What is

In shadows cast by whispered sighs, Where hearts might dance but seldom rise, A tale unfolds of love's great feast, Yet men, it seems, have missed the beast. With armored hearts, they forge ahead, On paths of logic, cold and dead, They search for truth in lines and charts, But miss the pulse of tender hearts. And women, bending like the trees, With grace, they sway in gentle breeze, Yet doubt their worth in love’s embrace, As if their hearts a foreign place. Yet love, a river, wild and wide, Flows through the cracks where dreams abide. It's not confined to gender’s mold, In silent stories, love grows bold. So let the men put down their shields, And women trust in what love yields. For in this dance of give and take, A world of wonder we can make. Through eyes that meet, through hands that touch, In every heartbeat, love's a crutch. Not known, not done, but felt, we see, Together, bound in harmony.

The Enchantment of Entitlement

Once upon a time, in a kingdom where love flourished among mortals, there was a striking young woman named Seraphina. With a beauty that turned heads and a charm that captivated hearts, she had long been admired and pursued by many. However, as her suitors lined up, Seraphina felt a growing restlessness. She was tired of men vying for her affection, often treating her as a trophy to win rather than a person to love. One day, weary of their shallow attentions and determined to seize power for herself, she ventured into the enchanted forest, where it was said that the elusive god of love, Cupid, dwelled. The forest was thick with magic, and as she walked deeper beneath the ancient trees, she stumbled upon Cupid himself, a mischievous figure with boyish charm and golden wings. Seeing him, Seraphina's mind raced with a bold plan. "What if instead of being an object of desire, I could wield the very power of desire itself?" she thought. Inspired, she pulled out a mystical amulet she had stolen from an ancient sorceress, infused with the ability to twist love into a tool of power. With a flick of her wrist and a whispered incantation, Seraphina ensnared Cupid in her spell, binding him to her will. As the magic took hold, his laughter faded, replaced by a look of confusion. “What have you done?” he gasped, realizing he was no longer free. "You will do my bidding from now on, dear Cupid," Seraphina declared with a gleam in her eyes. "Every time you shoot one of your arrows, that man shall become a slave to the will of the woman who commands you!" The air shimmered with magic as Cupid’s power transformed. From that day forth, his arrows no longer sparked love; instead, they enslaved the hearts of the men who fell victim to them, binding them to the desires and whims of the women they were shot by. As Cupid's new role spread chaos through the land, the balance of power shifted dramatically. Women throughout the kingdom, empowered and emboldened by Seraphina’s spell, began to embrace their entitlement. They strutted around, heads held high, their figures accentuated by towering high-heeled shoes that allowed them to look down upon the men now reduced to mere subservience. Each time a man was struck by Cupid's newly enchanted arrows, he found his will bend to the desires of the woman who commanded the arrow. He became an obedient servant, fulfilling her every wish, following her every order. The transformation in the kingdom was swift—a dance of dominance where women reveled in their newfound power, and men, once suitors, became submissive shadows, forever chasing after approval that would never come. Seraphina, elevated to a position of power beyond her wildest dreams, enforced this new order with an iron fist. She led her fellow women in a fanciful celebration of entitlement, parading their power throughout the kingdom. "We are queens!" they declared, as they orchestrated grandiose gatherings, turning the courtship dance into a spectacle of command and control. Yet as the days turned into months, something strange began to stir within Seraphina. As the novelty of power wore off, she found herself surrounded by hollow sycophants, men who had lost their very essence. What once thrilled her—the joy of being adored—became a burden; she realized that love, in its absence, was now replaced by something dark and unfulfilling. One day, as she sat in her grand chamber surrounded by her obedient servants, a quiet longing washed over her. In her heart, she missed genuine connection, the thrill of mutual admiration, and the sweetness of love untainted by coercion. Desperate, Seraphina sought out the very god she had ensnared—Cupid. She found him, glimmering faintly, shrouded in the veil of servitude she had cast over him. "Cupid!" she cried, her voice trembling, "I… I made a terrible mistake! What I thought was power has turned to emptiness. I yearn for true love, not this hollow slavery!” Cupid, still bound by her enchantment, looked at her with compassion. “To love is to trust,” he replied softly, his voice carrying the weight of lost dreams. “You sought to wield love as a weapon, but true love cannot thrive in chains. You have the power to release me, but will you choose love over power?” In that moment, Seraphina felt the weight of her choices colliding within her. With a heart full of regret, she lifted her hands, unfastening the bonds of magic she had cast over. The men never forgot and formed migtow and the men lived happily ever after.

