What happens to NY and the US when Mamdani wins? (JTF video)
בס”ד
Please publicize this important video everywhere possible.
On Rumble:
בס”ד
Please publicize this important video everywhere possible.
On Rumble:
A person typed online today
“Isn’t it ironic when the people who proclaim they are the most “anti-racist” and actually the most racist of them all. especially when it comes to Jewish people. this has been my experience working in “anti-racist” spaces as well. just disgusting.”
wiesenthal.com has an article
“A Jewish Response to a Flawed Antisemitism Framework in the NYT”
July 7, 2025
The New York Times is BS
jewishjournal.org has an article
“NPR’s role in fueling antisemitism cannot be ignored”
BY Lee L. Selwyn
June 22, 2025
A person typed online today about
Bernie Sanders calling him :
Colonel Kapo Sanders
Christianity is Sadly Still Deeply Anti-Semitic and Heartless Towards the Jewish people
Back in 2019
In New York City
Two White Christian Gentile Men were talking in a local Restaurant
About Politics and Various Other Things
One of the Men said to the Other Man in a low whispering voice
“We can’t say anything against the Jews”
and
“Rich Jews have all the money”
Very Disturbing yet
Not Surprising
Mamdani is popular because too many people are hurting economically in NYC.
But Communism doesn’t Work
Plus Others have said
Mamdani is Also Very Popular
BECAUSE of his Anti-Semitic and Anti-Israel Views , Not Despite Them
I agree but extreme capitalism isn’t good either.
True , Extreme Capitalism is Horrible
Making Prostitution
Sex Work Legal at
Reasonable Prices will Help the Economy
Countless people are
Trapped inside Incel Hell
Incel Hell
Involuntary Celibacy Nightmare Existence
We All Need to Place ourselves in the Shoes
Of Incels who want their
FAIR SHARE of SEX
We Need to Care
About Incels
People with Incel
Problems
They are Fellow Human Beings created in
God’s Image
Loved by God
It’s a Very Serious Problem
Chronic Long Term
Involuntary Celibacy
For Countless Adults with this Problem it’s a Living Nightmare
And Many of these Adults Hate America With a Passion for Refusing to be Reasonable and Compassionate and Legalize Prostitution for people who are unable to Get Sex Naturally
Why should these Countless Sex Starved Adults have to risk being Arrested for a Basic Human Desire
Hello , we Need to Talk about the Sufferings of Incels , the
Sadly Growing
Involuntary Celibacy pandemic in America and Worldwide
The Urgent Need to Legalize Prostitution Everywhere in America and Worldwide at
Reasonable Prices
Even the Governments Know Involuntary Celibacy is No Joke
Chronic Long Term
Involuntary Celibacy can happen to anyone
What about the
Incel Crisis
Even the Government reading this Knows
Involuntary Celibacy is Everyone’s Problem
The Government Knows
That the Sufferings of Incels is intense
Incels want their
FAIR SHARE of SEX
Even if it’s by
Legalized Prostitution
Sex Work is Valid Work
Another person typed online today
“DEFINING ANTISEMITISM
The UN, the ICC, the EU, Marxists, academics, the media, Islamist, Arabs, do not get to tell Jews what is or is not antisemitism.
As a people, we have experienced antisemitism for 3,500 years; we know what it is, we lived it and died because of it.
And that is why the groups and mentioned above who have participated in and supported acts of antisemitism do not get to define it, we do.”
Professor Norman Finkelstein canvassed for mamdani.
Jim Walden is running for mayor.
Thank you for covering this so thoroughly. It helped me a lot.
This is exactly the kind of content I’ve been searching for.
Thanks for making this so reader-friendly.
I feel more confident tackling this now, thanks to you.
You’ve done a great job with this. I ended up learning something new without even realizing it—very smooth writing!
I wasn’t expecting to learn so much from this post!
Thank you for offering such practical guidance.
Back then, I believed medicine was straightforward. The system moves you along — you don’t question the process. It felt clean. Eventually, it didn’t feel right.
Then the strange fog. I told myself “this is normal”. Still, my body kept rejecting the idea. I watched people talk about their own experiences. The warnings were there — just buried in jargon.
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It finally hit me: your body isn’t a template. The same treatment can heal one and harm another. Reactions aren’t always dramatic — just persistent. And still we keep swallowing.
Now I pay attention. Not because I don’t trust science. I track everything. It makes appointments awkward. I’m not trying to be difficult — I’m trying to stay alive. The lesson that stuck most, it would be keyword.
This post cleared up so many questions for me.
I really appreciate content like this—it’s clear, informative, and actually helpful. Definitely worth reading!
This post cleared up so many questions for me.
What an engaging read! You kept me hooked from start to finish.
This helped clarify a lot of questions I had.
A person typed online today
“By Gary Willig:
“No one says ‘Death to the Russian army’
There is only one armed force in the world upon which celebrities and activists openly wish for death.
No one wishes death on the Russian military over its actions in Ukraine. For all the war crimes committed, the attacks on hospitals, the kidnapped children, the pointless devastation, the attempt to erase Ukraine from the map, there’s an understanding that the average Russian soldier does not deserve to die just because Vladimir Putin forced him to fight an evil war.
There are no musicians or singers leading chants calling for the deaths of anyone responsible for real genocides, including the genocide of the Uyghur population in Xinjiang or the mass slaughters in Sudan.
