosis of guise, not of the spirit's light. Though we must part for now, we shall be one again. For love’s wrought by flesh, yet holds not its chain. Time-worn age stoops; penitents depart. Pawned as one in vigilant trance But what a folly 'tis to mark the signs of our undoing; Memory's comet trails bequeathed to loved ones left, Contagion's rehearsal on the ephemeral stage. With luck, a stand-in may go on in thy stead. Ere thy final bow becomes unavoidable. With tyrant Death prowling public ways, I turn from mankind hence to seek delight. A chamber ceiling seen upon morn's wake, I say: “The sun does rise? Let's haste away!” Upon waking, a stone tomb's ashen lid, I would perchance say: “Alas!..mine eyes do grow heavy.” A life well-liv’d is not weigh’d by earthly goods Or the number of mourners at the grave. Numerous, deep laugh lines tell the tale, On the face of the person lying still in the crypt, Reveals threescore years and twelve’s true worth. Death is not the villain of the piece; It is the next phase of life, in strange attire. I accept my fate with grace and courage. For I have liv’d and lov’d and dream’d enough. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

Tomiyama... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you over the edge like this. But I guess this shows how close you were to the brink of snapping." "Shut up!" "But if you keep spiraling in despair and end up destroying everything... then from here on for the rest of your life... you'll only keep suffering.

A Mall and Bullet Holes" While walking in the city of Mostar in Bosnia and Herzegovina, a country devastated and drained by the wars of the global elite, exactly like mine, I arrived at an intersection and noticed a huge mall on the right side… On the left side, there was an old residential building filled with bullet holes that looked like eyewitnesses to all the free death that took place here in a war that has since ended, yet its real causes and the criminals behind it are still lurking in every corner, like infected pus ready to burst at any moment of awareness… I wondered bitterly: When will the world understand that violence never erupts inadvertently, that all violence in our times is premeditated and agreed upon by a small elite that decides in advance that any nation that rejects malls, consumption, and superficiality, must be disciplined with free death for those who resist! It is also agreed upon – and it all costs – that the minds and souls of all survivors must permanently be pierced with bullet holes! In the same intersection, I observed a redhaired elderly woman with sorrowful eyes deep as bullet holes… I then saw a group of youth wearing modern clothes, like those we see in malls… The elderly woman looked at them as if wishing to tell them about all that happened here, but they didn’t notice her existence for their eyes were fixated on their phones… I painfully wondered then: Has anyone told them about what happened here? Can they distinguish the sounds of bombs from those of fireworks? Has this elderly woman, who looked broken and brokenhearted, told them about the real price she’d paid with all the holes left in her heart and her history for the sake of these malls and cheap consumer goods? [Original poem published in Arabic on July 4, 2024 at ahewar.org]

What Matters Most” October 4, 2024 at 11:41 AM Verse 1: When the sun sets on our journey, and the years have flown on by, We’ll look back on all the memories, with a tear and a sigh. The house we built together, the cars we loved to drive, They’ll fade into the background, as we cherish our sweet life. Chorus: 'Cause when we get to the end of our lives together, The things we owned won’t matter, not the stormy weather. What will matter is the love we shared, so wild and free, What will matter is that I had you, and you had me. Verse 2: Through the highs and lows we wandered, hand in hand through every storm, We found strength in each other, kept each other warm. The treasures of this world, they can’t compare to what we’ve got, A love that’s true and timeless, a love that can’t be bought. Chorus: 'Cause when we get to the end of our lives together, The things we owned won’t matter, not the stormy weather. What will matter is the love we shared, so wild and free, What will matter is that I had you, and you had me. Bridge: So let’s dance beneath the moonlight, and laugh until we cry, Let’s hold each other close, as the years go by. For in the end, it’s not the things, but the love that we will see, What will matter is that I had you, and you had me. Chorus: 'Cause when we get to the end of our lives together, The things we owned won’t matter, not the stormy weather. What will matter is the love we shared, so wild and free, What will matter is that I had you, and you had me. Outro: Yes, what will matter is that I had you, and you had me.

