Токсичные отношения и здоровые. Как отличить?

Добро пожаловать в элиту, мистер Безос! Брюнетки-мексиканки продолжают править.

Welcome to the elite, Mr. Bezos! Brunette and Mexicans continue to rule from behind the scenes…

"Last chance to join the elite, come 22 june". A chalk inscription on the asphalt that the main character sees. Still from the film Empire V (2022).

Jeff Bezos Wedding Date. Search Results. 24-26 june in Venice city.

Maya piramid.

Bam, bam bam, Misha Miller.

В Ютубе завирусилось видео, не то болгарской, не то румынской певицы, под незамысловатым названием Бам, Бам.

И все бы ничего, но мое конспо внимание было привлечено замысловатым головным убором, отсылаюшим мою небедную конспо фантазию к культу сатурна. Вот, кстати, виновник моего неспокойства.

A video of either a Bulgarian or Romanian singer went viral on YouTube, under the simple title Bam, Bam.

And everything would be fine, but my conspo attention was drawn to an intricate headdress, referring my rather wealthy conspo fantasy to the cult of Saturn. Here, by the way, is the culprit of my uneasiness.

Стала смотреть видео, ну а там самый жир для конспиролога. Тут тебе и тетка в шляпе сатурна в церкви.

I started watching the video, and there it was, the best part for a conspiracy theorist. Here you have a woman in a Saturn hat in a church.

Тут тебе и тетка в шляпе сатурна под дождем. Ну кто не знает дождь это символ дьявола у масонов.

Here you have an aunt in a Saturn hat in the rain. Well, who doesn't know that rain is a symbol of the devil for the Masons.

И да, все это похороны, под веселенький припевчик Бам, Бам, Бам.

Глазик, стабильно в клипе в одиночестве. Почти всегда. Ну и черный мужчина соратник, чтоб мне совсем стало хорошо. И шансов что я не напишу эту статью не осталось. Да, кто не знает черный мужчина это тоже символ дьявола.

Eye, consistently in the clip alone. Almost always. Well, and a black male comrade, so that I feel completely good. And there is no chance that I will not write this article. Yes, who does not know a black man is also a symbol of the devil.

Это вот мы подмигиваем.

This is us winking.

А это вот что мы собственно хороним. Сердце-солнце, он же символ Христа.

And this is what we actually bury. The heart-sun, it is also the symbol of Christ.

Скрины темные получились, ибо телефон православный, стыдно ему освещать такое. Мишка наша уже кстати и в евровидении поучаствовала. Так правда я не разобралась за какую страну. Будем считать за все. Ну а читателям несведущим небольшое напоминание о том как много значит для нас конспирологов сия планета.

Вот.

The screenshots turned out dark, because the phone is Orthodox, it is embarrassing for it to illuminate such things. Our Mishka has already participated in Eurovision, by the way. But I didn't figure out for which country. Let's count for all. Well, for the uninformed readers, a small reminder of how much this planet means to us conspiracy theorists

Про Зазель я уже писала, люди Вы уже образованные, должны понять.

Припев Бам, Бам, Бам, и отпевание толсто намекает нам что война на Украине будет еще долго. По некоторым конспо данным до 2027 года включительно. Вообщем ждут масоны третью мировую и машиаха, надеются с Хохляндии начать. Как там у них говорится? Из искры разгорится пламя. Может и в Румынию великий пи который не Дидди войска тоже направит. Как-то так Немного текста. Так сказать лирика.

Поздно и луна горит, Телефоны на полу, Воспоминания которые я ношу с собой повсюду.. Знаешь, я не в чем не виновата, Потому что ты солнце и буря… Мне будет хорошо без тебя, Я больше не жертва. Ветер и дожди, детка, я больше не хочу назад, У меня больше нет ясного неба, только слезы и яд.

Жду Ваши комментарии и мысли. Но конечно же их снова не будет...

Пост о том как Россия поклоняется и служит культу смерти сама того не замечая.

A post about how Russia worships and serves the cult of death without even noticing it..

Под конец года меня привлекла одна удивительная новогодняя инсталляция, если кто живет в районе вднх тоже мог ее видеть, фото ее так же мелькали в разных группах. Медведица с медвежонком в ярких синих гирляндах стоят на отколотой от материка льдине, и смотрят вдаль. Вспоминается известная советская песня, под названием Колыбельная медведицы. Приведу текст.

Ложкой снег мешая,

Ночь идет большая,

Что же ты, глупышка, не спишь.

Спят твои соседи Белые медведи,

Спи скорей и ты, малыш.

Мы плывём на льдине, Как на бригантине

По седым суровым морям

И всю ночь соседи, Звёздные медведи

Светят дальним кораблям.