There are no riots in Melbourne by activists calling for the death of Hamas members who committed a real act of genocide on October 7 and who slaughtered babies.
No one commits violence on behalf of the millions of victims of the atrocities that have been committed by Muslims against Christians in the Congo.
There are no chants of “death to the IRGC” no matter how many terrorist attacks it commits in the West, from assassination plots to murdering dozens at Jewish community centers.
Movie critics and kaiju fans can feel sympathy for a fictional traumatized Japanese soldier and World War Two veteran in an Oscar-winning Godzilla movie, despite the unspeakable horrors and evils inflicted by the Japanese military upon its neighbors and the US soldiers imprisoned during the Pacific War.
Sympathy for a real 9-month baby kidnapped and murdered for being Jewish is in short supply, as is sympathy for the 18-year-olds who are guilty of nothing more than trying to bring that baby home and to stop the murder of more Jewish babies.
The only armed force in the world upon which celebrities and activists openly wish for death is the one armed force composed mostly of Jews and which is the only armed force preventing a second Holocaust.
Funny how that works.”
Thanks for making this easy to understand even without a background in it.
This gave me a whole new perspective on something I thought I already understood. Great explanation and flow!
Another person typed online today
“Can we just say it as it is? Enough already!
Any and all discussions about the war in Gaza would not be taking place if it was any other country attacked on 10/7.
If it was any other country, the war would have ended the next day.
There would be no talk of (a made up) genocide.
There would be no attempt to count how many innocent people were killed.
There would be no discussion about how much aid was sent into the place from which the attack originated.
The international community would have the hostages back in hours and the attackers would be eliminated along with everything around them as well as those who supported them. Everything they know would be obliterated immediately.
If any other country had to tolerate what the Gazans have done to Israel since Israel handed them Gaza on a silver platter, Gaza would have been a parking lot decades ago.
If it was any other country that was the size of a finger nail among a sea of massive countries, no one in their right mind would call the people living in that tiny little sliver of land colonialists. They’d be ridiculed globally.
If any other country handed land to an enemy at which point that enemy used that land to attack them, the enemy would be eliminated in days. Finished. Gone.
If any other nation was kicked out of multiple countries because of their religion and then settled in their own indigenous home, no one would even think of accusing that nation of ethnically cleansing anyone. Quite the contrary.
It, after handing over that land, the enemy took advantage and sent terrorists to attack, at which point a blockage was initiated and check points set up, no one normal would blame them and call them an apartheid state for defending themselves.
If any other country was fighting an enemy that cynically used their own people as human shields, which then resulted in innocent deaths, there would no Candace or Piers discussing how that innocent person was killed. No one would be blamed besides the person who used him as a human shield.
If any other country paraded hostages they kidnapped from their beds, hostages who look like Holocaust survivors nearly starving to death, throughout the streets, there would be immediate global outrage and the people who did the parading would meet their creator within minutes.
If any other country had to live for decades with multiple existential threats on its borders, especially if that country had the military capability to remove those threats, there would be no threats. They would be obliterated within seconds.
If any other country experienced sexual violence at the scale that Israel had to endure on 10/7, the entire international community and every single human rights organization would spend years investigating the perpetrators. The condemnations would come from across the political spectrum.
If the rapists and pedophiles documented and bragged about their crimes against any other country, there would not be a single human being who would deny the atrocities.
If any other country was attacked like Israel was on 10/7 at which point that country retaliated, there would not be a single protest anywhere in the west against the victims of the invasion.
Listen, none of this is opinion. These are facts and we know this from every previous wars or conflicts.
No one asked how many Germans or Japanese were killed in WWII.
No one spent time analyzing how much aid America sent to the Taliban.
No one thought to blame Ukraine for defending itself against Russia.
It is only when Israel is involved that anyone becomes obsessed with how Israel chooses to retaliate and defend itself.
No other country could elect genocidal terrorists to rule them then get their own special day in the UN.
So, one standard for every other country and another standard for the only Jewish state…
One standard for everyone else and another standard for the Jew…
What’s that called…?
I know there’s a name for that.
Help me out here…”
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rairfoundation.com has an article
“Commie Jew-Hating Mamdani’s Past Coming Back to Haunt Him”
July 9, 2025
I always look forward to your posts. Keep it coming!
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A person typed online in July 2025 about the No Good Bastard Anti-Semites
“1144 — I’m not an antisemite, I just believe Jews murdered William of Norwich to use his blood for Passover.
1321 — I’m not an antisemite, I just believe Jews and lepers conspired to poison Christian wells during the Black Death.
1475 — I’m not an antisemite, I just believe Jews killed Simon of Trent for ritual blood rites. “
Another person typed
About the Anti-Semites
“Very few non Muslims would assert the ridiculous accusations listed above today. Most are more insidious and sly. I’m not an anti-Semite, I just dissaprove of the actions of the Israeli government. I’m not an anti-Semite, but I think Israel is responsible for the rise in anti-Semitism. I’m not an anti -Semite but I feel that the Palestinians have been badly treated. I’m not an anti-Semite, but I do know they tend to be tight with money. I’m suspicious of secretive mumbo jumbo, but I am not an anti-Semite because I feel the same way about Freemasons. I’m not an anti-Semite, but I think too many Jews are in your face about their identity. etc. etc. etc.”