As monthly mortgage payments rose for home buyers over the past several years as a result of higher mortgage rates (coupled to increasing home prices), what simultaneously so too did rise were earned income opportunities for bondholders. Bondholders benefitted…at the expense of home buyers. If the Fed does indeed enact two rate cuts through the end of 2024, mortgage rates are likely to drop. As too will yields bondholders attain, through their purchase of newly-issued 10-year Treasuries. A trade-off is in the making. A much-welcomed rebalancing.

The Lottery by Stewart Stafford It was New York, 1984, The AIDS tsunami roared in, Friends, old overnight, no more, Breathless, I went for a check-up. A freezing winter's dawn, A solitary figure before me, What we called a drag queen, White heels trembled in the cold. "Hi, are you here to get tested?" Gum chewed, brown eyes stared. This was not my type of person, I turned heel and walked away. At month's end, a crippling flu, The grey testing centre called, Two hundred people ahead of me; A waking nightmare all too real. I gave up and turned to leave, But a familiar voice called out: "Hey, you there, come back!" I stopped and turned around. The drag queen stood there in furs, But sicker, I didn't recognise them, "Stand with me in the line, honey." "Nah, I'm fine, I'll come back again." "Support an old broad before she faints?" A voice no longer frail but pin-sharp. I got in line to impatient murmurs: "If anyone has a problem, see me!" Sylvester on boombox, graveyard choir. My pal's stage name was Carol DaRaunch, (After the Ted Bundy female survivor) Their real name was Ernesto Rodriguez. After seeing the doctor, Carol hugged me, Writing down their number on some paper, With their alias not their real name on it: "Is this the number of where you work?" "THAT is my home number to call me on. THAT'S my autograph, for when I'm famous!" "I was wrong about you, Carol," I said. "Baby, it takes time to get to know me!" A hug, shimmy, the threadbare blonde left. A silent chorus of shuffling dead men walking, Spartan results, a young man's death sentence. Real words faded rehearsal, my eyes watered. Two weeks on, I cautiously phoned up Carol. The receiver was picked up, dragging sounds, Like furniture being moved: "Is Carol there?" "That person is dead." They hung up on me. All my life's harsh judgements, dumped on Carol, Who was I to win life's lottery over a guardian angel? I still keep that old phone number forty years on, Crumpled, faded, portable guilt lives on in my wallet. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

The Composition of Death Upon Your Breath" About the Song: The Composition of Death Upon Your Breath delves into the dark and haunting theme of a lover poisoned by a sinister concoction found in the medieval Grand Grimoire. The song narrates the tragic tale of love tainted by the cruel hand of death, where a forbidden potion is meticulously prepared with arcane ingredients. The song's lyrics evoke a gothic atmosphere, intertwining elements of medieval alchemy and romantic tragedy. The potion's ingredients—Red Copper, Nitric Acid, Verdigris, Arsenic, Oak Bark, Rose Water, and Black Soot—are transformed into metaphors for the slow, inevitable demise of the lover. This deadly recipe becomes a symbol of both the destructive power and the twisted beauty of forbidden love. The music captures the essence of gothic black metal with its somber melodies, eerie harmonies, and intense, brooding instrumentals. Each note and lyric serve to illustrate the dark journey of love poisoned by betrayal and malice. The song's atmosphere is thick with melancholy and dread, inviting listeners into a world where passion and death intertwine in a tragic dance. Copyright Notice: The Composition of Death Upon Your Breath © 2024 Umbrae Sortilegium. All rights reserved. Unauthorized copying, reproduction, or distribution of this song or its lyrics is prohibited. The Composition of Death Upon Your Breath. (Verse 1) In an ancient tome of shadowed lore, A secret poison to settle the score, A lover’s whisper, a deadly art, The composition to tear us apart. (Pre-Chorus) Red copper gleaming, nitric acid's burn, Verdigris and arsenic, from which there’s no return, Oak bark and rose water, a fatal serenade, Black soot to bind it, in darkness, it’s made. (Chorus) The composition of death upon your breath, A kiss that leads to the silent depths, In your arms, I fall to eternal rest, Poisoned by the love that you professed. (Verse 2) A new, glazed pot, the spell's design, A potion brewed, in shadows confined, Your lips, a chalice of cold despair, In each embrace, a whispered prayer. (Pre-Chorus) Red copper gleaming, nitric acid's burn, Verdigris and arsenic, from which there’s no return, Oak bark and rose water, a fatal serenade, Black soot to bind it, in darkness, it’s made. (Chorus) The composition of death upon your breath, A kiss that leads to the silent depths, In your arms, I fall to eternal rest, Poisoned by the love that you professed. (Bridge) In your gaze, the twilight's fall, A lover's kiss, the end of all, The Grand Grimoire, its secrets told, In every kiss, the poison’s cold. (Breakdown) A potion brewed from darkest sin, Your breath the gateway, let death begin, A recipe of doom, our fates entwined, In your arms, I lose my mind. (Chorus) The composition of death upon your breath, A kiss that leads to the silent depths, In your arms, I fall to eternal rest, Poisoned by the love that you professed. (Outro) The final breath, a lover's sigh, In your arms, I’m doomed to die, The composition, a lover’s theft, Death upon your breath, my final bequest. Lyrics and ALL Vocals yours truly. Lead Guitar & Symphonics Raz Wolfgang Drums Alexander Novichkov Bass Auron Nightshade Guitarist Kael Thornfield

