serving library


Jaehaerys I, Good Queen Alysanne, and Septon Barth
Happy birthday, @goodqueenaly!

Decisive in thought and deed, Jaehaerys was wise beyond his years, always seeking the most peaceable ends. His queen, Alysanne, was also well loved throughout the realm, being both beautiful and high-spirited, as well as charming and keenly intelligent. […] For forty-six years, the Old King and Good Queen Alysanne were wed, and for the most part it was a happy marriage, with children and grandchildren aplenty. […] the Old King outlived his beloved queen, and in his last years it was said that the grief of their parting hung over his court like a pall.

Yet if Alysanne was Jaehaerys’s great love, his greatest friend was Septon Barth. No man of humble birth ever rose so high as the plainspoken but brilliant septon. He was the son of a common blacksmith and had been given to the Faith while young. But his brilliance made itself known, and in time he came to serve in the library at the Red Keep, tending the king’s books and records. There King Jaehaerys became acquainted with him, and soon named him Hand of the King.

Donald Sutherland as Jaehaerys Targaryen ♚ Michelle Pfeiffer as Alysanne TargaryenSean Connery as Septon Barth

Imagine a Teen Wolf Breakfast Club AU.

On that one Saturday, five students–the basket case, the criminal, the princess, the jock and the nerd–were called in to serve detention in the library of Beacon Hills high school.

Stiles is Allison, the “basket case” reject that everyone thinks is crazy–his mother was mentally ill, so they assume he is too. He’s a social outcast who would much rather sit in the back of the room and exist in his own world.

Originally posted by leftarmbucky

Derek is John, a teen who is accused of being a criminal. There are rumours circulating that he killed his family but they’re all lies: he’s the victim. He lives with his abusive uncle, suffering from the man’s alcoholism and physical and verbal lashings.

(Except he ends up with Stiles in the end)

Originally posted by brianjxhnson

Lydia is Claire, the “princess” of Beacon Hills High. She lives every day with parents who would much rather buy her love than spend time with her. She gets the highest grades but pretends to be stupid. The truth is she doesn’t want to be treated as something frail; she wants to be treated as a person.

Originally posted by bella-m

Jackson is Andrew, the athlete whose adoptive parents are either neglectful becasue they don’t know how to deal with him or overwhelming in their crushing expectations of who he is meant to be.

Originally posted by realteenwolf

Scott is Brian, the sweet nerd that no one talks to. The truth is he lives with a single mother and they struggle to get by. He’s trying to work to help her, but all he really wants is to let her know that no matter what happens they’ll be okay.

Originally posted by hvproductions

Imagine the shenanigans they get up to during those hours of detention: climbing through vents, running down halls, dancing around the library, getting high, confessing their darkest secrets…

Five students, brought together for those few hours, leave as friends.

The American Library Association strongly opposes any actions that limit free access to information, undermine privacy or discriminate on any basis. This includes the temporary suspension of visas and entrance to the US based on anyone’s nationality or religion as well as the increased scrutiny of any individual’s communication such as mobile phone and/or social media activity.

“Our nation’s 120,000 public, academic, school and special libraries serve all community members, including people of color, immigrants, people with disabilities and the most vulnerable in our communities, offering services and educational resources that transform communities, open minds, and promote inclusion and diversity.  

“ALA believes that the struggle against racism, prejudice, stereotyping and discrimination is central to our mission. We will continue to speak out and support efforts to abolish intolerance and cultural invisibility, stand up for all the members of the communities we serve, and promote understanding and inclusion through our work.

“We will continue to speak out and support our members as they work tirelessly for access to library and information resources on behalf of all of their community members, while advocating for privacy, intellectual freedom, critical global research, information literacy, ongoing access to scientific research, and fair and equitable treatment for everyone.

Library Facts

There are technically 4 main types of libraries:

1. Public libraries, which are open to any member of the region the library serves, and as such have to cater to all age groups and to as many languages and minorities as possible.

2. Academic libraries, which generally cater to post-secondary students, faculty, staff, and possibly alumni depending on their policies. Academic libraries are often (in Canada, at least), available to the public to a lesser extent (public access depends on their policies; you might be able to take out books, for example, but need to pay a small fee to use their databases).

3. School libraries, which are sadly extremely endangered, are the libraries at schools for primary and secondary education (in Canada that’d be elementary, junior high, and high school). Access is usually limited to students and teachers of the school. To give you an idea of how endangered they are, some provinces in Canada have done away with school libraries altogether.

4. Special libraries, which are technically every other kind of library. Their access to the public can vary wildly, from full access to no access at all. Special libraries can (and often are) broken down into several smaller groups of library types, but don’t get their own main category probably because they can usually qualify as various types of libraries at once (for example, a visual art library that’s entirely digital or a government library specifically relating to a subject like health, the environment, or the law).

Library Zine: Voices from Across The New York Public Library is a new publication looking to showcase works from the diverse communities the Library serves! We call for the distinct and creative voices of our patrons to submit their poetry, short stories, essays, and original artwork for our second issue, which will revolve around The New York Public Library’s Summer Reading theme, Build a Better World. Learn more about submitting your work.
Net neutrality: America’s libraries stand for freedom and fairness
OPINION | We must work to ensure the strongest possible protections for equitable access to online information, applications and services for all.
By Julie Todaro, Opinion Contributor

“We’re a critical place for the public to access the internet. Local public libraries are often the only no-fee public internet access point in our communities. Libraries particularly serve the information needs of the most vulnerable segments of our population, including those in rural areas, unemployed and low-income consumers, older adults and people with disabilities.This is the crucial mission of libraries: to transform communities through information. Network neutrality is essential to this mission.”


You shouldn’t have said anything.
With a sigh you looked at the library infront of you. This would take hours to sort.

Making your way through the shelves, you let your hand slide over the books, reading their titles and  getting lost in your own world.