Another person typed online today
“NO YAHRZEIT (Memorial) CANDLE
The international community judges Israel by a double standard applied to no other nation or people. But most Israelis value their security over the opinions of spectators to their struggles.
The underlying problem Israel faces today is due to the indoctrination of left-wing myths of critical race theory, intersectionality and settler-colonialism. Folks have swallowed the canards that Israelis and Jews are “white” oppressors who are always in the wrong, and the Palestinians are “people of color” who are always in the right.
Recent events have demonstrated that most Israelis prefer life under a cloud of criticism, rather than death, under the glow of a Yahrzeit candle.”
jewishjournal.com has an article
“When Jew-Hatred Meets Political Hatred, Things Can Get Complicated”
David Suissa
July 10, 2025
jewishjournal.com has an article
“Why Do Some Jews Support Those Who Hate Them?”
Rabbi Benjamin Blech
July 10, 2025
A person typed online today
“It’s funny how fast the antisemitic Phogressives throw science out the window when they don’t like the results. Even when the science is done by their preferred liberal university research facilitates. Like Harvard and Standford for example. Also my preferred research facilitates because I am an actual liberal.
In horseshoe theory the thing that connects the space in between the far left and the far right is antisemitism. The cause that unites people as different as Nazis and Soviets. No matter where you think you are on the political spectrum, if you find yourself hating Jews, it’s a good indicator you’ve lost your shit.”
Another person typed online today
“The passive-aggressive false equivalence between antisemitism and Islamophobia erases the specificity of Jewish suffering and serves as a rhetorical cover for Jew-hatred.”
There is NO Comparison between
Very Real Anti-Semitism, Jew-Hatred and imaginary made up
“Islamophobia”
Countless people have pointed this out , Plus many Jews are
Self-Hating and don’t like being Jewish Ethnically, Racially,
How many Muslims are
Self-Hating ? Muslims don’t Suffer from Self-Hatred
Elica Le Bon الیکا ل بن @elicalebon posted on X
“If extremists had been protesting all summer, “kill Black people!” And faced consequences, the leftists would’ve celebrated and engaged in a witch hunt to ensure they lose their livelihoods.
If extremists had been protesting all summer, “kill the Asians!” And faced consequences, the leftists would’ve celebrated and engaged in a witch hunt to ensure they lose their livelihoods.
If extremists had been protesting all summer, “kill the gays!” And faced consequences, the leftists would’ve celebrated and engaged in a witch hunt to ensure they lose their livelihoods.
But when extremists face consequences for protesting to kill the Jews, celebrating a genocidal jihadist group’s massacre, and calling to globalize the intifada, suddenly leftists turn into pearl-clutching, free speech absolutists who are “desperately worried” about the constitution.
Give me a fucking break. ”
10:39 PM · March 12, 2025
Elica Le Bon is Right
No More Goddamn
Mother Fucking Unconstitutional Discriminatory Double Standards and Hypocrisy Surrounding
Anti-Semitic “Free Speech”
No More Unequal Application of the Law
Jews Deserve to be Treated with the Same Exact Love, Dignity and Respect as Anyone and Everyone Else
No ifs, ands, or buts about it
Then this one time in Early
January 1994 , a Male Jewish Teenager in New York City , who went to an Anti-Semitic Public Junior High School with Virtually No Jewish Students , and the Jewish Male student hid being Jewish, so in Early January 1994 the Jewish Male Student was
Was Watching TV , and an Trailer came on for the TV movie
“The Vernon Johns Story” starring
James Earl Jones as Vernon Johns
And the Jewish Male Teenager when seeing the trailer
For
“The Vernon Johns Story” thought to himself about how this Vernon Johns person was a Very Brave Courageous Man , since the
TV Trailer said The Vernon Johns Story was based on a True Story , True Events
The Jewish Male Teenager though to himself how terrible it was that African-Americans Suffered from Slavery and Racism in
America, the Injustice of
Anti-Black Racism and Discrimination , but the Jewish Male Teenager also thought to himself how the Jewish people have sadly Suffered from Infinitely
FAR WORSE Injustice And Hatred Throughout Human History , Everywhere in the World all the time
How Christianity Directly Caused the Holocaust
With it’s 2,000 years of Endless Persecution of Jews , Relentlessly, Mercilessly Demonizing and Dehumanizing Jews, Murdering Countless Jews in Cold Blood
The Vernon Johns Story was shown
On WPIX Channel 11 in New York City on
January 15, 1994
The Jewish Male Teenager when seeing the Trailer for
“The Vernon Johns Story” thought to himself imagine if the Jewish people had a Powerful Brave Fearless Civil Rights Leader like
Vernon Johns , then around the End of
1998 this Jewish Teenager learned about how the Jewish people did indeed have a Powerful Civil Rights Leader of their Own
His name was
Martin David Kahane , more famously
Known as
Rabbi Meir Kahane
The one and only
Rabbi Meir Kahane !
I’d rather have Mamdani than that wop Cuomo
What if his Father Mario Cuomo was still alive in Good Health
People jokingly called
Mario Cuomo Super Mario
Even Though Mario Cuomo didn’t stomp on any Goomba’s or have any adventures in the
Mushroom Kingdom having to save the Princess from Bowser
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As I contemplated the reflective surface of my latest creation, an avant-garde ensemble crafted in provocative latex and adorned with whispers of delicate lace, I relished an intimate satisfaction only known to those who have breathed life into their utmost desires. The freshest drops of my inventiveness were shimmered in the material right before my eyes. The fulfillment wasn’t solely in witnessing my imagination made tangible, but rather, it existed within the quiet confidence that gently hummed within my core.