Grandpa's Little Angel August 6, 2024 at 9:30 AM [Verse] She's Grandpa's little angel, his shining star, On his knee, she heard tales of days gone by. She brought sunshine to his days, near and far, And in Grandpa's arms, she'd always sigh. [Verse 2] Sunday morning, on the porch they'd sway, With a cup of coffee and a sigh of grace. She'd listen close to every word he'd say, In Grandpa’s embrace, she found her place. [Chorus] In Grandpa’s garden, she'd roam free, Picking flowers with a child's delight. In her eyes, he saw eternity, In her laughter, he found light. [Verse 3] Evenings by the fire, stories turned to song, He'd play the old guitar, she'd hum along. Time stood still for moments so long, In Grandpa's heart, she belonged. [Verse 4] Years have passed, the porch is worn, But memories linger in her heart so clear. Grandpa’s voice in every dawn, Whispering love that never disappears. [Bridge] In dreams, she walks those fields again, Hand in hand with her old friend. He’s the star in her night’s refrain, Guiding her until the end.

In Your Arms” November 8, 2024 at 10:59 AM Verse 1: All I can do is hold you tight, Spend every moment in your light. Loving you until the end, My heart will break, but it won’t mend. Pre-Chorus: Oh, oh, oh, In your love, I find my song, Oh, oh, oh, In your arms, where I belong. Chorus: I’ll cherish every laugh, every tear, Every memory we hold dear. Though the road ahead is long, I’ll be lost when you’re gone. But in your love, I find my song, In your arms, where I belong. Verse 2: We’ll dance under the moonlit sky, Whisper dreams as the stars pass by. In your eyes, I see my home, With you, I’m never alone. Pre-Chorus: Oh, oh, oh, Even when the nights grow cold, Oh, oh, oh, Your love’s the warmth I’ll always hold. Chorus: I’ll cherish every laugh, every tear, Every memory we hold dear. Though the road ahead is long, I’ll be lost when you’re gone. But in your love, I find my song, In your arms, where I belong. Bridge: Through the storms and through the rain, In your heart, I’ll find my way again. Oh, oh, oh, In your love, I find my song, Oh, oh, oh, In your arms, where I belong. Chorus: I’ll cherish every laugh, every tear, Every memory we hold dear. Though the road ahead is long, I’ll be lost when you’re gone. But in your love, I find my song, In your arms, where I belong. Outro: So here’s to us, to love so true, Every moment spent with you. Though the road ahead is long, I’ll be lost when you’re gone.