Если кто то еще не понял, медведи на льдине, это животные обреченные на гибель. Медведица умерла сама уже, и зовет медвежонка "уснуть" вместе с ней. Неслабый такой текст для детской песенки, или "веселой" новогодней инсталляции Вам не кажется? Так же вспоминается песня победившая в голосе, в исполнении группы слот. Вот Вам текст.

Кто-то ушел на дно

А кому-то все равно

Погрустили, а завтра забыли

Будто не были, и не любили

Кто-то ушел наверх

То есть ушел навек

И следит, улыбаясь за нами

Сквозь глаза наших воспоминаний

Так пускай наступает холодным рассветом

на нас новый день,

Все останется в этой Вселенной,

Все вращается в этой Вселенной,

Возвращается к нам, запуская круги на воде

Ничего не проходит бесследно.

Ничего не проходит бесследно

Чей то случайный ход

Фатальный поворот

Мы друг друга на этой спирали

Обретали, и снова теряли

Что это, как не заклинание из какого нибудь некрономикона? А ведь заклинание увидела вся наша страна по первому каналу? Солистка по очень подходящему имени Локи. Это древний бог смерти если че, подверглась нападению фаната, нанесшего ей 40 ножевых ударов, но несмотря на это выжила. Одним словом Жизнь и смерть, Сталь сильней чем медь, Но престижней Тоже золото иметь. А ведь есть еще "бесмертный полк". Ленин вечно лежащий на главной площади страны. Хранилище праха всех правителей там же, рядышком с ним. Ну и вечные трупы и Останки на тв, из Останкина, про которые еще шутил Задорнов. Да и надо ли говорить что все новые дома строяться на местах бывших когда то погостами, что в Москве, что МО. Вообщем, вполне себе полноценный культ смерти. Как думаете?.

At the end of the year, I was attracted by one amazing New Year's installation, if anyone lives in the VDNKh area, they could also see it, its photos also flashed in different groups. A she-bear with a cub in bright blue garlands stand on an ice floe broken off from the mainland, and look into the distance. I remember a famous Soviet song called Lullaby of the She-Bear. I will give the lyrics.

Stirring the snow with a spoon,

The night is long,

Why are you, silly, not sleeping.

Your neighbors, the polar bears, are sleeping,

Sleep quickly, you too, baby.

We are sailing on an ice floe, Like on a brigantine

Across the gray harsh seas

And all night the neighbors, the Star Bears

Shine for distant ships.

If someone has not yet understood, the bears on the ice floe are animals doomed to die. The she-bear has already died, and is calling the bear cub to "sleep" with her. Not a weak text for a children's song, or a "fun" New Year's installation, don't you think? I also remember the song that won the vote, performed by the group Slot. Here are the lyrics.

Someone went to the bottom

And someone doesn't care

They were sad, and tomorrow they forgot

As if they never existed, and didn't love

Someone went to the top

That is, they left forever

And watches us, smiling

Through the eyes of our memories

So let the cold dawn

come upon us

Everything will remain in this Universe,

Everything rotates in this Universe,

Returns to us, starting circles on the water

Nothing passes without a trace.

Nothing passes without a trace

Someone's random move

Fatal turn

We each other on this spiral

Found, and lost again

What is this, if not a spell from some necronomicon? But our entire country saw the spell on the first channel? The soloist with a very appropriate name Loki. This is an ancient god of death, if anything, was attacked by a fan who stabbed her 40 times, but despite this she survived. In a word, Life and death, Steel is stronger than copper, But it is also more prestigious To have gold. And there is also the "immortal regiment". Lenin eternally lying on the main square of the country. The repository of the ashes of all the rulers is there, next to him. Well, and the eternal corpses and Remains on TV, from Ostankino, about which Zadornov joked. And it goes without saying that all new houses are being built on the sites of what were once cemeteries, both in Moscow and the Moscow region. In general, it's a full-fledged death cult. What do you think?

My fan-art on Supernatural.. All text.

"Our last task"...

A short preface.

What is matter? And what is primary – matter or spirit? Christian doctrine asserts that matter is primary. And we have a completely bodily Christ. With his wounds, blood, death. God-man, god-body. Embodied life. Life that you can touch with your hands. A life that is demonstrable, materialized. Our entire science, despite the atheism it proclaims, is also built on faith in the body, faith in “Christ,” faith in the body, which scientists call the primary atom. That is, matter consists of molecules. Molecule made of atoms. Well, the primary atom, which in turn no longer decays into other atoms, consists of itself. Well, all modern science is built on faith in this primary atom, which does not decay into other, smaller ones. The only question is that scientists have not yet found this very atom. And any matter, upon closer examination, brazenly and with impunity continues to disintegrate into these same particles ad infinitum. In a word, we are not able to see matter. So they didn’t find it because she wasn’t there? Or are the microscopes small? One can hope for technical imperfections. There is nothing else left for us. Is the material world real? In all his defenselessness, in front of a sinner who so desires this world? Or is it available only to those who have become safe for it? And those who are dangerous, for example you and me, are left to wander forever in the labyrinth of our dreams, which we so mistakenly call life?