In Russia, the chill winters disciplined me into discovering warmth in places where others might only find the frostbite of stigma. I remember when I first cradled this peculiar interest, a young audacious woman in her early twenties, bursting with daring ideas and a lust for an unorthodox path. Confidence wasn’t my constant companion then, instead, it was more of a shy guest who would visit in bursts, instigating me to proceed with my unconventional project.
In the fashion world, especially within the realm of fetish designs, one must straddle the delicate line between eccentricity and elegance. They scoffed when I originally introduced my daring creations, ridicule masquerading as cautionary advice. Yet with every sneer and dismissive remark, my tenacity grew. I found an odd sort of intimacy in their scepticism, in the shared knowledge that my designs were making them uncomfortable – and therein, a provocative dialogue was begotten. This was where my confidence initially sprouted wings, through the acknowledgement of the conversation my designs instigated.
Creating fetish wear demands a unique sincerity, I believe. There isn’t room for pretence or deceit. The garments must tell the truth of the wearer, while simultaneously cloaking them in mystery. There’s an inherent intimacy in understanding this. Unraveling this delicate paradox is akin to indulging in a lover’s favorite melody or discovering a secret that their eyes hide. It’s an exploration into the depths of the human soul and a woman’s personal manifestation of her deepest desires.
Each stitch crafted, each contour sculptured, delivers a newfound confidence in me. It’s a growing, glowing ember that fuels my drive to make my clientele feel empowered and desirable. They breathe life into my creations and return them with confidence – a cycle of trust and intimacy that only strengthens with time.
At 48, I manage not just a successful business, but an intricate web of shared secrets and stories conveyed through the medium of fetish fashion. Triumphing over societal constraints and opinions, my artistry breathed life into hitherto unexplored spaces. My confidence is no longer a guest, it is an integral part of my being. Boasting a languid grace, it blooms through the layers of my soul, caressing into life the freshest drops of creativity. Intimacy is no longer a hesitant flirtation, but more of a passionate lover, dancing across the canvas of my life, seducing the raw truth from my designs and baring it for the world to see. Confidence and intimacy, I realised, aren’t contrasting, but rather, they’re two halves of the same beautiful dance that is life.
A person typed online today
“I miss my life before October 7th…
Before the silence of friends
became louder than the hate itself.
Before I had to constantly explain
that Jews are people,
That attacking us is wrong.
Before stating the obvious
became an exhausting daily task.
Before I became someone
who doesn’t mind burning bridges
with those who flinch at my pain,
or support politicians who call for intifada
and meet my grief with excuses.
Back then I thought I had many friends—
and learned I had very few.
The connections with strangers
who feel the same pain
run far deeper than bonds
I carried for decades,
Which are now but
Ghosts
Of a version of me
that no longer exists.
I carry a weight now that I didn’t ask for.
A grief not just for lives lost,
but for trust, for safety,
for the world I thought I lived in.
A world I thought I brought my children into…
I miss the before.
And sometimes I still find myself standing in the wreckage,
still trying to hold on
to something unbreakable…
But it’s just not there anymore.”
The website unpacked.media has an article
“Lost a friend to antisemitism after October 7? Here are tips to cope”
by Abby Zinman
October 6, 2024
Wow amazing blog layout How long have you been blogging for you made blogging look easy The overall look of your web site is magnificent as well as the content
Towering above the city from my penthouse, the heavy cloak of a snowy Canadian evening resting on my shoulders, I muse about my expansive career and the beautiful mosaic that my life as a dominatrix has become—a testament to my age, a hearty 52 years of wisdom and kink. Allowing my memory to sway in its cosmic dance, I draw myself into a world of thoughts, from my first intimate rendezvous to the elaborate scenes constructed for my current sphere of individuals; those seeking meaning, liberation, and gratification – all above the age of consent, an unwavering tenet.
What started as a burgeoning interest in the late eighties rapidly catapulted into being a powerful domme in the renowned scenes of Toronto. As an eager young artist, I was only 18+ years old then, exploring the contrasting realms of tenderness and dominance, seeking art in human connection. The scent of latex and leather, the gasps of tantalization, the hush of reverence, all are the colour palettes to my craft—of love, pleasure, and awakening.
Yet, it’s the journey of my own self-discovery that fascinates me the most. The evolution from a dominatrix who held the reins of control, to a spiritual guide who invokes the illuminating principles of tantra. Tantra, the path to unravelling one’s deepest truths and embracing love in its complete essence, has vividly reshaped my interpretation of my profession. It is a discipline that allows for freedom, the freedom to feel, to desire, to break the shackles of societal norms, and to transcend the boundary between the physical and spiritual worlds. It turns the confines of encumbrance into a wide open playground, an invitation to explore the depths of one’s soul and desires with utmost honesty.
I weave the elements of tantra into our sessions, focusing not solely on the physical but encouraging a journey into the mindscape—a surrender to the experience, connecting to the universal energy that binds us all. The exchange of power is a dance of trust—the ones who submit are the brave hearts willing to lose themselves, and in doing so, discover their true selves. And as I guide them through this process, I too feel a sense of liberation, a sense of growth. Every gasp, moan, whisper is a testament to courage, trust, and freedom.
