I've got the Desert Eagle in 50 Action Express and 300 grain hollow points. Who said you can't shoot a Desert Eagle one-handed? A firm grip will get it done. Heavy bullet, heavy pistol, but definitely a nice shooting handgun. Largest semi auto out there in today's market. Right here the Desert Eagle.


Good afternoon, cloud community, and welcome back to KubeCon, CloudNativeCon, here in wonderful Chicago. My name is Savannah Peterson, and I'm very excited about a super special segment highlighting the inclusion and accessibility of KubeCon. Now, if you've been in an event like this, it can be super loud, there's a lot of moving pieces, and there's a lot of emphasis within the community to be inclusive and to celebrate the diversity. Now, it's one thing to say that, but it's an entirely different thing to actually do it in practice. Now, this KubeCon, they took the accessibility for the deaf and hard of hearing to a whole another level, and I am thrilled to welcome Rob and Destiny to the show. Thank you both so much for being here. You are the co-chairs of the Deaf and Hard of Hearing working group at CNCF, correct? And yes, that's correct. So how many years has that group been together? Not long, actually. About three months now. Oh my goodness. Yeah, so we are growing in a big force here in the community. I feel that way. I mean, we've already made a huge impact, and Destiny was on the keynote stage today. I'm guessing she made history, or yesterday, rather. I guess she made history on stage to be part of that conference and have, she's probably one of the first to be a signer on the keynote stage of a major conference, so it's pretty great. Yeah, it was amazing. How did that feel, Destiny? Were you nervous? Of course, of course. Yeah, yeah, I was practicing like crazy the whole time. My mind was running wild, and then the keynote got there, and I saw all of my working group in the audience, and I felt at home. It was really nice, and then I just went forth and did it. That's great. So how did the working group come together? How'd you find each other? Sure, so Catherine Paganini, she just won the Taggy Award this year, actually. So congrats to her. She works for a company called Boyant, and those are the people that are behind Linkerdee. So we thought why not maybe include and make things more inclusive and friendly to folks like us. We have a deaf professional Slack group, and we had sent out different messages and asked who was on it, and we asked Destiny to join, asked me to join, and a few other folks to join, and then it just, yeah, Destiny's saying it just grew. Yeah, and then there was a lot of enthusiasm behind that. Soon after this interview, we'll have a happy hour meeting on Zoom, where we all get together and all over the world, where we have people for an hour, show them around the conference. You'll see people from Europe, and then yes, of course, Paris for next year. So I really do want to thank Catherine for really getting the idea out there, and then just planting the seed, I guess, and then it just blew up from there. Love to hear that, and you can tell I can feel your energy and the excitement. One of the first things I noticed when I got to the show floor was if you scanned your badge, they donated a dollar to Deaf coders, which I thought was really impressive. Yes, so there's- Yeah, it's called Deaf Kids Code. Yeah, I thought that was so cool. So did you work with some of the vendors and other people to be more inclusive as well? I know you mentioned that you've created a very cool resource that's obviously open source for other conferences looking to be more accessible for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. Can you tell us a little bit about that? Sure, yeah, of course. So with cloudnative.io, we're under the accessibility page. So if you're looking for anything Deaf and Hard of Hearing related, that's there, and we're providing a lot of resources there and recommendations of what to do. Basically just educating all of them more and offering different suggestions. Everything is there. So you can use that as a resource. And since we've been here, we've learned a lot and we've put it all there. So it's really been amazing. Yeah, so we're hoping to get other companies and other conference organizers and people who manage those and organize those small and large. To get online and be more inclusive and make conferences more accessible for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. I love that. So what does it mean for you to be able to do this? To be able to empower other, not just in the cloud community, but anyone watching or wanting to learn in the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community? Representation. Yes. 100%. Representation and having that here. Everyone should be represented from the majority minority all the way to the Deaf and Hard of Hearing, everywhere in between, in keynotes. Yesterday we were talking about some people were struggling with language and everything here is in English, obviously. So having a little bit of trouble understanding what's going on clearly with the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community, we're always trying to push for closed captions. We're also making a point to say that it benefits other groups, not just the Deaf and Hard of Hearing, like ourselves, but really it's KubeCon. Oh, it's the curb cut effect. So when you have things like sidewalks where they've cut that curb for wheelchair users, seems now that everybody uses it. People on scooters, on bikes, with strollers. You name it, right? It benefits everybody. So accessibility and accommodations really help all of us. That's such a good point. And I think the diversity in that representation, it's great. It's one thing to talk about inclusion and diversity, which a lot of folks in a lot of spaces do, but the tech space historically isn't the most diverse. And I think it's so special that you're able to be here and to represent. What would you say, let's say there's a young Deaf coder out there curious about CNCF and this community, what would you tell them?  Perfect! I would say do it. If someone says, oh no, it's impossible. You can't do that.  Listen, do it. Whatever you say, you know, whatever you want to do, go for it. And we will support you. If you're looking for other Deaf and hard of hearing in tech, find us, we are there. So just 100% go for it. Yeah, and also, you know, in the STEM world, representation can be an issue. And so we really want to implement and make a powerhouse of CNCF community members. So people can look at us and say, wow, look at those young kids doing that. We are represented out there and people see that in the community for the most part, you know, contributing to the community as a whole. So they can see that and say, hey, I can code. And then things just kind of snowball from there. Finding mentors, that will be a part of that, inspiring that process. We've got some other ideas for the future to kind of expand on, you know, all the kids that code and with Deaf kids code as well. So, yeah.  