                       Heaven.

Sam's car slid smoothly across the gray gravel. The sun in the distance was slowly setting. Led Zeppelin was playing at full blast in Sam's car. He took a sip from the now empty bottle of whiskey, and, cursing, threw it onto the next seat. Sam slammed the steering wheel sharply and swayed to the beat of the chorus, he even sang along. The usual male hysteria. Tears flowed down his unshaven cheeks, and his hands slammed the steering wheel again and again.“Just don’t stop, just don’t stop,” was pounding in his head.

It was as if the sun, which still did not want to go into sunset, somehow depended on his movement.

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down, the picture outside the windows turned gray, as if it was already dusk, and he saw a brightly dressed prostitute standing on the highway. As if submitting to the new flow of time, without realizing it, he slowly stopped. For some time the woman, as if indecisive, still stood on the highway, timidly looking around, but then she nevertheless headed in his direction.

“She’s still almost a child,” was all he had time to think.

______

- “Look here I’m saying! "-

the elderly officer shone the light of a table lamp in his face. With great difficulty, Sam raised his bloody face. His hands were handcuffed and pressed between his knees. Sam sat hunched over, covering one eye from the bright light, and for some reason even tried to smile at the policeman. Usually this worked...

- Oh, to hell with you! “The policeman was clearly tired of this interrogation and was rubbing his right hand.- Take him away! He commanded, and a moment later Sam found himself on the floor of a dirty and dark cell. It had no bed.

- But does it really matter now? - When Dean was gone, and the sharp pain of memories again cut into the brain, tears flowed from the eyes, and that beer bar appeared before the eyes again.

                                                             __

- Our last task. Dean picked up the glass of whiskey, smiled, and poured it into himself.Sam was sober, and again and again looked around, looking for the slightest danger. He almost hated Dean for his carelessness at this moment, and was ready to swear at him.

“Just a demon girl.” “Dean added, finally stopping smiling.

- Just relax.

Well, then everything is as always. You could say it's a routine. The crunch of broken ribs, the scream of a demon. The task was actually quite easy.

Several blood stains stained the demon girl's long white shirt (who else wears something like that? he thought). She jumped, squealed, and seemed to laugh at what was happening. Sam felt her insides being torn apart and thought he would miss that feeling. He delivered the final, decisive blow. Everything was over. But suddenly Dean, who was standing next to him, swayed strangely, blood flowed from the corner of his mouth in a thin stream, and Sam saw an ax stuck in his back. Dean staggered and slowly fell to the dirty floor. Some man, having dealt him this blow, now simply stood, staring blankly at the girl’s figure.

No need to explain what happened next. Sam dealt with him quite easily, it seemed that the man did not even resist. When the crunching of the ribs subsided, reality inevitably washed over Sam.

- Dean is no more.

-Dean is no more

And this reality again hit him in the temples on the floor of the prison cell.

- God, how stupid! After all, we weren’t even supposed to do this task then. Sometimes Sam became immersed in what had happened and imagined that everything was happening differently. That he, Sam acts differently. And now they are together again, driving in their Impala. At such moments his face took on a confused, stupid look, but then it all came back again. And tears flowed down his cheeks again. Sam had long ago lost track of time, and even under torture, he could hardly say how long he spent in his cell. Maybe a day, or maybe an eternity? A dim light bulb swayed sluggishly under the ceiling, and slightly illuminated the gray walls of the cell, while everything else simply drowned in darkness...                    

                    Hell.

- Well, get up! A door slammed somewhere and Sam saw the policeman who had interrogated him the day before.

- Listen here, bastard, thank this young lady, otherwise you would have to rot in prison until the end of time...

- These damn values ​​are “forgiveness”, I would rot you with people like you, but how can I not obey such a sweet creature?

The policeman took a step to the side, and Sam saw the very same prostitute behind him. More precisely, it seemed so to him. The girl's face seemed vaguely familiar to him. But everything else... A perfectly straight back. Strict pose. Hair gathered tightly. Under the chin is a white blouse collar with a small brooch and a black chopper (do they still wear this?). Dark pencil skirt below the knees. She bowed her head slightly and smiled looking into his face with the trademark smile of an active Mormon...

- We'll save you! - her look seemed to say.

Time slowed down a little again, and Sam involuntarily crawled back a little. His back and shoulders immediately became covered with sweat, but the officer’s voice brought him back to reality again.- Thank this young lady, she said that she will not file a report against you for attempted rape. Maybe you could at least apologize to her?