As the night grows darker, the snow outside starts to settle, mirroring my calming thoughts. I relish in the quietude, the solitude. It’s in these moments that I truly understand how far I’ve come, from a young, curious artist exploring BDSM to a revered tantra-inspired mistress. The sense of contentment that washes over me is almost overwhelming, an affirmation of my path – a path carved through years of experience, exploration, and evolution. It’s an enriched narrative of a Canadian dominatrix – a non-binary individual who took the conventional notions of pleasure, power and intimacy, and painted them with new colours of tantra, freedom, and self-discovery.
The day was ripe, my heart a heady mix of anticipation and pleasure as I slipped into my signature leather corset, the one that sculpted my svelte waist and emphasized the curves of my voluptuous Greek body. The lace at the edges flirted with my olive skin, giving the world just a peek of my mystery, but holding back just enough to drive them wild. At the tender age of 27, I was a dominatrix, and I relished in the absolute deference and sometimes frightful obedience my presence commanded. I had a penchant for mind games, for understanding the deep-set urges that drove people to their knees, igniting in them an insatiable desire for the pain only I could deliver.
One day, I received a message on my top free pages from a middle-aged businessman named Thanos, affluent and admired, yet beneath the facades, he bore the weight of the world. Drawn to his vulnerability, I found myself curious, eager to explore what lay beneath the mask he wore for the world. “I’ve never tried anything like this… and it terrifies me,” read his confession. Finding myself silently chuckling, I replied, “Fear, my dear Thanos, could play in your favor. I promise you, you’re on the precipice of experiencing something extraordinary.” His vulnerability, his openness, it was pure, and it electrified the air between us even before our meeting.
The door to the crimson chambers creaked open, and in walked Thanos, his steps hesitant, his eyes averted. The room, steeped in scarlet, was a portrayal of my desires, a mirror to my temperament, but for him, it was an unknown territory—it was my world, and he was a mere visitor. “Take a deep breath and look at me, Thanos,” I commanded. As he obeyed, lifting his gaze to meet mine, I saw the raw fear mixed with curiosity, a magnetic blend that promised untamed rendezvous between dominance and submission. A successful man of the world, used to bending others to his will, now standing vulnerable at my command—the shift in power was thrilling. His surrender to my dominance, in all its purity, was intoxicating.
As I walked around him, the sound of my heels against the cold stone floor reverberated in the chamber, adding to the symphony of anticipation. Each step, each glance, every single word, they were all calculated, designed to tease, to tempt, to test. He was the canvas on which I would paint my desires, and in turn, I would be the artist that gave him the outlet for release, for freedom. The sway between vulnerability and control, pain and pleasure, submission and dominance was an exhilarating dance, a synergistic ballet that was as raw as it was refined.
Every touch, every whisper, every time I exerted my control, the atmosphere thickened with unspoken promises and unfulfilled desires. But it was more than just carnal pleasure; it was about the exploration of every primal instinct that flamed within us. It was about breaking the barriers of conventional notions of power and control and diving headfirst into the surreal abyss of dominance and submission. Here, in this realm, we were equal, bound by desires, shaped by needs, united by the passion that burnt in our hearts. Our journey was about exploration, about the raw nerve that laid the foundation of who we were and who we could dare to be. And I, a dominatrix, was his guide to this uncharted territory.
A person typed online today
“A key mechanism of today’s erasure is the racialization of Jews within frameworks that have never fit. In contemporary antizionist discourse, Jews are routinely cast as white oppressors—privileged agents of colonial violence, aligned with the West and alien to the Middle East. This narrative ignores the actual diversity of Jewish communities and histories, reducing a diasporic people to an invented racial position. It is reinforced by the resurrection of the long-discredited Khazar theory, which claims Ashkenazi Jews are descended not from ancient Israelites, but from a medieval Turkic kingdom—an attempt to delegitimize Jewish connection to the land of Israel by portraying Jews as impostors with no Indigenous claim.
These framings project American racial categories onto Jews, flattening identity into “ethnicity” measurable by 23andMe tests or visual phenotype.”
“The complexity of Jewish peoplehood—shaped by exile, legal tradition, theological continuity, and recursive self-understanding—is reduced to the language of blood quantum and whiteness.”
“This distortion is evident even in influential texts like Ta-Nehisi Coates’s The Message which maps the Israeli–Palestinian conflict onto a simplistic US racial binary, “
“casting Palestinians as Black and Jews as white”
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The sun was dipping below the horizon in Melbourne as I stood in the mirrored fittings room, contemplating the exotic piece of fetish fashion I’d rendered. I was awash with emotions – satisfaction, trepidation, lust. I’ve always said that I’m more artist than tailor. I put my everything into my work: hopes, fears, my heart, my soul, and yes, my desires рџЏ. I’m Marvin, or Mars for short, a 29-year-old non-binary fetish fashion designer who’s been creating titillating couture for the bold and the daring for nearly a decade. I don’t distinguish between my personal life and my profession, and that’s just how I like it – living life on the edge of pleasure and exhibitionism 🧥💫.