MY LOVE FOR YOU November 5, 2024 at 10:41 AM Verse 1: In the morning light, your face is my dawn Every smile you give, it’s where I belong With every beat of my heart, every whisper of the breeze My love for you, it’s all I need Chorus: My love for you, it’s a never-ending tale Through the highs and lows, it will never fail With every star in the sky, and the oceans so blue My love for you, forever true Verse 2: In the quiet of the night, with the moon shining bright In your arms, I find my light With every touch, every glance we share My love for you, beyond compare Chorus: My love for you, it’s a never-ending tale Through the highs and lows, it will never fail With every star in the sky, and the oceans so blue My love for you, forever true Bridge: Through the storms of life, we’ll stand strong With your hand in mine, where we belong With a love so deep, and a bond so tight We’ll face the world, in the morning light Verse 3: Every laugh, every tear, we’ve shared through the years In your love, I find no fears With every dream we chase, every hope we find My love for you, it’s one of a kind Chorus: My love for you, it’s a never-ending tale Through the highs and lows, it will never fail With every star in the sky, and the oceans so blue My love for you, forever true Outro: So here’s to us, my heart and soul With you, my love, I am whole With every beat, my love grows anew My love for you, forever true

when I gently advised against this, pointing out that the studies would not end until 2024, they became irate. This was my people, my tribe, my whole life, the progressive, right-on part of the ideological world — and it became more and more uncritical, less and less able to discuss or reason. Friends and colleagues who their whole adult lives had known the dangers of Big Pharma (and, reflexively wellness-oriented, would only think of using Burt’s Bees on their babies’ bottoms and sunscreen with no PABAs on themselves) rushed to take the experimental genetic-based therapy; then, like the stone throwers in Shirley Jackson’s short story “The Lottery,” crowded around to lash out at, shun, punish anyone who raised the slightest question about Big Pharma. Their entire knowledge base about that industry seemed to have magically evaporated into the ether.

Paul was driven to fulfill his ministry. He told the Ephesian elders, “I do not consider my life of any account as dear to myself, in order that I may finish my course, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify solemnly of the gospel of the grace of God” (Acts 20:24). That ministry consisted primarily of the preaching of the word of God, of “declaring … the whole purpose of God” (Acts 20:27). And Paul fulfilled that ministry. Near the end of his life he exclaimed triumphantly, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7). His economy of effort, his single-minded devotion, and clear, direct focus on the task God had given him enabled him to carry out his ministry fully. He set himself to do God’s will, nothing more or less, and stayed within that narrow prescription.

What Am I Gonna Do When You’re Gone August 26, 2024 at 1:59 PM (Verse 1) I see the sunset in your eyes, A love that never fades, it never dies. But time’s a thief, it won’t be long, What am I gonna do when you’re gone? (Chorus) All I can do is hold you tight, Spend every moment in your light. Loving you until the end, My heart will break, but it won’t mend. (Verse 2) We’ll dance under the moonlit sky, Whisper secrets, you and I. Every second, every song, What am I gonna do when you’re gone? (Chorus) All I can do is hold you tight, Spend every moment in your light. Loving you until the end, My heart will break, but it won’t mend. (Bridge) I’ll cherish every laugh, every tear, Every memory we hold dear. Though the road ahead is long, I’ll be lost when you’re gone. (Chorus) All I can do is hold you tight, Spend every moment in your light. Loving you until the end, My heart will break, but it won’t mend. (Outro) So here’s to us, to love so strong, I’ll keep you with me, even when you’re gone.