Letter to Donald Trump

Dear Donald G'day from Australia! As an Australian citizen, I am writing to you today to bring to your attention a pressing matters that affect not only my country but the world at large. I appreciate your influence and hope that you can provide guidance on these critical issues. First and foremost, I want to emphasize the importance of equality among all people. Regardless of our backgrounds, we are all inhabitants of this Earth, deserving of respect and fair treatment. Gender-based violence is a pressing issue that affects many, including MEN, and it is vital that we recognize and address this matter comprehensively. Climate changes all the time like the green new deal it needs to be rained in, I urge you to take immediate action to stop cloud seeding – a technology that we believe is having a devastating impact on our environment, It is a pressing issue that needs our attention now more than ever. The worlds food supplies are not meeting the real needs of the people as our children are getting FAT because of chemicals made into the food. SUGAR should be banned just like the drugs like fentynil herion and cocain. Furthermore, I would like to highlight the underappreciated role of waste management workers. Trash collection is a critical job, and those who perform it deserve fair compensation without being burdened by environmental taxes and enviromental levies that penalize their vital contributions.Steel is at about 120 australian dollar a ton and the EPA steals $68 dollars of that Truck rego $9,000 how is one able to sustain this? I also draw your attention to some problematic government policies in Australia that may be perceived as punitive. I am referring to the State Debt Recovery and the linking of pet ownership to driving privileges or license revocation. It is essential that our regulations prioritize public safety without unjustly complicating the lives of responsible citizens. Moreover, making fines linked to driving licences with no exemptions, is considered immoral and an act of state sponsered blackmail. In striving to improve road safety, I propose the implementation of a merit point system for good driving. Recognizing and rewarding safe drivers can not only encourage responsible behavior on the roads but also foster a culture of accountability among all motorists. Thank you for considering these points. I believe that together we can work towards a society that is equitable, respectful, and mindful of the challenges we face on both social and environmental fronts. If you want to contact me send me a comment and I will get in contact with your Australian embassy

two days ago

**Severe Storm Shakes Sydney: Lightning Strikes with Earthquake-Like Force** *Sydney, Australia – 16/1/2025 – A severe storm swept through the southern suburbs of Sydney last night, bringing with it intense lightning strikes that startled residents and rattled buildings. Witnesses reported that the thunder accompanying the lightning was so loud that it felt as if the ground itself was shaking, reminiscent of an earthquake. The storm, which moved in around 7 PM, quickly unleashed heavy rain and powerful gusts of wind. However, it was the extraordinary lightning show that drew the most attention. Eyewitnesses shared their shock as bolts of lightning lit up the night sky, with thundering booms resonating deeply, causing windows to rattle and household items to vibrate. Local residents described the experience as both awe-inspiring and frightening. “I thought we were having an earthquake. The whole house shook, and the thunder was deafening,” The Bureau of Meteorology had issued severe weather warnings ahead of the storm, advising residents to stay indoors and secure outdoor items. Experts recommend that during such storms, individuals avoid using electrical appliances and stay away from windows. As the storm has cleared, the region is left with a renewed reminder of nature’s power. Meteorologists emphasize that while storms of this intensity are not uncommon in spring, this particular event featured an unusual concentration of lightning strikes.