“He won’t apologize,” she said quickly.

-Can we go?

- Still, Ma'am, this is not according to the rules. But if you really have no complaints, I simply do not have the right to detain you. Are you sure?

She looked at him sternly and did not deign to answer. Sam himself didn’t know whether to be happy or upset, but simply silently followed her deep into the dark corridor after the guard unlocked the door to his cell.

- Marie. She introduced herself with the same smile. She slowed down a little, waiting for Sam to walk around her completely unremarkable light gray car and follow her. The door slammed shut and Marie hit the gas.

-Where are we going? – that was all Sam could say, but the stranger did not deign to answer him.

He tried to open the door, but thought -

- Does it really matter? And he just started looking out the car window.

It was difficult to understand what time it was, but judging by the light gray fog and the faded, slightly bluish sky, it was early morning. At first, the stranger looked at Sam and made ridiculous attempts to smile, baring her white teeth. But then she just began to look thoughtfully at the road. Sam experienced an incomparable sense of peace; he fell into a light slumber, and from this the salon suddenly began to illuminate with sunlight. The light became brighter, almost unbearable, and at that moment Sam woke up. The stranger turned her face to him, smiled artificially, and Sam again felt the peace and grayness that reigned around him. Focusing his gaze on her teeth, he finally woke up.

It’s strange, but despite her attractiveness, he didn’t feel any desire or interest in her at all.

- This is our small community. Mary's car pulled off the road and Sam saw a small two-story house. The facade of the house was made very simply and had a light beige tint.

- John will show you your room. You can stop here for now. Mary put on her Mormon smile again and walked towards the house.

- So Stop! What the hell am I doing?

- Who are you anyway? Road prostitute! That's who you are!

- I'm Sam Winchester, damn it! I'm not going to hang out in your shithole! What do you have there, a brothel? Sam's voice broke into a scream. He turned sharply and headed towards the car. The door slammed behind him, and he slammed the wheel.

-Okay, cry, - the girl said quietly, without moving from her place, but only smiling slightly, this time only a little more sincerely.

                  Your room 34.

- That is how we live. Standing in the passage of the room, John shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

- Are you Sir, without things? You will be assigned number rom 34.

- We have lunch at exactly 12. And please don’t be late. The Madam doesn't like this.

- Sir, is there anything else I can help you with... - but Sam had already slammed the door in front of him.

The sun was already shining with all its might into the small square window, but thanks to the dark gray walls, the light no longer blinded it. Still, Sam pulled the light curtain.

- What would Dean do in my place? But Dean was gone, and Sam began to look blankly towards the window, leaning slightly on the door.

----

- Allow me to introduce you to a new member of our community. "Mistress" stood at the head of a long table

on the other side of Sam, and like everyone else, she was holding a glass of red wine in her hand.

- Sam Winchester!

- Welcome, Sam Winchester! The people standing along the table unanimously tur ned their gazes from the former “Prostitute” to him.

After which everyone sat down in unison and began to eat in silence. And only Mary continued to look at Sam with a satisfied smile.

Only now Sam noticed that Mary seemed pregnant.

“Well, there was someone here to get pregnant,” he thought and began to look around.

The walls of all the rooms in the building were the same gray color as in Sam's room. And in the center of the dining room-living room hung a portrait of “Marie”, and it was simply huge in size.

- Do you like the portrait?

- Oh yes, it’s a pity that the windows didn’t allow you to hang a larger portrait.

- Don’t be sarcastic, it’s not me at all.

- Then who?

- My sister. We have portraits of her all over the house. Her name is Sophie. It’s just a pity that she herself doesn’t deserve to come here. These portraits are my love for her.

-Where is she? He probably works somewhere far from here.

- She's a prostitute. Marie buried her eyes in her plate, and her palms trembled slightly.

Everyonek at the table looked at each other.

- Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. But Marie threw her head back and laughed.

She laughed for a long time, until suddenly her laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

One of those sitting in the hall, who apparently was a doctor, quickly approached her.

- Today is such an important day, you shouldn’t be nervous.

- Am I upset? I am very happy and cheerful. I might even show Sam our house myself. And she confidently rose from the table and led him behind her.

The days slowly passed. Of course he planned to leave. Sam even talked to her about it. Marie answered, anxiously looking away, that if he leaves, the police will arrest him again, since he was taken by her for a reason, but with the promise of a positive influence on him from the community.

Sam Winchester himself will be arrested? – he again remembered the days on the floor of the prison cell, and although the threat sounded simply ridiculous, for some reason he cooled down a little. Besides, next to her he felt the same peace that he had felt then in the car. Dean's death was once again shrouded in veil, and he could listen to it for a long time, enjoying his peace. At first he tried to answer her something, to delve into it, even to argue, but the Lady did not tolerate any objections. And over time, he simply gave up trying.