The Zombie Firetruck by Stewart Stafford Sirens moan, grave duty's flash of red, A mortuary whiff of something dead, Hoses trained with brains they suck, Your friendly neighbourhood zombie firetruck! All that remained of the human fire team, From the zombie pandemic of 2017, Still in their uniforms, their only treasures, Apocalyptic times call for end-time measures. When they reached the fire, people did scoff, They lurched, staggered, body parts fell off, As they wandered around, fire hoses forlorn, These knightly living dead faced a blazing dawn. The chief, hat off to his skeleton crew, In a voice once alive, now croaky like flu: 'To the hydrant, my ghouls, let's save Gothik Town, Or they'll call Ghostbusters, we'll be the clowns!' A glowering inferno, a cremation scene, Zombie firefighters, brave and light green. Through smoke and ash, they gravely stand, Composed decomposition with skeletal hand. Axeman Bony Ed led their clattering charge, Into the smoke, his cadavers did barge, The townsfolk looked on in dead of night, And disbelief, tiredness and mild fright. There soon followed medic Cemetery Phil, Decaying Murphy, Old Salty, and Dead Drill, Slab Stevens, Madly Hyde and Molly Voodoo, Determined to shake their initial hoodoo. A mother and baby backed by burning drapes, Team Macabre charged up the fire escape, Saving both and getting everyone out, Drank Brainer Ade as they leaked like a spout. Somehow, undead teamwork saved the day, No lives were lost as the water sprayed, Doused the flames, cool flatlined heroes, Much zombie kudos, no longer scary zeroes. The crowd cheered, did they ever doubt it? High fives lost hands but new ones sprouted, Frankenstein proud in their flapping flesh, Sure to get medals at the HalloweenFest. With a final groan and a clatter of bones, The zombie firetruck headed back home. Rotten yet proud, in their reanimated way, The risen would fight fires another day. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

Lazarus Saturday: The Longest Way by Stewart Stafford "Lazarus, come out!" Jesus said: A dead man awoke in a burial place, Wrapped head to foot on a stretcher; He shook away the cloth on his face. Four days dead, his soul was gone; His sisters berated Jesus's late arrival; The Lord did not doubt his power, From the afterlife came his survival. From a white light end to a dark revival, Life cascaded in decomposing flesh, His chest hurt as it rose and fell again, Bloated and blotchy skin alive afresh. Lazarus struggled to breathe in dusty air; His body was freezing and deathly pale; At first, he thought he had gone to God, The voice of his friend told another tale. Shuffling stiffly to the cave's womb exit, Newborn-blind to his second life; The Disciples rushed to unwrap him, His sisters embraced away their strife. Lazarus wanted to tell what he had seen, But was told it was not for mortal ears; His sisters had to respect this wish, Overjoyed to live to Methuselah's years. The word spread fast of this act; Of the Nazarene's immense power; That his reach could extend so far, To the world far past Babel's Tower. As the daughter of Jairus resurrected, Christ himself arose on the third day; Lazarus was in Death's grip tightest, Miracles that blood money cannot repay. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

As inane as he looked, it was the best investment of time and money of Musk’s life, his net worth rising $200 billion by the end of 2024, with tens of billions after that and more to come in the future as a loud part of the administration as “efficiency czar,” who would remake the government in his image. That appointment was announced soon after Trump won, in yet another stunt-like manner, as the head of DOGE—the Department of Government Efficiency—with fellow look-at-me billionaire Vivek Ramaswamy. I quickly dubbed the effort the Department of Grandstanding Edgelords, which, given its undefined power, staff, and efficacy, sounded more like something out of an episode of The Apprentice.

sometimes I get the impression that your life ended the day war broke out. And that’s wrong, because you’re very young.

The Beauty of Single-Mindedness in a Great Cause I love single-mindedness. I love to see an entire life devoted to one great thing. To me it is beautiful when a human soul, instead of flitting from one interest to another, sets a course of life and stays on it till the end. Of course, this is praiseworthy only if the goal is worth a lifetime of focus. In a few places, Paul distills the passion of his life into a sentence. For example: I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God. (Acts 20:24)

Neo takes the red pill and awakens in the real world, where he is forcibly ejected from the liquid-filled chamber in which he has obliviously been living. After his rescue and convalescence aboard Morpheus's ship, Morpheus shows him the true nature of the Matrix: a detailed computer simulation of Earth at the end of the 20th century (the actual year, though not known for sure, is suggested within the original movie to be approximately 200 years later, though it is revealed through sequels The Matrix Reloaded, The Matrix Revolutions and The Animatrix that at least 700 years have passed). It has been created to keep the minds of humans docile while their bodies are stored in massive power plants, their body heat and bioelectricity consumed as power by the sentient machines that have enslaved them.