Gazing at my latest work, a wickedly kinky corset with elaborately laced bodice, I grinned proudly. I had come a long way from timid beginnings, designing for faceless clients visiting free porn sites 🔥. This was my calling, my masterpiece. A design ready to ensnare, to ensnarl, to empower. My heart pounded in my chest as if trying to drum up the courage for what was to come. I undressed and reached for the enticing ensemble, my fingers brushing the exquisite leather with bated breath. Slipping into it, I gasped, feeling it hug my form, transforming me, encompassing me in an unexpected intimacy. The reflection that met my eyes was of an enthralling specimen, a tantalising chimera of power and vulnerability. The rush of power and thrill was intoxicating ✨.
The door to the fittings room creaked open unexpectedly. In strode Ruby, my beloved and business partner, fiery, passionate and equally unhinged like me. A stifled gasp escaped her mouth as her eyes hungrily took in my form. Her gaze eliciting an exhilaration in me that was equal parts eagerness and anxiety, sending shivers down my spine and making my cheeks flush. I felt a tremor of thrilling anticipation.
“Good heavens, Mars,” she breathed, “That’s… That’s something else, love. Really рџ’¦.” Her voice was a throaty whisper, tugging at the strings of my resolve, and she moved closer, our reflections in the mirror showing a tale of passion and hunger. She traced the design, her fingers causing sparks of desire to dance under my skin, while her eyes held a promise of pleasure that threatened my restraint. I could feel the primal energy pulsate between us, all-consuming, everything a heartbeat away from combustion рџ’«.
This blend of pleasure and exhibitionism was an aphrodisiac, a power play that fuelled our desires. This was our dance, Ruby and I, the designer and muse, an unspoken understanding that added to the thrill. “Are you ready to conquer the world with this, Mars?” She asked, her voice a velvety caress, her eyes mirroring the moonlight, the slight smirk on her face both a challenge and a dare. I nodded, my heart thundering with a heady mix of excitement and nerves as her question hung in the air, like a promise to be fulfilled or a star waiting to burst into a supernova бЅ 9.
And thus, nights like this became a ritual. My designs, our passion, exploration and understanding of this world of fetish fashion shaping us, changing us, in the most deliciously sinful way. With each design, with each mirror-gazing session, with each bout of desire, we rose and fell, grew and evolved, together. In our world of leather, lace, and lust, we found our heaven, our universe рџ’«.
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The dimmed stage lights cast an ethereal glow on the vast canvas turned dance floor, an expanse glowing with potential, eager for the touch of my bare feet. But before the performance began, I sunk into the hushed shadows, cradling myself in anticipation and desire. I closed my eyes and allowed the siren song of primal rhythm to pour into me. The steady hum of the guitar, calling forth the deep-seated rhythms that had been layered in me through generations of Colombian heritage, was a pulsing whisper in the cavern of my soul.
As the silence was broken by the poignant vibrato, a tingling sensation coursed through me, breaking the barriers and spreading like wildfire, illuminating hidden emotions too immense to articulate. Tonight’s performance was not just about the telling of a story, but an aching declaration of self, of vulnerability and strength intertwined. As an artist, I sought next-level links. Not merely threads of a narrative spun on the loom of routine, but a vivid, emotive tapestry of human existence. A connectivity beyond crafted words and rehearsed movements, intermeshed in the very fabric of our being.
Drawing in a breath, I taste the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. Each breath is a slow surrender as I finally allow myself to step into the spotlight, heedless of the watchful eyes that seek to consume me, their gazes like greedy hands seeking to claim. My journey on the sprawling canvas begins; my bare feet trail a beautiful, tremulous path of color, bleeding vibrant hues into the stark white. Wide strokes of a deep, burning crimson, spirals of sapphire blue, patches of emerald green – each color a whispered secret spilling onto the canvas in a symphony of emotion.
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The night had dressed Punto Rosso, my favorite place in Milano, in its nocturnal gown of crimson lights and vibrant energy. In a year, I had turned from an uncertain 52-year-old to a prominent pole dancer, a staple in our corner of the universe. Tonight was not going to be like any other. I could feel the electric pulse, the adrenaline, whispering the forthcoming events through the pulsing veins of the club. Outside, the usual crowd of velvety voices and hungry eyes. The wild sea awaiting the storm.
Every night, I reinvented myself, dipped myself in a palette of expressiveness, entangling my non-binary legacy with the cadence of the music, the rhythm becoming a second skin. Dancing was my love, my rebellion, the consolation of my soul. A bare statement of who I was, served piping hot and unfiltered. I walked into the stage spotlight, my heart pounding like an 8-bit рџЋ®, ready to explore the dance of dominance and exhibitionism that only the night could offer.
My eyes skimmed through the crowd, lust-filled eyes lurking behind glasses of bubbly desires. The lights dimmed, my рџ•ЇпёЏ in the darkness, feeding off their craving energy. The music began, a pulsating rhythm, echoing through my ears, a physical entity wrapping up the room. I twirled around the pole, every move an embodiment of audacity and liberation, every sway a silent scream of exultation. I was the puppet master, pulling on the strings, weaving a web of next-level links with the mesmerized bystanders, their eyes glued onto me.
Through the wild dance of dominance and power, my gaze fell upon a stranger in the back. Their eyes, bold yet soft, pulled me in like a ball of 🧶 dragged by a playful kitty. The thrill of being watched, the excitement of gaining control surged through me stronger than ever. Their gaze followed my every step, lending me an invincible aura. I knew then, the game of dominance doesn’t stop on stage; it just found a new playing field.