You didn’t even hear Jace coming, until he called your name and you turned around.

“What did you do, (y/n)? Sorting the library mostly serves as a punishment.”
“I maybe told Hodge that the arrangment of the books was bad and that there are a lot of better ways”, you explained distorting your mouth.

Of course Jace laughed at that. You always spoke before you thought things through, getting you in trouble more times than you could count.

“That is not funny, Jace! This will take me forever to rearrange!”
“Well, it will go faster if I help you”, Jace said coming closer.
“You want to help me?”

He only smiled as answer and took one of the books, laying on the table beside you.
“How do you want to sort them?” 

requested by pupcakes
hope you like it

You can find all my Imagines|Confessions here
Requests for Imagines|Confessions are open. Send me some ^^

so this is something i talked about with @ralphspina the other day. i wanted to come up with a decent backstory for speirs/webster and so i rewatched “the last patrol” AGAIN in search of clues and this particular moment caught my attention:

now i know what you’re thinking
RON………………… WITH A BOOK????????????????
like you’d think being the magpie he is ron would be only after silverware and jewelry and everything shiny NOT BOOKS JFC
but hear me out
speirs definitely has an intellectual side to him. he’s and avid book reader and super smart AND I WILL FUCKING FIGHT ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE  🔫👀
like you can bet your ass ron is secretly as good as nix when it comes to witty comebacks and backhanded compliments
but he keeps it all to himself cause he doesn’t want to ruin his reputation as this brooding badass
but back to that scene

Keep reading

somequeerdistortion  asked:

Rosvolio drabble prompt- solitude

A month past her wedding day and Rosaline could not help but find married life to be somewhat different from what she had expected.

She had seen enough of it from her mother and her aunt to know the responsibility she was to bear – for both of them had always seemed to be so busy, directing servants and entertaining visitors, filling every hour with the management of a large household. Nor had they ever seemed to be alone, always accompanied by a retinue of liveried servants and chambermaids, who waited upon them from the moment they woke to the moment they pulled the bed curtains closed for sleep.

Rosaline’s days were busy, it was true, for setting up the business of a new house required diligence and the patience of a saint, yet she found there were always a few hours she could carve out for her own, when she might enjoy her own company for a time and briefly set aside her duty. A small room off her chamber well-stocked with a growing library easily served her purposes, although when the weather was fine she spent her time in the garden, for there was a stone bench where she could read in peace, regaled by the sound of sparrow-larks and the burble of a nearby fountain.

Today the sun shone brightly overhead, the blue of the sky unmarred by clouds, and so Rosaline sat in the garden, engrossed in her volume of Petrarch’s sonnets, until she heard the unexpected sound of footsteps along the path.

Rosaline glanced up and quickly recognized the form of her husband, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him. In his left hand he carried a book, a little larger than her own, as well as a charcoal pencil, and for a moment she wondered what exactly had brought him to her refuge.

“My apologies, madam,” he said, stopping along the path. “I did not know you were here.” He offered her a small bow, as if he meant to depart. “I will leave you to your solitude.”

“Wait,” she cried out, before he could turn back towards the house.

She was not sure why she had said anything at all, for she had no reason for him to stay, only the realization that she had not seen much of him in the past month – and that, too, was unexpected. They sat together at meals, of course, and played host to their occasional guests, yet at night he sought his own chamber, having no need, apparently, for her company.

“Did you come here to read?” she asked.

He shook his head and glanced down somewhat bashfully at the book in his hand. “To draw.”

It was a sketchbook, she realized, more surprised than anything by this small revelation into her husband’s private life. And yet there remained the strangely overwhelming desire to know more.

“Do not leave for my sake,” she said, “for solitude can be shared, if the parties are of like minds… or so I have read.”

“As you say, my lady,” he said as he nodded, the shadow of a smile on his lips, and soon he had found a seat at the opposite side of the bench.

There had only been a moment to glimpse the contents of his book before he opened it to a new page – rough sketches of a Roman statue, the pointed arch of a church window, a pair of hands that bore a ring much like the one upon her own finger – and then she demurely turned her gaze, the soft scratching of his pencil the only sound she could hear as she descended once more into Petrarch.

[send me a word, I’ll write you a Rosvolio drabble]

Meet Me in the Courtyard

Summary:  Belle hosts a monthly movie night in Storybrooke, always leaving the seat next to her empty. Gold loathes movies, yet movie night at the library is the one community event even he can’t seem to resist.
Rating: T WC: 2500
A/N: Written for @a-monthly-rumbelling Movie Night prompt. It’s Rumbelle movie night fluff!

{ON AO3}

Gold glared out the window of his shop, catching Gretel Snyder’s eye before she covered his new window display with one of those stupid movie night posters. Belle French was paying neighborhood children to hang those blasted flyers—again. Young Gretel’s green eyes were as large as dinner plates as he scowled at her in a fierce yet silent showdown. She blinked, and he smirked in satisfaction. Then, with a triumphant grin, she slapped the paper against the glass and fled.

He hobbled to the door and snatched the paper, grinding it beneath his heel with a satisfactory crunch. “Meet Me in the Courtyard indeed,” he muttered aloud to the empty shop. He picked at a stray bit of tape with his fingertips. Gold loathed movies, and he wouldn’t take part in advertising this foolish community event, no matter how gorgeous and engaging its organizer was.

Movies reminded him of his ex-wife, Milah.  Milah, who went to the theatre around the corner twice a week from their Boston apartment, a harmless habit which later evolved into bopping the concessions manager, who also happened to be a wannabe actor. Killian Jones, it seemed, had larger Jujubes than he did.

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“I have a duty to serve the libraries patrons, but also to protect the books… I can’t in good conscious let you take it home…. but… maybe I could… read this book to you?“

Help me, I’m shipping it.



Finnick O'Dair x Reader. Requested.