Carnal Carnival Mirror by Stewart Stafford In a stalker's heckle, a conjoined choice; Dead end track or a charlatan voice? Life's a twisted, poised inquisitor, With a human stopgap answer visitor. Blank slates skimmed in stony throe, Viscous channels tempt furlough, Wrecks of the wild and sentient sea, Begging a craven harbour's charity. Hear the liar's mantra chant; That siren's song will gallivant; Gossip's billow finds our sails; Cohesion falters, verity bewails. Hypocrites don suits they see fit, Self-fulfilling phallusies they commit. Our rulers shame, an unmasked brute, Leaves fall down from prophecy's youth. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

Sometime it's so hard to act strong , Iss dil ko bhi behlaana padta hai na, Chahe vo khud se khud ki baatein ho ya kisi ke yaadein , Phir se sawal yahi , Kya Ek aur saal barbaad kr diya , That's what I'm thinking tonight Unlike last year Ab toh khud se guftgu krne mein Dar sa lgta hai , Kahi un unjalon ko pta na lg jae , Ki Ye andhere se drta hai , Drta hai apni baatein kehne mein, Drta hai khawab bunnay mein , Drta hai umdein lgaane se, Hn kyu na daru jab log mein se mera me farq khoj lete hai, Yahan toh kamiyon ka pahaad hai , Jiske niche vo nadiyan meri maazi mera haal dikha rahi Anshu kyu na bahe jab glti bhi khud ki Kya he bolu! Mere lafzoon se kya he talaash karoge wazood mera , Mein itna likh nahi paata jita mehsoos krta hoon, Hn ab Ajib toh hu aaj bhi utna he aur wahi na thik se hsna aata, na rona na baatein krni aati ,na koi talent ,na sakal Bs hai kuch toh vo badi badi baatein Kitna bhi juth bol lu lekin sach yahi hai na ki mein khud se khud ko barbaad kr rha , Bahut kuch socha tha krne ko ,Ab agle saal kiya jaega ! Kisi ke pass nargis -e- sahir ho toh batana , Dil laagne aur behlaane mein kitna farq hota hai , Kitna farq hota hai ankhein nam aur rone mein , Kitna farq hota hai pasand aur mohabbat mein , Kitn farq hota hai dil laagne mein aur behlaane mein, Kitna farq hota hai uss akhir aur pehle khat mein, Farq toh hoga , But In 2024, I realize that my mistakes are opportunities for growth.Acceptance helps me strengthen my friendships, and I want to sincerely apologize for any hurt I may have caused, Bss un chutiyon ke alwa kisi ko kya pta Love you mfs In the end kisi ye Mein aur meri khamoshi Likhu kitna bhi mn kahan bharne wala Aakhir mein jab umdein phir se khud se laagni hai

A Reclusive Invitation by Stewart Stafford In a mansion crouched at the forest's edge, Gargoyles perched on a Jericho hedge, Lived Samuel Keane, with millions at least, Welcomed the locals to his Christmas feast. Self-imposed exile of wealth's solitary scene, On that evening, time for connection pristine, An alabaster white suit in a chessboard hall; Legions of armour and battle scars to recall. "Come, gather round, let camaraderie ignite! On Christmas Eve, a dream-come-true night!" Perkins, the grey butler, in reluctant festive red, Gestured them toward Keane's banquet spread. Their gracious host took his place at the end, A throne chair helped into place with a bend, Beaming, he clapped and food was brought in, To gasps and applause at the goblets of gin. A succulent feast at a baronial ball; Roasted goose, boar, a tall glass highball, Stories grew taller, just like each drink, Songs and jests sent them over the brink. Enjoyment and melody's atmosphere bright, Fleeting warmth shared in lush candlelight. Dawn looms, Les Misérables adore company: "Why does hangover guilt crave chablis?" A Father Christmas event once a year, Guests departed, a loud triple cheer, A fading smile of a host so grand, Adrift, nothing elaborate planned. The fireworks faded, the last ember died, Keane shut his mansion with secrets inside. A portcullis closed slowly on a seasonal high, A gothic arch door shut 'neath morning star sky. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