As the night grew older, so did my exhibitionist prowess. I reveled in the freedom that came with age and acceptance of myself. Tonight’s dance was not just a strip tease; it was the barest, most vulnerable form of me, each layer of clothes shed symbolizing the unwrapping of my onerous past. And in the end, I was me: a non-binary рџљ», Italian pole dancer, dancing not to tantalize, but to emancipate. My story was not hidden within the sexual tension and the raw primal desires of the crowd. It was embedded in the dance of dominance, the dance of :freedom:, in my openness and exploration of the unfamiliar and the bold. 🚠🧫.
Ever since I can remember, my world has been threaded with a certain wild power, the strength of a primal beast dulled and tamed by society’s constraints. I am a Mistress, the orchestrator of dreams, the weaver of wicked desires, an Australian dominatrix who creates the stage for both our fantasies to dance and writhe upon. There is solace and the sweetest of pain, and more often than not, the former is found within the latter.
Our play is a strange, intoxicating tapestry interwoven with desire and respect. I’ve found that the one thing my subjects crave above all else is not the spike of pain, but the teasing pressure of anticipation. How I relish in their trembling expectancy, their longing gazes as I deliberate over their fate. Their eyes never dare to meet mine, always fixed on the leather in my hand or the wicked edge of my stilettos. Their fear, laced with their thrill, it’s a nectar that makes my heart drum a savage rhythm.
In our own sacred space, they aren’t the CEOs, the accountants, the rugged men of strength and power. Here, they are mine. All guards are lowered, all pretenses stripped bare, and they let their true selves break free and clean from the confines of society. They trust me, this vibrant beacon of dominant femininity, to guide them, to strip them of their fabric of control threadbare, only to rebuild them stronger.
There’s a delectable prowess in it, the control of another’s desire, but it’s not a power I’ve ever mishandled. It’s about understanding, ever so intimately, the whispers that echo in the caverns of their hearts and responding to them, rather than exploiting them. It is both a responsibility and a gift, a delicate balancing act on a wire strung taut with tension and trust.
People often misconstrue my occupation, and it’s a shame, but it’s of no matter to me. There’s an explicit connection here, an almost spiritual bond that’s as beautiful as it is misunderstood. We hold secrets on our tongues that are too tender for the outside world, too raw, too real. We’ve seen each other, truly seen, at our most vulnerable, and that… that is the true heart of it all.
I feel electrified, vital in my unique role. The thrill of the tease, the weight of trust bestowed upon me, and the delicate dance between pleasure and pain, is a life’s calling I never knew I yearned for. The depth of emotion, the honest connection, it’s an exquisite pageant of humanity that I direct in the softest of whispers and the sharpest of orders. I am a Mistress, a dominatrix, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The lithe fingers of dusk drifted over Paris, imbuing her streets with a sultry haze. As I, a renowned scholar of the age of silence-breaking, shielded myself from the vestiges of the day, a palpable electrical charge marked the utterance of my name. “RenГ©,” whispered with a caprice that sent a frisson of pleasure snaking its way down my spine. Her name was Lucienne, an enchantress molded in the archaic yet beautiful traditions of tantra.
As an active feminist scholar, I have often found myself entangled in the complex web of gender terrain, questioning the archetypal roles scripted by society. Yet, with Lucienne, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding, a shared desire to explore realms beyond the constraints of power dynamics. Her allure was not just click-worthy content, fodder for tabloid rumination, but a forbidden narrative waiting to be explored. And in her dark eyes lurked an invitation I couldn’t deny.
The dance began with an unassuming dinner, our conversation flitting from Rousseau’s Social Contract to Beauvoir’s feminist existentialism. My heart pounded with a rhythm that echoed the syncopation of our intellectual exchange. Yet, as the night draped over us, a shift, nearly microscopic, yet undeniably potent, began to unfold. It was in her gaze, lingering and tantalizing. It was in the tremor of her voice as she spoke, “Tantric ideas are about more than just sexual exploration, RenГ©. They’re about liberation, breaking free from the mundane straitjacket society has confined us in…”
Suffused with wine and the promise of an adventure that shied from the ordinary, we retreated to her loft apartment overlooking the Seine. She moved with feline grace, her every stride radiating a power that was not domineering but beautifully elemental. Congratulations, RenГ©, I thought, surrendering to the mystery of the moment.
The room was alive with amber glow as we explored the realm of tantra, a place I had studied from an academic perspective but was now physically experiencing. I felt my senses sharpen, as though every nerve was electrified under her touch. The lingering scent of her citrus perfume, the taste of salt on her skin, the sound of our shared breaths – it all amalgamated into an experience that transcended the physical. She was no longer just Lucienne, and I was no longer just RenГ©, we were factors in a cosmic equation attempting to solve the mystery of freedom and pleasure.
That night, I unearthed a new side of feminism, a side that did not shy from exploring her desires or leading the dance of seduction. I realized feminism is not just about equality in the public sphere, but also about the right to assert one’s sexual agency. As dawn approached, and we lay entwined, the once familiar landscape of Paris appeared different. The veil of ignorance had been lifted, allowing me to appreciate the city, Lucienne, and myself from a fresh, fathomless perspective.