Prompt; “They were all looking, but I didn’t care- I ran to him anyway.”

You and Finnick had been best friends, once upon a time. The friendship began when you two were kids and as you grew older it blossomed into love. For a long time you thought the love was unrequited. You thought the love was one sided. You loved Finnick and you wished that he could hold you in his arms, that the two of you, perhaps not at the age of fourteen but in a few years time, you wished that the two of you may one day, possibly, maybe actually get together, that he might actually fall in love in with you. But you were smarter than that, Finnick wouldn’t love you the way you love him, he sees you as a best friend, as a sister, not a lover. And you were not willing to risk your friendship with him for a hopeless dream. So you kept your mouth shut. And you thought that you would NEVER tell him of your true feelings.

But things change.

The capital ruins everything.

It started the day Finnick was reaped for the hunger games. Tears poured down your face as Finnick made the agonising walk from the crowd to the stage. When he reached the stage and shook the hand of the female tribute, his eyes locked in yours only for a few seconds. It was only when the double doors closed behind Finnick closed, blocking him from your view did it all sink in. Finnick O'Dair, your best friend and the boy you were in love with was going into the hunger games. And there was only a one in twenty four chance he was going to come back home to you.

Finnick’s family were the first to see him after the reaping. You stood outside the doors, pacing back and forth, twiddling with your thumb and doing anything to distract yourself as Finnick said goodbye to his family. When they left, surround by peacekeepers, you could see their blood shot eyes and slouching backs, they didn’t think they’d see him again either.

As soon as you were aloud in you launched yourself into Finnick’s arms. He held you closely and petted your hair, trying to calm you down. Finnick was the one to pull away. He looked into your eyes searching for something. Using the hand that wasn’t on your waist he pushed back a few strand of hair from your face but he left his hand on your cheek. He slowly leaned in until his lips were millimetres away from yours, he waited a few seconds as if changing his mind and began to pull away. But before he could you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his lips to yours. The kiss was a little awkward, a mix of lips and tears and it only last a few seconds but neither of you could deny the butterflies in your stomachs, the pounding of your hearts, that commenced as soon as your lips connect and continued until the moment you both pulled away. Before either of you could say a word, you felt a strong hand take hold of your arm. Your time was up. Tears began to blur your eyes as you looked widely between the peacekeepers and Finnick trying to get free to get back to the young boy but to no avail.

“Win for me!” You called to Finnick. And as the doors closed, you could hear him say; “I’ll come back to you, I promise.”

You didn’t see Finnick again until after he won his games, after he returned home because not matter how much your parents tried to get you to watch Finnick in the games, you’d always look away. You knew that he wouldn’t want you to see him like that, so you didn’t. When Finnick got back you were so happy. He wanted nothing more than to return to his normal life, a life with you by his side, but it was harder than he first imagined.

Neither of you could stop thinking about the kiss but it wasn’t awkward between the two of you, you both acted the way you did before the games. It went unspoken that you both were far too young to start dating so you decided you’d wait until you both were sixteen to date officially. Even though the two of you weren’t dating after a while things got a little friendlier between the two of you. When he hugged you, you’d snuggle into him, you’d kiss his cheek and he would blush and when he had nightmares, thoughts that haunted him even in his sleep, you’d be by his side, holding him and calming him down, like he did to you the day he was reaped.

By the time you guys were sixteen you both knew, without even talking, that you two were dating.

But things change.

The capital ruins everything.

There was absolute no denying that by the time Finnick had become sixteen he was extremely attractive, so much so that any girl would fall to their knees and grovel at his feet. The capital knew that. And they wanted that. And the woman of the capital, the rich and bejewelled, wanted to have him. So the President tried to make a deal with Finnick, to make him a cortisone. Finnick said no and the capital killed his family. When he tried to run away with you they caught you both and took you away from Finnick, making a promise to him that they wouldn’t hurt you, only if he obeyed them.

And that was the last time you ever saw Finnick.

Each day passed the same way. You’d wake up in your soft bed, in your huge room in the president’s own home. You’d ring a bell to notify the peacekeepers outside your door that you were awake, and one of them would send for an attendant to dress you in some simple clothing and give you breakfast that could be bacon & eggs or pancakes or even waffles with ice cream, you were given anything you’d like. After getting ready and eating, peacekeepers would escort you to the library where you would read until lunch which would be served either in the library or in the gardens. After lunch you had a large verity of activities to do to entertain yourself. You could watch capital tv (never anything about the hunger games as you were forbade to have anything to do with Finnick), write, draw, shop with some of the presidents family and once a month you’d have a spa day to keep you looking beautiful. And once a month you’d have tea with President Snow himself.

It continued like this for years but not once did you go a day without wishing for Finnick to be with you or at least to see his smile. Up until one day during the 75th Hunger Games.

You were taken from your room in the middle of the night and taken to a tall building which was said to be the training centre for tributes. They lead you to a room and injected you with something and than something else, and something else. You were injected with needles over and over again causing stabbing pains throughout your entire body. You screamed and withered in pain until eventually you passed out.

When you woke up, you were hot. You felt the humid air surrounding you like a completely unwelcome blanket. You lied on a soft dirt ground facing towards the sky. Slowly, you raised yourself to your elbows and looked around, trying to familiarise yourself with your surrounds. Jungle. You’d never seen one in real life but you remember seeing an arena like this on the hunger games when you were younger.

The Hunger Games.

Is that where you were? Immediately feeling extremely paranoid you jumped up form the ground a began walking in a random direction, hopping to find some clue of where you were. By the direction of the sun it looked as if it was the afternoon, around four.

Coming closer to the beach I saw five figures. Quickly I ducked behind a tree and remained as silent as possible. Three of the tributes had their backs to me, two men and a woman. They seemed to be banging on a barrier of some sort of force field, blocking them from the other two. A man curled in a ball, whose face I was unable to see and a brunette girl who must’ve been a teen, she looked terrified and than he curled herself into a ball and laid next to the man.