Besides, where should he go? After all, he is so tired. Terribly tired.

- Demons in your head.

- You must learn to believe in people.

- Community is a collective mind, that’s what will lead you to the truth.

- How long do you think you spent in the cell?

- Everything repeats itself over and over again. She spoke.

At the same time, no matter how important “society” or “society” was, Marie herself was clearly the head of her community.

At her approach, the inhabitants of the house usually fell silent and bowed their heads. Over time, first as a joke, and then out of habit, Sam began to do the same. He even participated in some of the "community" rituals. A couple of months passed like this. It’s hard to say for sure, but “Mari’s” belly has finally grown. It seemed unthinkable to Sam to ask who the father was. And yet, all this was strange and somehow alarming.

                             Safi.

In the end, one day, he just got behind the wheel and drove wherever his eyes led him.

Sam's car slid smoothly across the gray gravel. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, and the radio was playing in his car. Something cheerful. Sam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music and sang along. He drove for quite a long time, but did not encounter any signs of civilization on his way. No motels, not even gas stations. Tired of the trip, he simply turned back. Sam was dying to sleep. It was starting to get dark, and when he was about to reach the community, he saw that same prostitute on the road, “Sophie” it seems. She walked along the highway, waddling, right in the middle of the road towards him.She put her left hand forward, urging him to stop. And with her right hand she supported her huge belly. Her hair was wet, and her face expressed complete despair. Sam immediately stopped, and at that moment "Sophie" fell to the ground. From her heart-rending scream, he realized that she was going into labor.

- I must take her to the community immediately. He thought.

- I will help you. Wait a minute. He picked her up and quickly brought her into the car.

For a moment she looked at him with the same fear, but then her features were again distorted by a grimace of pain, Sophie clutched her stomach with both hands and writhed in contractions.

- I will take you to our community.

- Just don't take me there.

- Your sister is there. She will help you.

But Sophie, looking at him with genuine horror, trying to get out, hit the car door with her hand with the last of her strength. After which her strength finally left her, and she passed out.

- John, where is the Lady?

- She is absent.

John opened the front door for Sam, and Sam shuffled awkwardly in the threshold.

- Her sister is here! She gives birth.

As luck would have it, a fine, nasty rain started dripping from the darkened gray sky.

- Sophie is prohibited from being on the territory of the community.

- Please wait! But John had already begun to close the heavy front door. Sam quickly pushed her with his hand and burst into the house.

- Hey! Anybody! The house seemed empty. It was as if there was not a soul in it. Sam rushed absurdly through the corridors.

-John, listen, there’s a woman in the car, she needs help.  

- John took the flashlight and walked slowly with Sam to the car. The rain had already intensified and the two of them, a bright orange spot, made their way through its veil.

When Sam suddenly opened the door, there was no one in the car.

                    New Born.

Sam spent the next two days in a fever. Apparently this rain finally finished him off. He was tossing around in bed and delirious. Sophie's broken face would sometimes appear in front of him, and he would again raise his hand to strike. Then he heard Marie's laughter, and at that moment Sophie's face acquired the bestial grin of the demon girl she and Dean had killed once. He grabbed her neck and tried to choke her. A little more and everything will be fine again. But the neck was wet and the hand constantly slipped.

But my neck was wet and my hand kept slipping. He sank his teeth into her neck and growled. A strange feeling of hatred, and arousal at the same time. There was a part of Sam that was afraid of what was happening, but he was irresistibly drawn to it. Eventually he saw himself running along the highway, in the grip of some almost primal horror, and woke up.

- Sam, Sam wake up!

- Good morning! The morning sun filled the room with a soft whitish light. Marie stood opposite Sam's bed and smiled.

-How are you feeling? Today is such a wonderful day, you definitely have to come down for breakfast. Her mood was filled with festive elation.

- We are waiting for you. And she, gently running her hand over his cheek, hurriedly left the room. She no longer had a belly.

-And was there a belly? He wondered.

- Does this matter?

Sam slowly sat down on the bed and began to pull on his trousers.- A hearty breakfast is all I need right now. That was all he thought at that moment.

All these children, these births, all this is just a ridiculous dream. He decided.

                           New Dean.

But already on the way to the living room he heard a child crying. Having entered the room, he stopped. The walls and floor were covered with something white; in the center of the living room there was the same long table, this time covered with a white tablecloth. The sun illuminated the entire room with an even white light.

At the head of the table stood Marie, in a long black dress, holding a crying naked baby in her outstretched arms, high above her head. He was crying heart-rendingly, but she didn’t even think about calming him down. There were men on both sides of her, and the same strange smile was frozen on the faces of these people.

- Salute his father! She said.