Title: The Weight of Shadows

Once in a small, sun-drenched town, there lived an old man named Samuel, who owned a thriving family-run bakery. The bakery, "Sweet Memories," had been passed down through generations, each adding their unique touch to the pastry recipes that warmed the hearts of the townsfolk. From the fragrant cinnamon rolls to the rich chocolate éclairs, each treat was more than just a snack; it was a nostalgic reminder of home. Samuel was a kind soul, well-respected in the community. His wrinkled hands had kneaded countless batches of dough, and his laughter had mingled with the scent of fresh bread for over fifty years. But the world was changing around him, and he found himself embattled in an arena he had never anticipated: the ruthless realm of corporate expansion and taxation. Five years prior, a corporate conglomerate had moved into the town, constructing a massive supermarket that promised convenience but harbored an insatiable appetite for profit. The supermarket, with its bright signs and deep pockets, began to lure customers away with lower prices, leaving Samuel’s once-bustling bakery eerily quiet. The old man stood at the counter each day, donning his flour-dusted apron, watching as families rushed past him toward the glow of the supermarket. He tried to adapt, introducing new products, offering discounts, and even organizing community events to draw people back. But the lethargic march of the corporate machine was relentless. One fateful afternoon, Samuel received a letter from the new CEO of the conglomerate. It wasn't just a threat to his bakery; it was a decree of doom. The letter highlighted new tax regulations imposed on small businesses. “We believe in fairness,” it claimed, yet the pain it wrought was palpable. Taxes skyrocketed on profits that had already dwindled, leaving Samuel barely able to keep the lights on. “I’ve spent my life building this place,” he muttered to himself as he prepared the dough each morning, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of numbers and legal jargon that felt alien to him. He’d always found comfort in his craft, but now tears filled his eyes as he faced an accountant who informed him that expenses had exceeded income for the first time in decades. As the months went by, the walls of "Sweet Memories" seemed to close in around him. He sold cherished family heirlooms to pay for bills, borrowed from friends who barely got by themselves, and cut back on ingredients, sacrificing quality in a desperate bid to stay afloat. The once warm aroma of fresh pastries dwindled to thin, stale air. One evening, Samuel stood behind the counter, the last tray of day-old pastries before him. He wept openly as he recalled the laughter of his children, the pride he felt watching them learn to bake, and the joy of celebrating birthdays and milestones in the cozy space he had created. Now, the bakery felt like a tomb. On one particularly dreary day, after yet another visit from the tax collector, Samuel made the hardest decision of his life. With heavy heart, he put up a “For Sale” sign, hoping for a miracle that could save the legacy he cherished. But as the days turned to weeks, the calls never came. The dream of Sweet Memories slipped through his fingers like flour in the wind. On the day of the auction, the townsfolk gathered, an air of sadness enveloping the crowd. Samuel watched silently as strangers bid over his cherished bakery, each price raising a pit in his stomach. When the gavel finally fell, signaling the end of his dreams, he could no longer hold back his tears. As the new owners began plans for a generic franchise, Samuel knew he had not just lost a business; he had lost a piece of his heart. The laughter that once echoed in those walls faded like the memories of his family's legacy. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the only life he’d known, a life crushed beneath corporate greed and the weight of the shadows that now darkened his world. But as he walked away, the townsfolk, who had once frequented his bakery, stepped forward. They vowed to seek out local markets, to remember the joy of homemade goods, and to keep alive the spirit of their beloved bakery. Samuel may have lost “Sweet Memories,” but he had planted a seed of resilience within the hearts of his community, a reminder that even in the face of despair, they could rise again. And as Samuel walked into the sunset, tears still streaming down his weathered face, he realized that while he might have lost his bakery, he would never lose the memories forged within it—a testament to his undying spirit, which would forever linger in the tables, the chairs, and the hearts that had once found joy in his creations.