Curious about the lot, I stayed and watched. Not long after the blonde male moved forward and lifted the brunette to carry her to the beach near by, the other man trailing behind.

“I heard her. She was screaming.” The boy said, still curled in a ball. “It was her.”

The woman crouched down in front of him. “The Capital has her, they promised you they would kill her.”

“They didn’t say they wouldn’t hurt her.” The man said looking up.

I gasped in shock, alerting their attention. My hiding place concealing only the left side of my body, they could still me. But against my instincts, I didn’t hide. I was in an arena with killers, two of which are right in front of me armed. But I didn’t want to run. I did probably the dumbest thing someone could do in these games. I stepped forward, with arms raised.

“Finnick.” My voice came out a lot quieter than I had intended. The woman looked ready to charge but Finnick held her back. I felt tears pool in my eyes, he recognised me. “Finnick it’s me. I swear it’s me.” I took another step forward.

So did Finnick. “(Y/n)?”

I nodded my head furiously. “Its me Finnick, it’s really me.”

He shock his head. “Your not her, your a trick.”

By this time the other three had returned and stood with the woman with the axes.

“Our first kiss was the day you were reaped, when I had to say goodbye to you. You were about to pull away when I grabbed your collar. I told you to win for me and you said that’ll you’ll come back to me, you promised.”

“(Y/n)?” I saw in his eyes that he believed me. I smiled.

“Finnick, do you know her?!” The axe girl yelled in question.

Finnick nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

They were all looking, but I didn’t care- I ran to him anyway.

When I reached him his arms circled around me holding me tightly and I wrapped my arms around his neck as I cried softly in his shoulder.

“I love you (y/n). I love you so damn much, and I’m never letting anyone take you away from me again. Especially not the capital.” My arms wrapped tighter around his neck.

“I love you too Finnick.”

—–Extended Ending. Do not read if you want a nice warm and fuzzy feeling after reading this.—–

“How are you here?” Finnick asked pulling away.

“I- I don’t know. I was taken from my room in the middle of the night and they injected something in my arm.” I said gesturing to my arm. “I woke up about an hour ago.”

“Finnick, I thinks she’s now a tribute.” The older man says.

We both stared at him not believing his words. But than it slowly started to click. The injection was a tracker. I was in the Hunger Games. I was now officially a tribute.

It was the Capitals final revenge. For Finnick to survive I’d have to die. To live myself Finnick would have to die.

This was the way to make sure Finnick and I could never be together.


So apparently, my original post of this got deleted.

The only reason I wrote this was because the idea was really stuck in my head for the past few weeks. I realize that this fanfic is probably a bit repetitive, and probably a bit overkill on the details,  but I really wanted to paint a picture of how each photograph looked.

As always, please read and enjoy, constructive criticism is always appreciated and probably needed.

Levy and Gajeel have moved to the Pacific Northwest and have decided that they need to explore the beautiful new land they live in. Levy leaves Gajeel in charge of their camera to take pictures of the scenery to document their adventures. But when Levy goes to get the pictures printed, she finds that all the pictures Gajeel took are.. of her. FT Is owned by Hiro Mashima.

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I met Aleya Fasier hunched over sweet potatoes growing stubbornly in hard-packed earth under a sky that held history. There weren’t many words exchanged that day–mostly just weeding–or that fall–just digging, weighting and sighing. What I did pick up on was that Aleya was a person who did everything with intention. Since that day, Aleya has poured her heart into that same soil, left her mark on the historical record under that same sky and the results have been remarkable. And that is where we’ll start.

Prepare yourself and give thanks for the words of black, queer, womanist, futurist, ecologist, artist, educator, farmer Aleya Frasier–co-founder of Black Dirt Farm and a revolutionary warrior for black food security.

GSF: Who are you and what is your superpower? 

AF: I am one of many queer, biologically active, radical molecules of melanin chilling on your amygdala guiding your primal instincts. And our superpower is activating your superpower. This is done through hormonal and vibrational synchronicity with other radical melanated molecules. I was formed under libra skies so by definition my vibration brings balance to different sides of the equation and works to bring organic and inorganic reactions to equilibrium. Our superpowers activate at the intersection of entropy and equilibrium which is pretty much at all times and space continuums, but they are strongest when connected to the land as space and now as the time. When people step foot on the farm the serotonin in the soil mixed with the ancestors in the air and UV ray excitation of my electrons and my subtle vibrations in their cells allows caverns in the mind to open that have been previously filtered and neurons to connect in ways that they haven’t before. Mitochondrial dna is stirred awake and its knowledge from your uterine having ancestors that has been passed down since the beginning of her story is realized. Through black dirt under fingernails, melanated work under the sun and calloused hands peoples superpowers and ancient rhythms are germinated approximately 3 weeks after the last frost. so you see all with melanin possess this ability at varying frequencies. and then we do it again.

GSF: You are a disciple of AfroEcology and gather folks to celebrate and mobilize around Afro-ecological practice. First of all, what is AfroEcology? How is it, as you say “a perfect counter attack to white supremacy capitalism and patriarchy.” ? 