- We welcome you! Those in the hall spoke.Sam's left leg gave way and he awkwardly walked towards the "table".

Marie looked up at him and at that moment a shiver of horror ran down his spine from her strange smile.

- This is redemption! She said solemnly.

Sam felt like he was suffocating.

- General redemption! Others in the room spoke. And their hands began to touch the baby’s body.

Obeying a strange impulse, Sam also touched the child’s forehead with his hand. Then, as if waking up, he sharply recoiled and saw fangs appear on the faces of those present. Needle-sharp teeth pierced the baby’s white body, and with a sharp jerk, someone more agile tore a piece of meat from his flesh.

Marie stood at the head, swaying slightly and laughing, flashing huge fangs like spears. Her face was splattered with blood. But Sam was unable to return his gaze to what he saw.

He jerked sharply and threw the first chair he found at some vampire. He was feeling nauseous.

He must run away from here. It doesn’t matter where, the main thing is to run. He rushed away. Oddly enough, no one tried to block his way. He didn’t even remember how he ended up on the highway.

-This highway doesn’t end in this direction. He thought. And he ran in the opposite direction. It was starting to be a clear day. Sam ran along the road, not remembering himself, as if in delirium. Periodically he stumbled, fell and ran again. It is unknown how much time has passed. Suddenly he saw a bar in the distance. “Billy’s” had a window flashing invitingly.

Sam looked around anxiously, looking for the slightest danger. He was angry and ready to hit Dean for his carelessness.

- Our last task. – Dean picked up the glass of whiskey and poured it into himself.

-It’s just a demon girl, relax. He added, stopping smiling. And Sam heard a painfully familiar squeal.  

------------

-Listen, I’m really sorry, we did everything we could… I’m really really sorry for your brother, I’ll leave you for a while. The doctor put something on the table and left the room.

-Sammy, no... Dean was sitting over his brother's bed and tightly squeezing his hand.

Next to his bed there was a device on which a green stripe glowed with what the doctor had just voiced.

Sam lay flat. Before his mind's eye, the gray strip of the highway was already twisting with might and main…..

Интервью Листермана.

Попалось на глаза интервью Листермана о поиске девушек порядочных для "бохатых". Оказывается сейчас у них там новые тренды. Важны "чистые" и без косметики даже. При чем сам Листерманн их профессионально "ловит". И можно даже познакомиться с особо "чистой" так, что она знать даже не будет. И вот кому-то из "бохатых" все это надо. На самом деле надо. По многим причинам.

Частая асоциальность и оторванность от нормального общения "бохатых". Невозможность и боязнь общения и отказа.

Присяга сатане и выбор телки на которую он укажет для развращения этой телки. При этом типажность периодически меняется и ее приходится "менять". То есть это масонская мистерия определенная. Для уничтожения любви как таковой в нашем обществе. Часто такую телку даже пиарят и "светят" для того чтоб эту "присягу" масонским ценностям продемонстрировать. То есть это сигнал, "я мол свой". А это уже подспорье в бизнесе и делах. От лукавого и от "своих".

Энерго вампиризм свежего мяса и его денежной энергии. Точнее ее. Кстати для этого еще и знакомятся с семьей, дабы понять не выпила ли еще семья ее ресурс.

Если девушка не в курсе что ее "ведет" Петро и она у него в базе. Она вроде как дороже. НО, внутри своего Я она ведь все равно все будет понимать, а как следствие, в итоге окажется даже подлее и опаснее той, что на внешнем уровне все осознавала. И непонятно, зачем вообще такая нужна.

Демоны VS кирпичи.

Пару слов о допотопной архитектуре. A few words about antediluvian architecture.

Когда-то давно снимала комнату в районе метро дмитровская, в Москве, рядом расположена арт площадка Хлебзавод. Сосед по квартире работал там на починке разной электрики, и говорил что под Хлебзаводом существует древний, большой подземный ход, арочного типа. Я даже хотела сходить с ним и поснимать, но как-то ноги не дошли. Там огромное количество строений из красного кирпича. И ход как раз под одним из них. Может он еще как-то с метро связан. Так что подобные ходы под Москвой это не миф.

А вот кстати фото тунеллей под другой тоже кстати арт площадкой, но в другом месте Винзавод.

Интересно что и красный кирпич, и металл, это материалы проходящие обработку огнем, возможно это дает им какую то защитную силу от демонических сущностей. Смотрела ролик на ютубе, о том что наши бабушки спали только на металлических кроватях. Я и сама живя в родном городе, помню что в спальне у нас такая стояла. Я и спала на ней все детство. Примерно так они выглядели. И были стабильно весьма популярны.