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Another person typed online today
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Another person typed
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In reply to Another person posting
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Oh, and demonizing Israel? That’s crazy, too. Israel is the only democracy in the entire region, and the only diverse nation – 2.5 million Israeli citizens aren’t Jews. Take a gander at some of the countries which neighbor Israel, and tell me Israel is so awful…cause it’s a lovely place and Jews have a right to be proud of it. Hating Israel and demonizing it is just a cover for hating Jews.”
blogs.timesofisrael.com has an article
by
Michael Laitman
“In America, Einstein Discovered the Omnipresence of Antisemitism”
Dec 1, 2021
A very No shit, Sherlock
Moment for Albert Einstein
Anti-Semitism is Everywhere all the Time and sadly Transcends
Time, Space and the Universe itself , an Eternal Hatred
The Hatred
Probably Extends into other Dimensions and The Multiverse , if
The Multiverse Exists
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A person typed online today about the Greatness of Israel
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Thank goodness for the Jewish nation.”
A person typed online today about the Always Rising
Anti-Semitism
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Caught in the throes of choreographed rebellion, I surrender myself to the rhythmic pulse of music, my heart beating in sync with its baseline. A palpable silence descends over the audience and the only sound that dances in my ears is the audible gasp of anxiety and anticipation. As the lights dim, I take a deep breath, the cold steel ring of the hoop resting reassuringly beneath my fingertips. This is the part where the world fades, where the familiar adrenaline races through my veins, sharpening my senses, honing my focus. Like a painter before a blank canvas or a poet before a white sheet, we dancers also go to the list, our pre-performance rituals performed with religious dedication. Once more, I trace my fingers along the cool metal ring, solid, unyielding – a testament to power, control.
Pushing off from the ground, I ascend, my body spiraling around the hoop, a testament to my strength and control. My grip tightens around the hoop, and as muscles flex, the audience lets out a collective gasp. Their breath echoes my own, my heartbeat soundtracking their anticipation. I soar, up and up, the exhilarating blend of fear and excitement burning through me. Balance, strength, control – these are my tools, honed over the years to create art in the air. Yet, in these moments of seemingly well-calculated control, there’s a raw, wild freedom that fuels my passion, a sense of unrestrained abandon that gives fly to my creativity.
As the music reaches its crescendo, I execute a flawless aerial flip, the crowd erupting into applause. For a moment, hanging suspended in the air, time seems to pause. The spotlight shadows my form, my body silhouetted against the darkened backdrop of a packed theatre. It is my domain, my sanctuary, my own personal realm of freedom – built with sweat, wrought with discipline and controlled with an iron will.
There is an abstract beauty to this, in the blend of control and freedom. A paradoxical dance, each movement a testament to strength and vulnerability at once. They’re interwoven in every flip, spiral, drop – the strength to execute, the vulnerability to feel, the control to create and the freedom to express. The beats fade, the crowd roars and as I descend, a sense of serenity washes over me. Wrapped in the hush of my breaths, I reflect. It is here, suspended between the ground and the sky, between control and freedom, that I feel most at home. This dance, it’s my heartbeat, my language, my life.
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Let me tell you, the liberation you feel when you shed not only your clothes but also the fear of self-expression — it’s intoxicating. The power, the freedom I felt when I first performed – the warmth of the spotlight, my heart pounding like a wild drum… it was magical. Not to mention, scorching hot. рџ
But it’s not just about the physical nakedness. It’s about being emotionally nude, too. Pouring out your raw, unfiltered self for spectators around the globe to witness and adore. Unveiling your fantasies, your desires, your secrets… it’s like powering up a candle within yourself – illuminating dark corners you never thought you’d reveal. And when you see those tokens coming, the love flowing back, there’s no greater confidence booster. It’s like a wave of validation washing over you, like a passionate kiss sealing your lips. рџ‘„ рџ•ЇпёЏ
Being a cam model has been a liberating journey for me. It’s empowered me, made me more comfortable with my own skin than I’ve ever been. It’s helped me understand who I am better – an exhibitionist driven by the desire to be seen, to be appreciated – and has sparked a fire of freedom I wouldn’t trade for anything. So here’s to this extraordinary life, where every day spells a new adventure and every show, a rush of euphoria. To all aspiring cam models out there – live authentically, live freely, and embrace the freedom that comes with self-love and self-expression. рџ’¦рџрџ”Ґ.
Remember: this is our space, our world where shame and judgment have no place. Dance with abandon, charm with your personality, and lure with your authenticity. Because when you’re true to yourself, the world cannot help but be dazzled by you.
The stage had become my domain, an enchanted realm where I, Rodrigo, the seasoned aerial dancer, exercised supreme control. Age had gifted me the wisdom of subtlety, every shake of my hips and deft twist of my wrists a promise of enchantment. A familiar thrill coursed through my veins as my body coiled around the silken fabric suspended from the high ceiling. The audience’s anticipation was palpable, their collective breaths stilled – all eyes transfixed on the spectacle I was about to weave.
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I descended the silk in a swift, controlled swoop, my body transitioning from master to servant with unsettling grace. A shudder ran through the audience, mirroring my own, a confirmation of our shared desires, our collective submission to the dominating allure of the spectacle. My performance had come to an end, yet the stage continued to tremble with the aftershocks of my dance.
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Музыка, мода, кино и мемы формируют идентичность молодёжи. Они следят за трендами. Всё быстро меняется, и молодёжь перехватывает волну.
Глобальное мышление
РњРёСЂ стал глобальным, Рё молодёжь мыслит соответственно. РћРЅРё путешествуют. РС… мышление — мультикультурное.
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