AF: Afroecology is a form of art, movement, practice and process of social and ecological transformation that involves the re-evaluation of our sacred relationships with land, water, air, seeds and food; (re)recognizes humans as co-creators that are an aspect of the planet’s life support systems; values the Afro-Indigenous experience of reality and ways of knowing; cherishes ancestral and communal forms of knowledge, experience and lifeways that began in Africa and continue throughout the Diaspora; and is rooted in the agrarian traditions, legacies and struggles of the Black experience in the Americas.The nature of the Black Experience in America, and in the Americas, has always been and will be, intimately, tied to the land and our agrarian identity. As said by Harry Haywood in Negro Liberation in 1948, “The Negro Question in the United States is Agrarian in Origin.” To draw upon this agrarian legacy, we, at the Black Dirt Farm Collective, felt it was important to introduce the concept of Afroecology – not as a definition but as a place to stimulate discussions on the intimate connection between us as people and the land. Far too often, people of color and Black Folk succumb to using words, theories and concepts that do not directly speak our language nor speak to our experience of reality. All the while, these very concepts, like organic farming, permaculture, etc. come from and stem from our ancestry, and current practices as people of the land and our organizing legacies. As part of the liberation struggle, we recognize the need to create political ideologies, and cultural theories, concepts and practices to help clarify certain aspects of reality, so as to transformation the material and social conditions of reality. We present Afroecology as part of that process. Afroecology is a call back to the land that is awaiting our return. It is a living breathing process of decolonization that is built upon the black experience of the indigenous (africans) becoming indigenized(diasporic africans). Our indigenous reality cannot be recreated but it can also not be forgotten because WE as indigenized peoples have the unique ability to create and determine our reality using our wildest imaginations and ancestral knowledge as fuel. Afroecology is above all else a process of reclaiming our identity as communal beings connected to every aspect of our ecosystem and about reclaiming knowledge from the base!As a practice, afroecology builds from agroecology in its way of teaching how to work in harmony with nature to feed people. On the farm, we try our best to recycle nutrients, biomass and raw materials to achieve a balance in the flow of inputs and outputs. We promote diverse microcosmic and macrocosmic relationships from soil bacteria and fungi to the people who visit the farm and we ultimately treat the farm as an extension of our beings ,nurturing its recovery and decolonization much as we do our own, through natural inputs, spiritual practices, art and balance.

GSF: Describe a mythical seed variety that you would cultivate if you could. 

AF: I like to think that every seed variety is mythical in the magical sense and I play out their magical path in my daydreams. If you truly tell the story of a single seed from its origin to your farm, the story would be as colorful as any spiritual text. I will share about a seed variety that to me epitomizes myth and magic and the power of mitochondria. Sorghum is a grain indigenous to Northeastern Africa with earliest known records from the Egypt/Sudan border region from 8000 BC. It is a BEAUTIFUL monocot; its got strappy leaves, a bamboo like shoot and parallel veins; with as many powers as your imagination can handle imagining. Its seed pops sizzles and cracks in your cast iron and its cane can be pressed for sweet juice. Its seed can be threshed pounded and kneaded into nourishment for your baby or boiled and baked into your favorite recipe. It body has the powers to convert sunlight into energy in unique efficient ways and its roots go deep to ensure it survives in drought too. It’s powers allow it to serve as money in the common market place, more valuable than cattle at times for the women selling their beers made with sorghum strains specific to their mitochondrial lineage. Strains that have in a way co evolved with the women and families who cultivate them, the people who bear its callouses, the people who could not part with it when captured and stripped away from their own gardens. Strains that survived in afros across the middle passage that were planted and transplanted and harvested and sowed and reaped and seeded and then again and again until yesterday, today and tomorrow when I harvest our sorghum from seed given to us by friends. 10 seeds now 1000 to share with them. Sounds mythical, right?

GSF: Magical, indeed! So tell me, what’s the dirt on Black Dirt Farm? How can people support? Winter plans?

The dirt is not even black on Black Dirt Farm haha we are frontin! We have this kind of cool light brown sandy loam texture that grows amazing root crops but turns into cement when baked under the hot sun. But on the flip side, a farm is very rarely the effort of solely one or two people. Thus, Black Dirt Farm is collectively cared for by a strong network of farmers, friends and families. A core group manages the day to day operations of the farm, the distribution and marketing as well as coordinating and participating in trainings and events around agroecology, food sovereignty and regenerative economics with black and brown folks from all over the diaspora. We LOVE to gather with folks on the farm and to share black agrarian images and voices and to learn from our elders who are supporting the journey!

People can support by eating their veggies and by supporting our friends like you at Community Farming Alliance and Chris Bradshaw with Dreaming out Loud and Xavier Brown with the Green Scheme and Natasha Bowens author of The Color of Food and the list goes on! We will be hunkering down this winter and hopefully going to some warm places to collectively energize and create our vision for the next few seasons. A wish list of support would be a website designer, a logo designer, a farm truck or station wagon, and a yurt to serve as an agrarian library, but thats all haha. 

Ya’ll heard that? If you’re feeling in a do-gooding mood, do something for a farmer. They’ll make sure you eat good. 

Thanks for reading and stay on top of Aleya’s awesomeness on her instagram or the Black Church Food Security Network’s twitter! 

ron: view two

Hermione had two stipulations when it came to their future home. 1. It had to be in or near a Muggle town. No cloistered wizarding villages for the Weasley-Grangers. And 2. There had to be a spare room that could serve as her home library. She had always, always wanted one.

The latter was easy enough to agree to, but the first point was harder. There had been a few arguments about it, Ron not understanding why Hermione would need to retreat from the wizarding world sometimes - “How can you say that? I’m a wizard!” - and Hermione getting upset that Ron just didn’t get it. Finally, they caught themselves at a quiet moment of truce. Hermione explained that she was Muggle-born, that she belonged to two worlds. How could he expect her to just ignore that? Ron sheepishly admitted that maybe he’d overreacted, and that the Floo Network was there for a reason. Besides, them moving into a Muggle community would be the greatest gift he could give his father, outside of grandchildren. The argument was quelled.

So Ron expected that with the Muggle neighbors part out of the way, and the house finally chosen and bought and their apartment packed up, that the first room Hermione would want to sort out was her library. But no. “I’m saving it for last,” she said, not looking up from a heavy law book. “This will officially be home when I put the last book on the shelf." 

But the books (the ones she didn’t need for work) stayed in their boxes for weeks, while Hermione paced and stress-cried and feverishly ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to make sense of the labyrinth that was the wizard justice system. As for Ron, he suddenly found himself with a lot more time on his hands. 