Я думаю металл, кирпич, стекло это то что прошло обработку огнем давало нашим предкам большую защиту от демонов. А Вы что думаете? A few words about antediluvian architecture. A long time ago I rented a room in the Dmitrovskaya metro area in Moscow, next to the Hlebzavod art site. My roommate worked there repairing various electrical equipment, and he said that under Hlebzavod there was an ancient, large underground passage, an arched type. I even wanted to go with him and take pictures, but somehow my legs did not get around to it. There are a huge number of red brick buildings there. And the passage is right under one of them. Maybe it is somehow connected with the metro. So such passages under Moscow are not a myth. It is interesting that both red brick and metal are materials that undergo fire treatment, perhaps this gives them some kind of protective power from demonic entities. I watched a video on YouTube about how our grandmothers slept only on metal beds. I myself, living in my hometown, remember that we had one in the bedroom. I slept on it all my childhood. I think metal, brick, anything that was treated with fire gave our ancestors greater protection from demons. What do you think?

Новая реклама Дэ эн Гэ. И при чем здесь мой фанфик по супернатурал.

New D&G ad. And what does my supernatural fanfic have to do with it?

Вот при том. Сам фанфик я написала где то в апреле, написала и перевела на английский, запостив на тумблер, дабы Эрик Крипке, великий и ужасный прочел когда нибудь. А тут на днях глянула и ба! Знакомые все лица! Только у меня Мари, у них Ирина, у меня Сэм в образе дьявола, у них Джерри Холл, (джерри это мышонок, мышонок, ну сами знаете кто), у меня младенца поедают, у них дочку Джерри Холл в жизни, тоже модель, ну ту что сережки сняла, а потом символически исчезла. Но я не в претензии. Даже очень приятно если вдохновила там кого то...

Ну и к смыслам...

Аид-Россия-Ирина-Христос кидает на стол нож, отказавшись резать Персефону за измену, в дом врывается рагневанный дьявол, в образе Джери Холл. Далее Ирэн "ломается" и обращается в большеротого Джокера-Дурака. Такого демона. Она облизывает вилку, согласившись жрать ту модель, снявшую сережки, она кстати дочь Джерри Холл в жизни от Мика Джагера, она там с щербинкой между зубов. И довольный дьявол смеется. Браво! Что тут скажешь!

Смыслы и Юмор, все на местах!

Мой фанфик можете почитать на англ здесь, в этом блоге.

Ну а на русском на моем дзен https://dzen.ru/sladkaya12

That's it. I wrote the fanfic itself somewhere in April, wrote it and translated it into English, posted it on Tumblr so that Eric Kripke, the great and terrible, would read it someday. And then the other day I looked at it and bam! All the familiar faces! Only mine is Marie, they have Irina, I have Sam as the devil, they have Jerry Hall (Jerry is a mouse, a mouse, well, you know who), mine is eating a baby, they have Jerry Hall's daughter in real life, also a model, well, the one who took off her earrings and then symbolically disappeared. But I'm not offended. It's even very nice if I inspired someone there..

Hades-Russia-Irina-Christ throws a knife on the table, refusing to cut Persephone for betrayal, an angry devil bursts into the house, in the form of Jerry Hall. Then Irene "breaks down" and turns into a big-mouthed Joker-Fool. Such a demon. She licks her fork, agreeing to eat that model who took off her earrings, by the way, she is Jerry Hall's daughter in real life from Mick Jagger, she is there with a gap between her teeth. And the satisfied devil laughs. Bravo! What can you say!

Собачье сердце и верное перо М. Булгакова, на службе у товарища И. Сталина.

The “dog’s” heart and pen of M. Bulgakov in the service of Comrade Stalin.