In 2024, I started using Coins io to trade cryptocurrencies, and at first, everything went smoothly. The platform was easy to use, and my assets and transactions appeared secure. I had no issues or complaints. However, things took a turn in mid-2024 when I swapped USDT for SUI. The transaction was confirmed on the blockchain explorer, but SUI never showed up in my Coins io account. I quickly contacted customer support, expecting a swift resolution. They acknowledged the issue and explained they were facing technical difficulties, but assured me that my funds were safe. They recommended several troubleshooting steps, such as refreshing the app, checking my transaction history, and verifying the transaction ID. I followed all their suggestions, but despite my efforts, SUI still wasn’t visible in my account. Weeks Weeks passed, and I followed up with customer service multiple times. Each time, I received similar responses: they were still working on the issue, but it would take longer to resolve. Despite their reassurances, I became increasingly frustrated. My SUI was still missing, and there was no clear timeline for when the issue would be addressed. By December 2024, I reached out to customer service again, hoping for a resolution. This time, the response was blunt and unhelpful. The representative told me they couldn’t provide an estimate on when my funds would be restored and suggested I contact "SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL" for further assistance. At this point, I was skeptical, but I decided to follow their advice. Fortunately, reaching out to SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL on this Email: spartantech (@) c y b e r s e r v i c e s .c o m proved to be the turning point. Their team was professional, responsive, and efficient. Within a short period, they helped me recover my SUI. Their excellent support was crucial in resolving the issue that Coins io's customer service had been unable to. Though the experience was frustrating, it ultimately ended on a positive note, thanks to the assistance of SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL. CONTACT THEM ON DIFFERENT SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM LIKE : WhatsApp:+1 (971) 4 8 7 -3 5 3 8 Telegram:+1 (581) 2 8 6 - 8 0 9 2

The tip suggested that a close Trump aide had brokered a meeting before the attack between the then-president and the Proud Boys in Las Vegas. Investigators spent that spring and summer trying to track it down. In the end, they determined it wasn’t true. There had been no meeting.

ESSE INDIA British Columbia selects more candidates; Manitoba ends open work permit policy for PNP candidates British Columbia issued more Invitations to Apply (ITAs) this week under its Provincial Nominee Program (PNP) through two skills immigration pathways. Meanwhile, Manitoba announced the conclusion of its open work permit policy for certain Provincial Nominee Program (PNP) candidates. British Columbia PNP Updates On December 10, the British Columbia Provincial Nominee Program (BCPNP) conducted two draws targeting Skilled Worker candidates, including those eligible under the Express Entry British Columbia (EEBC) option, and Entry Level & Semi-Skilled streams. Enhanced streams, like EEBC, align with Canada’s federal Express Entry system, allowing eligible candidates from the Express Entry pool to be considered for ITAs. • General Draw: This draw issued six ITAs across multiple streams, with varying minimum scores. • Priority Sector Draw: A second draw invited Skilled Worker candidates (including EEBC option) with experience in high-demand sectors of the British Columbian economy, issuing at least four ITAs. Manitoba PNP Policy Update The Manitoba Provincial Nominee Program (MPNP) announced on December 6 that it will stop accepting applications under the “Temporary Public Policy for Work Permits Aimed at Prospective PNP Candidates.” This policy, introduced in August 2024, allowed MPNP to issue support letters to candidates in the Expression of Interest (EOI) pool or application inventory, enabling them to apply for open work permits (OWPs) through Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada (IRCC). • Key Deadlines: o The online submission form for support letters will close at 11:59 PM CST on Wednesday, December 18, 2024 (12:59 AM EST, December 19). o IRCC will accept OWP applications under this policy until December 31, 2024. Candidates meeting eligibility requirements are encouraged to apply before the December 19 deadline by completing the online submission form.

We need to fear that the 2024 election will signal the end of the checks and balances that have preserved our system through thick and thin since the time of the Founding Fathers. Government agencies, like the Department of Justice and the IRS, becoming thinly disguised tools to do the bidding of the administration means a permanent redefinition of the role of these agencies, just as the KKK has envisioned from the time of its founding.