A secret part of him had always known he wasn’t cut out to be an Auror. He just didn’t know what else to do with his life and well, he’d been pretty integral to taking down Voldemort, hadn’t he? That had to count for something. But where Harry felt a sense of purpose fighting the same shadows, Ron only felt intense exhaustion. Harry and Hermione both looked relieved when he told them he was quitting. But now as he stood in the slightly cramped kitchen, afternoon mug of tea in hand, charmed floorboards warming the bottoms of his feet, he saw the unrelenting nothingness of unemployment before him. He shuddered and set to work.

It took Hermione what felt like forever to come home. And it was home now. Officially. She grumpily protested when he frog-marched her down the hall. "I’m tired, Ronald. And I hate everything. I hate the world. I hate the people in it. I am filled with hate. And I want to have a glass of wine and go to bed.”

“You won’t hate this.”

He made her shut her eyes before he slid open the partition door. There was a scene like this in a Muggle movie she loved. The room was bright and clean. Ron had spent a long afternoon down in the nearest Muggle furniture store picking out chairs (one for him and one for Hermione). And he’d gotten one of those rolling ladders. (He might have re-watched the aforementioned movie.) Fresh flowers sat on a windowsill. The books were all categorized according to the system established in their old apartment. (Hermione had forced him to learn it when he’d put away a political memoir amongst the travel books. Oh, the humanity.) 

Hermione didn’t say anything when she opened her eyes. She just stood there, arms at her sides. Doubt flooded him. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this. Maybe insane book people needed to do these book organization rituals themselves.

“I can help you resort the shelves,” he said quickly. “I just thought, you know, they were just sitting here in boxes and I had nothing better to do. And I want you to feel like this is your home, not just the place where you freak out about work.”

Hermione ran her fingertips along the book spines, and moved the ladder down its track, as though not quite believing it was a real thing. “You were right,” she said quietly. 


“I don’t hate this.”

Building Blocks of Personality Type – Introverted Sensing (Si)

By Leona Hass & Mark Hunziker

Dominant for ISTJ and ISFJ
Auxiliary for ESTJ and ESFJ

In this chapter, we seek to present a picture of the “pure” Introverted Sensing that we would see if we could carefully remove it from its natural state where it is influenced and colored by all the other elements of personality. Though no process actually exists separated from the rest of the personality, the portrait that follows reflects core characteristics that are in play whenever Introverted Sensing is engaged at a conscious level. 

Introverted Sensing most clearly resembles the descriptions in the following pages when it is in the dominant (first) position. In fact, these descriptions are based on input from people for whom the process is dominant (1STJ and ISFJ). But even with Introverted Sensing in the first position, what you observe will vary noticeably depending on other factors - particularly whether it is paired up with Extraverted Thinking or Extraverted Feeling in the auxiliary (second) position.

In order to draw a complete picture of the “essence” of Introverted Sensing, one must use bits and pieces that cannot individually demonstrate “pure” Si. Like the splashes of color in an impressionist painting, however, the bullets in this chapter, when taken all together, reveal a vivid portrait that will enable you to recognize Introverted Sensing when you see it. Knowing what the process would look like if it could be separated from other influences is the foundation of process watching, the practice that will quickly take you as far as you want to go in understanding personality. 

Introverted Sensing is an information - gathering process. It focuses on the subjective, internal world of past experience by comparing current sensory experiences to similar past experiences through a vivid and detailed internal database of memories. Si wants to relive the past and selectively explore the impact and significance of current events, people, and experiences.

Introverted Sensing 

  • Experiences the present world through comparison with previous experiences.
  • Re-experiences the past sequentially, in vivid sensory detail.
  • Focuses on the memories and comparisons that are triggered by current objects, people, and events.
  • Stores sensory references from the past in a subjective internal database.
  • Has a high level of internal body awareness.
  • Subjectively selects what gets noticed in the present and recalled from the past.
  • Seeks to use previous experience as a guide for exploring the current experience.

Introverted Sensing

  • Sees the current world through subjective internal filters.
  • Uses an external stimulus in the present to stimulate an internal experience: the recall of the past.
  • Asks: How does this event in the present compare to similar events in the past? What is different? What is the same? How can it be improved?
  • Resembles a mental Rolodex file, video, or database for sorting through the internal images to find the right reference.
  • Enable accurate recall of all steps or events in the exact order in which they happened.
  • Looks at what happened and how it could be improved. Learns from past mistakes.
  • ls energized through combining vivid past experiences with the present to relive special moments.