Посмотрела недавно"Собачье сердце" Альберто Латтуады. Задумалась. Саму книгу читала давно. Принято считать, что Булгаков высмеивает советского человека. Критикует советский строй. Но я лично прониклась к Шарикову большой симпатией. Как филолог могу заявить. Если Вы хотите понять что действительно хотел сказать автор, и какую мысль он зашифровал в своей книге, почитайте критику и хрестоматию. Все что там написано - кристаллическая ложь. И диаметральная противоположность тому, что вложено в произведение на самом деле. Это и с фильмами работает. То есть - хочешь понять вложенный посыл, читаешь критику и принимаешь противоположное ей мнение. Я уже писала о том, что вся литература, как и "важнейшее из искусств" это обман и манипуляция сознанием масс. Это всегда - попытка вложить в головы людей - люцефирианскую философию успешности. При чем так было и сто, и двести лет назад. Вы даже не представляете, какими схемами манипуляций владеет, управляющая нами власть. Но вернемся к Булгакову. Михаил Афанасьевич испытывал огромное уважение и пиетет к личности Сталина. Между ними даже как-то состоялся телефонный разговор. "Вождь" САМ звонил Мастеру. А некоторые его пьесы посещал по несколько раз. Булгаков хорошо ставился. И ни разу не был арестован. Хотя прости господи "критики" и находят в его произведениях, антисоветчину. Но "критики" находят. А Сталин и НКВД нет. Кому верить? Ужели чекисты себе враги? Ну, конечно же, нет. Итак, Булгаков с большим интересом и уважением относился к личности Сталина, раз. Отцом писателя был не просто священник, а известнейший философ-богослов. И человеком МА был воцерковлённым, два. А теперь посмотрим на профессора Преображенского. Он занимается довольно отвратительной с точки зрения морали деятельностью. Возвращает потенцию, пожилым развратникам обоего пола. Что довольно таки - фу. Ну, и, в конце концов, совершает совсем уж кощунственное деяние, а именно превращает собаку в человека. С точки зрения православной церкви - это апофеоз греха. За которым должно следовать немедленное отлучение. Сам Профессор ведет себя довольно резко. Не проявляя к своему творению ни малейших чувств, даже не пытаясь заниматься его воспитанием, он требует от бывшей собаки абсолютной человечности. Что довольно жестоко. Одним словом читатель на бессознательном уровне полностью принимает сторону Шарикова. И при этом даже не отдает себе в этом отчет. Сознательно мы вроде бы его критикуем. Но внутри... И таким образом Булгаков снимает с нас критическое восприятие с некоторых представителей советского строя. С того человека которого формировала эта система. Вызывая в нас большую лояльность и к социализму, и к Сталину, и к таким вот "Шариковым". На уровне сознания мы, как бы, против. Внешне нам говорят, мол, Шариков это ата та!! А внутри в обход критическому мышлению, мы полностью за. Мог ли быть Сталин против такого писателя? Конечно же, нет! Что думаете? Верите хрестоматиям?  

Iss recently watched “Heart of a Dog” by Alberto Lattuada. I thought about it. I read the book itself a long time ago. It is generally accepted that Bulgakov ridicules the Soviet man. Criticizes the Soviet system. But I personally developed a great sympathy for Sharikov. As a philologist I can say this. If you want to understand what the author really wanted to say and what thought he encoded in his book, read criticism and anthology. Everything that is written there is a crystalline lie. And the diametric opposite of what is actually put into the work. This works with films too. That is, if you want to understand the underlying message, you read the criticism and accept the opposite opinion. I have already written that all literature, like “the most important of the arts,” is deception and manipulation of the consciousness of the masses. This is always an attempt to put the Lucefirian philosophy of success into people's heads. Moreover, this was the case a hundred and two hundred years ago. You can’t even imagine what kind of manipulation schemes the government that controls us has. But let's return to Bulgakov. Mikhail Afanasyevich had great respect and reverence for Stalin’s personality. There was even a telephone conversation between them. Stalin attended some of Bulgakov's plays several times. Bulgakov was often staged. And he was never arrested. But “critics” find anti-Sovietism in his works. But the “critics” find it. But Stalin and the NKVD do not. Who to believe? Are the security officers really their own enemies? Well, of course not. So, Bulgakov treated Stalin’s personality with great interest and respect. The writer’s father was not just a priest, but a famous philosopher-theologian. Now let's look at Professor Preobrazhensky. He is engaged in some rather morally repugnant activities. Returns potency to elderly libertines of both sexes. And he even commits a completely blasphemous act, namely, he turns a dog into a human. From the point of view of the Orthodox Church, this is the apotheosis of sin. Which should be followed by immediate excommunication. The Professor himself behaves quite harshly. Without showing the slightest feelings for his creation, without even trying to educate him, he demands absolute humanity from the former dog. Which is pretty cruel. The reader, on an unconscious level, completely takes Sharikov’s side. And at the same time he doesn’t even realize it. Consciously, we seem to criticize him. But inside… And thus Bulgakov removes our critical perception of some representatives of the Soviet system. Arousing in us great loyalty to socialism, and to Stalin, and to such “Sharikovs”. At the level of consciousness, we are, as it were, against it. Outwardly they tell us that Sharikov is terrible!! And internally, bypassing critical thinking, we are all for it. Could Stalin be against such a writer? Of course not! What do you think??

Чтобы быть женщиной, нужно иметь много мужества. С праздником!

Брюнетки в черно-белом правят из-за кулис. И перемещаются в пространстве. Или как сказала в инсте Мила Йовович, - "За каждым из нас стоит - ведьма с черными волосами, мама".

Мать Скарлетт Йохансон.

2. Жена Эрика Крипке. Диана Крипке.

3. Линн Спирс, она же мать Бритни Спирс.

4. Марина Абрамович

5. Мать Кардашьян Крис Дженнер.

6. Мать Милы Йовович Галина Логинова

7. Жена контролер миллиардера Сальма Хайек.

8. Деми Мур.