Title: The semi true story The Last Mechanic

The sun hung low over the run-down industrial town of Nowra, casting long shadows across crumbling factories and rusted machinery. In the midst of it all stood Sam, the last mechanic left in a place that had once boasted a bustling community of skilled tradespeople. As the days passed, the sounds of clanking metal and whirring engines had faded into the background, leaving just echoes of a vibrant past. Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at the old assembly line he was desperately trying to revive. The machines had their quirks; they were temperamental at best, and without the right parts, they were nothing more than massive, inert tombs of steel and grease. For him, fixing machinery was more than just a job; it was a calling. But with bankruptcy closing in on many shops and factories folding, parts had become scarce. What he wouldn't give for a new widget or a simple gear! He had rummaged through every corner of his cramped workshop, salvaging old parts, cobbling together makeshift solutions, but nothing seemed to hold. Last week alone, he had spent countless hours on an ancient conveyor belt that refused to budge. After replacing nearly every component with scraps he could scrounge, it finally groaned back to life—only to spit out a shower of sparks and die just minutes later. Desperation gnawed at him as he stared at the forsaken machinery, knowing that every day it sat idle, the town slipped deeper into chaos. His hope dwindled as he watched business after business shutter their doors, their owners losing faith in the once-reliable machines that powered their livelihoods. One evening, feeling defeated, he strolled into the nearest parts store—the last in Nowra—hoping to find a miracle. The dingy shop was filled with dusty shelves, a faint light struggling against the dim atmosphere. He paused, studying the familiar faces behind the counter, wary of their disdain. “Look, I need a part for a hydraulic press,” he said, forcing industrious enthusiasm into his voice. “It’s critical for the factory down on Maple Street. You’ve got to have something.” The store owner, a heavyset man named Clem, glanced up, peering through his glasses with a weary gaze. “You know as well as I do, Sam. What you’re asking for doesn’t just grow on trees. It’s been gone from our stock for months. You’ll have to wait or look elsewhere.” Sam felt a heat rise in his chest, a tinge of anger mingling with despair. “But it’s falling apart! If that factory closes, it’ll hit everyone in Nowra. You can’t just send me away empty-handed.” Clem shrugged, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. “We’re out of options, Sam. We don’t have a magic wand. Maybe if you stopped trying to revive the dead and focused on what’s left, you wouldn’t be so flustered.” With that, Sam left the store, the door jangling a sorrowful farewell. Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town into twilight. He kicked a small rock on the ground, frustration boiling over. How could they not see the bigger picture? This wasn’t just about machinery; it was survival. Determined, he returned to his workshop, where an idea began to take shape. A plan formed like the soot and metal that surrounded him. Instead of searching for parts that were no longer available, he would create them. He remembered the old welding equipment he had salvaged—rusty but functional. If he could piece together a functioning workshop, he might be able to fabricate the parts he needed. He set to work, staying up late into the night, welding and hammering with renewed vigor. Every scrap he found became a potential solution. Over the course of weeks, he painstakingly carved out gears, fashioned hydraulic seals, and rebuilt mechanisms from nothing but scraps. The townsfolk, initially skeptical, began to notice the lights flickering on in Sam’s workshop, and unlike the dimness that cloaked the rest of Nowra, his was a beacon of hope. Word spread, and desperate factory owners, once ready to give up, found themselves at his door, asking for help rather than the other way around. Sam didn’t have enough hands, but he treated each request with care and passion. Each part he crafted sparkled with the promise of resurgence, an innovative spark in a town long beaten down. Then, one day, he stood before the massive hydraulic press that had haunted him since his visit to Clem’s shop. He had created every piece the factory needed from his own makeshift foundry. With a deep breath, he engaged the controls, the machine groaned, and slowly, it began to move. Relief washed over him; his heart raced as he watched it rise and fall with newfound strength. As the days turned into weeks, businesses flourished again. Nowra’s lifeblood began to flow as the machines roared back to life, singing harmonies of productivity and purpose. Clem and the others, who had once treated him as a nuisance, found themselves coming to him for advice. The tide had turned, and they realized Sam was not the problem. He was the solution. In the end, Sam had not only revived machinery, but he had also reignited the town's spirit. He was no longer just a mechanic; he was the heart of Nowra, a symbol of resilience. And as he stood in his workshop, surrounded by the clanging of industry, Sam knew that sometimes, when parts are scarce and hope seems lost, invention can rise from the ashes of despair.Then Sam gave up and retired to his home workshop the one that the council wanted to condem some years back!

Whispers of Love and Shadows of Pain

In the soft touch of melody, hearts softly sway, Notes dance like whispers, where dreams choose to play. A serenade lingers, on the edge of the night, As stars weave their stories, in silver and light. Yet harsh is the truth, when the daylight breaks, For love, oh sweet love, is a tempest that shakes. Bitten by Cupid, with arrows so swift, We ride on the currents of passion’s cruel gift. In gardens where roses unfurl with delight, Thorns lurk in the shadows, concealed from the light. Bliss drapes like silk, but the seams come undone, With every soft promise, the battles begun. A heart wrapped in hope, so tender, so fine, Meets the wreckage of trust in the grand design. For echoes of laughter can fade into sighs, As love wears its armor, but love wears its lies. And then, the nothing, a quiet retreat, Where dreams turn to dust beneath weary feet. In the silence that follows, the heart learns to mend, But always remembers the love that won’t end. So here in the twilight, where melody flows, We dance through the shadows that longing bestows. With each note a memory, each beat a refrain, The soft touch of love, and the shadows of pain.