When people are using their preferred Introverted Sensing

  • Their past experience provides the frame of reference for comparison with their present experience.
  • Much attention is paid to the facts and details of personally significant past experiences and how they are similar to or different from the present experience.
  • Their memories are clear and detailed but subjective, so they will not necessarily agree with someone else’s recollection of the same events.
  • Their most vivid memories are those that were most impactful. These memories are replayed over and over again with all the associated details and emotions. It is like actually physically reliving the event and re-experiencing the same emotions.
  • They prefer and trust their subjective recall. They may simply ignore someone else’s conflicting version of events and rigidly defend their own. Accepting a different version would require changing the memory itself. It would be like re-recording the whole event.
  • They are usually closely attuned to the physical condition and energy of their bodies.
  • The current experience that is triggering a recollection may be integrated with the memory, or it may be virtually ignored if found to be not relevant to the memory.
  • They may form associations with people or things in the present, based on someone or something similar from the past.
  • The intensity of a previous experience determines what will be remembered. Watching a sunset does not bring to mind every sunset ever seen, just the significant ones. These could include the best sunset ever or ones associated with significant events like falling in love or the death of a loved one.
  • They are referencing an internal database that is filled with an enormous amount of detail. The detail, however, is not 100 percent reliable as an objective record of the experience or event.
  • Familiarity has a great impact on making a current event more comfortable because the more similar the event is to past ones, the more easily it can be compared to them internally.
  • No one can change the internal references except the individual.
  • The current data and experience are not real until they have been validated by comparison with a similar circumstance or experience.
  • The recollection of a past event is automatically and immediately overlaid on the current experience.
  • They interpret the current situation through association with previous experiences. Sometimes this produces brilliant insights. Often it gives them a surprisingly complete grasp of the current situation. Occasionally it leads to misinterpretation and erroneous assumptions.
  • A smell or sound can trigger a flood of vivid memories, with all of the related emotions.
  • The present stimulus can be disregarded and reliving the past can become the current experience.
  • Their internal experience is about the most memorable one of its kind, whether good or bad, happy or sad.
  • They may appear quiet and composed, while internally they are very active, perhaps even in turmoil.
  • When something happens that is different from anything that they have personally experienced before, they need to find something that is similar in some way so it can be used for comparison.
  • What is important to them is the subjective experience, not the present external event.
  • They tend to do familiar activities well. Their internalized experiences, along with their ability to evaluate and compare them, serve as a reference library of best practices.
  • They cannot be pressured into changing a memory. Creating it was very personal and vivid. Recreating it must be done independently as well.
  • Remembered information is reality to them. Revising a memory is not just a matter of altering a record of an experience. It is like changing the experience itself.

When we experience people who are engaging their preferred Introverted Sensing, they

  • Do not always seem to be with us in the present. Sometimes, when they return from their reverie, they tell a story from their past that seems especially important to them.
  • Seem to recall past events from a unique perspective. The specific details and emphasis are strongly colored by how they personally experienced the event.
  • Tell about an event as a sequential, personal story. It is not like a “report,” in which one seeks to summarize the key objective facts of what happened and may make a point or reach a conclusion. Their reason for telling the story seems to be in the telling itself.
  • Sometimes reject new information that might cause them to change their course of action.
  • Are often predictable in their actions.
  • Usually are well organized and neat.
  • Are clear and confident about knowing what to do in any given setting or situation based on their prior experience.
  • May show emotional behavior even when there is nothing in the current external environment to support or explain that emotion.
  • May approach a task with statements such as “We did something like this before and it was not successful. This part worked but that part didn’t. Here is how we can make it work better this time.”
  • Often describe tangible items by comparison to other objects. They frequently use phrases that start with “looks like,” “seems like,” “feels like,” and “tastes like.”
  • Often compare events and situations to ones from the past. You may hear “I’ve seen this before” or “that reminds me of the time.”
  • Understand concrete descriptions and stories that make a point through comparisons.  
  • Can get side tracked into talking about topics that are related to the subject at hand rather than talking about the subject itself
  • May seem to wander aimlessly through stories of questionable relevance as they search their internal database for the correct one to use for comparison. Sometimes it is difficult for others to listen patiently to them while they sort it out.
  • May recount previous events in great detail. Sometimes only the storytellers themselves can see how those events are relevant to what is going on now.
  • Can bring great insight to a situation through their past experiences.
  • May go back and forth between two extremes of energy during a conversation. They could become animated and energetic if the subject evokes either happy or sad memories. On the other hand, they could show no interest at all if the subject is not something they have personally experienced.
  • May not provide much input or feedback during group decision making unless allowed time to access their internal world.
  • Can usually tell you exactly what you said at a specific time. If you disagree with them about what you said, they may become rigid in defending their recollection or totally shut down and not communicate at all
  • May be difficult to get to know.
  • Often have great confidence and certainty about the right way to do tasks.
  • Tend to be dependable and stable.
  • Have a learning style that is like rolling a carpet forward: linear, with each new learning an extension of the previous one.
  • Usually cannot be convinced that they are not recalling facts accurately. The more they are pressured or coerced, the more resistant they become. They need to be allowed to decide for themselves whether their internal data is incorrect and given space to re-form their memory.
  • Tend to accept change more easily when they can look to a similar transition in the past and find support for making the change in order to correct mistakes or improve a situation.

Specific perspectives and approaches of Introverted Sensing

  • Internal structure and organization for any task, project or group
  • Development of effective solutions based on past experience at lessons learned from previous mistakes
  • Institutional memory and a sense of organizational continuity through a history of past successes and failures
  • An internal template for how familiar tasks are done and how to build from experience to approach new tasks
  • A high level of precise internal body awareness
  • A calm and professional manner
  • Insightfulness, usually without unnecessary assertiveness

Paraphrased descriptions of what it is like to gather information through one’s preferred Introverted Sensing

  • Experience is like constant de ja vu. Everyone occasionally has the experience of some sight or smell instantly transporting them to a vivid recollection of a past event, but for me it’s almost constant. It is where I live.
  • My internal data is a lot like having detailed photographic plates that are available to me as a clear series of sequential pictures. It’s like a movie or video in my head that replays all the details over and over. It’s like a slide show or a mental Rolodex. The images always come to me in a certain order. These images are superimposed over what is going on in the present environment, which allows me to see all the similarities and differences.
  • I relive the experience. I feel exactly what I felt before, just as intensely.
  • I never use a camera because my internal pictures are so much more vivid and rich. Photographs are too flat and lifeless. The pictures inside are what really bring me back to a time and place.
  • I know the day’s weather by looking at the sky and comparing it to the pictures of skies in my memory and remembering the weather we had on those days.
  • Once I identify something, there’s usually no need to personally experience it any further. I get only what I need to trigger the relevant Images.
  • I’m hesitant to embark on totally new ventures. I am much more comfortable when I have already experienced something similar.
  • I am the only one who can revise a memory. Changing a memory is like destroying a valued object, like shattering a glass picture. It is done only when new additions to my internal database absolutely require revising the old material. Then I have to rebuild the memory from scratch.
  • I am very good at knowing when something is not right with my body. Without thinking about it I constantly and automatically compare my internal readings, like heart rate, pain, and energy level, with their normal state. I can usually tell if something is wrong with me long before any doctor or medical test can pick it up.
  • I don’t like a lot of change.
  • If you talk to me about something I have not personally experienced, I may just blank out. I do not have a clue what you’re talking about because I don’t have a reference.
  • I can recall in extreme detail the room layouts of places I have been. In department stores, my friends are amazed by how I can go to the exact location where we saw an item several weeks before.
  • I enjoy shocking people by describing what they wore and what they said in a meeting ten years ago.
  • I can describe, in great detail, several scenes and events that happened’ when I was very young. I remember a lot about when I was sick as a child, even the clothes that my parents were wearing. I was nine months old when I was sick, and I can still recall the experience fifty years later.
  • I really hate driving somewhere I’ve never been before. When I do get directions, I prefer to get specific details such as mileage or landmarks to go by. Maps don’t work well for me. Once I’ve been somewhere, I normally stick with the same route that I know.
  • In choosing a career, I needed to reflect upon what had worked and not worked for me before and what I had liked and not liked in previous jobs.
  • Whenever I drink a beer, I’m comparing it to my memory of the best “perfect” beer. Every beer I ever taste is compared to that beer. If I ever taste one that’s better, I’ll know it with certainty, and that will become my new standard of the perfect beer.
  • I can remember every teacher I ever had. I can hear their voices, picture the classrooms, and remember most of my classmates and what we did.

Scenes from the world of Introverted Sensing

  • A participant in a four-day workshop was able to describe in exact detail what each of the thirty-four participants had worn each day. She could also cross-reference those internal images and knew which people had worn the same articles twice.
  • I experience a tree by overlaying that tree with memories of significant trees from the past. When I am looking at a tree, it could bring up pleasant childhood memories of a tree with a swing or maybe unpleasant memories of getting stuck in a tree. I’m sure that no one else would experience that same tree in the same way that I do because my past associations with trees are mine alone.
  • If you bump into an old acquaintance with a preference for Introverted Sensing, your acquaintance may well proceed to tell you the details of your last encounter: where you were, what you were wearing, the weather, and what you talked about. He or she may make comparisons between the two meetings, such as noting changes in your hairstyle.
  • In a restaurant, I’ll remember what I ate there before or what I had at a similar restaurant. My menu selection will be based on this previous experience. If the menu choices are so completely strange to me that useful internal comparisons cannot be found, the waiter can be helpful by giving me something familiar to work with: by talking about the spices or the method of preparation or by comparing the menu items to the dishes that I know.
  • In a scene with friends on a boat, I’ll probably be drifting off in my mind to another boat ride. I’ll be reliving what was happening, whom I was with, where we went, and what we saw.
  • In a “type-alike” group exercise that focuses on talking about an object, our group always includes memories triggered by, and usually closely associated with, the object. For example, when a bag of eight markers was provided for the exercise, we remembered working with sets of markers in the past. Of course, we also knew that there should have been ten markers in the set and which colors were missing.
  • While planning with some business associates where to go for dinner, one young man said he wanted to go somewhere that served spareribs. He proceeded to tell us about a place in his hometown that served “the best ribs in the world.” As he was describing them, he came alive. His face became animated and he even began salivating. He said that he could actually taste the ribs. The others in the group were pulled into his experience by his vivid descriptions and his energy. But when he was done reliving the memory of those ribs, he no longer wanted ribs for dinner. He said that he had just experienced the best ribs in the world and any others would be a disappointment.
  • My young nephew walked through the door and immediately wanted to know what happened to the rug in front of the door. Since I had removed the old rug a while ago, I didn’t immediately understand the question, so I asked, “What rug?” Taking my question as my not valuing his memory, he got angry, put his hands on his hips, stomped his foot, and said, “You know, the green rug that was right here!” After I apologized and explained what had happened to it, he felt validated. He proceeded to compare the new rug with the old rug.
  • A woman described her vacation to Cancun. As she talked, her facial expression changed. She was talking about how much she had enjoyed herself. She said she could smell the Cancun air, see the fish in the clear water, feel the breeze on her face, and hear the birds. She said she immediately had the same sense of relaxation she had while in Cancun.

Unique strengths of Introverted Sensing

  • Awareness of when something is out of place, whether it is an object in a room or a step in a process.
  • By comparison to a remembered internal image of the same environment or procedure
  • Learn from past experience, to rarely make the same mistake twice
  • A reliable knowledge of the steps, in sequence, involved in most events or projects
  • Lend substance to the current situation by providing historical context
  • Bring structure to the current task or situation based upon what has or has not worked before
  • Careful attention to detail
  • Detailed, vivid memory
  • Stability
Dance with Devils Unit Single 1 Kaginuki Rem vs Sogami Urie: I'm the Prince! (English Translation)

Dance with Devils Unit Single 1 Kaginuki Rem vs Sogami Urie (English Translation)

Track 1: I’m the Prince!

Kaginuki Rem (CV: Soma Saito)
Sogami Urie (CV: Takashi Kondo)

Spicy’s Notes (aka) Things you might like to know before you get started:

(1) The crack. So much crack. Mix in the fairy tale references and this is a thing of beauty.

(2) The drama track itself is actually titled 王子は私 / 僕だ! using the differing forms of self address that Rem and Urie use respectively. But since “I’m/I’m the Prince!” makes no sense in English I went with the title choice above.

(3) Usual disclaimers, there may be parts I misheard and such. Knowing me there’s definitely going to be typos. Sorry for that. The SFX have my own special touch to them.

(4) Not currently planning to do the rest of the CD. (It’s just the single and then a couple quickie monologues anyway.) In any case, this is where the good stuff is.

Okay? Ready? Onward!

- o - o - o - o - o -

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