Louder for the people in the back, Destiny. That is the spirit. That is definitely the spirit. So this is the first time you were involved as a working group at the actual KubeCon event here on the show floor. What have you learned to apply to Paris? A lot. A lot. We learned, we did a lot for accommodation and accessibility here. It's been pretty impressive. The community really rolled up their sleeves and collaborated together and provided us with the best and greatest experience really at this conference. So because of that, the experience there, we can use that approach and that what we're using here at this conference to apply to Paris. What works, what didn't work, et cetera. Yeah, I think that KubeCon set the tone for and the foundation for what we need here. So for Paris and everything going forth in the future, hopefully. What's one thing that those of us who can hear can do to be more accommodating in general just in our daily lives to the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community? How can we be more inclusive? If, for example, you're trying to come into a space where we're trying to communicate, don't be afraid. Really, I would say just we can write back and forth, we can type, we can text, we can do all of these. There's many ways to communicate with us. I would say just don't be afraid. Really, just come up to us. What's up, what do you need? Ask us these things. And then going forward, that's really the first step. After that, then the communication happens. We'll get what we need. If you're not sure, find us. Find us on the website, find us in person, look around. There's many different ways. But I think that, yeah, being accommodating and accessible for us, figure out what that person needs, I think would be a huge thing. And I also want to add that let us help you solve your problems. Yes, we know how to communicate. We have a uniqueness in the way we communicate, but the hearing world 99.99% can speak and interact, but the deaf folks, we know how. We know how. Just let us take the lead, I would say. Do you think that AI, I've noticed with Instagram, for example, and the caption feature that they have in Instagram stories, do you think that AI and the ability to do that is going to create more inclusion for the deaf and hearing impaired community? What I think really, in general, that's for everyone. I think it helps a lot of people, like in general. Maybe you have an auditory processing problem or anything like that. I think with Apple, Instagram, a lot of different companies, a lot of different platforms, they're providing automatic captioning features and it's awesome. And for a long time, we didn't have anything like that, so people put on a video up online and were like, okay, we're just missing all of the content, we have no idea what's going on, but now we do, and so that's really, really nice to have. Yeah, and with those various apps, GenAI in all of our apps, it's integrated now, right? So a person speaking, if you ask them to speak this particular thing, then they'll see the captions come up. It's like, oh, this is great. So GenAI also, there's various projects out there in the works to try to help sign language being translated and things like that. It's really in its infancy right now. That technology is on center stage. Sign language is a 3D language. It's very spatial. So with that, the AI and machine learning, those groups will have a challenge with that, but that's really exciting to us because we're still, like I said, in the infancy of GenAI, so. Very much. So we'll just see where it goes from there. We're looking forward to see what and how things get going with it. Yeah, I'm really excited. I think we're all excited. And to your point, it really does help us all. I think it's a big deal. And I've never thought of sign language as a 3D language before, but you're so right. That's such a fun way to put it. All right, so last thing I'm going to ask you to do, could you teach us a little sign language? Perhaps teach us how to say cloud or cube. So this is cloud, like this. Ooh, I like that. Cloud like this, yep. It's like. And poor interpreters, they can't say Kubernetes all the time, right? Oh my goodness, yeah. So we come up with various tech signs that we kind of agree upon. When we go back and forth, if there's a word we use often enough, we make up something for it, make up a sign for that particular word. So like, we sign K8 for Kubernetes. I was wondering, yeah. Yeah, like this, K, if you want to try it, yep. Why can't I move my head, yep. And then eight. Eight, middle finger. Yep, yes. So we leave out the S, sorry for those folks who really want it to be perfect, but we sign fast, so we do K8 for Kubernetes. I love it. Well, thank you so much, Rob and Destiny, for being here, co-chairs of the Deaf and Hearing Impaired Working Group at CNCF. So insightful and really special. It's a privilege to get to have this conversation with you. I look forward to attending your future keynotes and hopefully having you back as guests of theCUBE. And Amelia, thank you for being such a wonderful interpreter sitting next to me. Thank all of you at home for tuning in to our wonderful coverage here at KubeCon, CloudNativeCon in Chicago. My name is Savannah Peterson. We'll be talking cloud for the rest of the afternoon, folks. We'll see you soon and thanks for tuning in to theCUBE, the leading source for emerging tech news.


There are four of you gentlemen, and I've only one bullet left in my derringer.  John Daner as Paladin San Francisco 1875 the Carlton Hotel headquarters of the man called Paladin Over here. Hey boy. Oh Yes, sir a bank almost closed. I hear the money $1,000. Yeah, thank you. Hey boy and bring the saddle back along with you. Wait You go I go you just come back from going I go again I see I see a lovely lady with long blonde hair who lives in sweet is just A bit too purposeful for my taste at the moment in short. Hey boy. She's chasing me Oh very very persuasive lady mr. Paladin and less apt to persuade me to marry her if I'm not around Give me the bag. Oh Absence makes the heart grow funer And it also makes the eye wonder especially a lady's eye Easy boy easy Very pretty lady Why are you not marry her? Well, the woman has to be something besides pretty for me to go that far. Oh wait some day You come across woman who is something beside pretty and then what ah then what indeed my friend? Hold any messages that come for me. Oh Send message by wire Where you go where I can't be reached Where that I don't know But I'll find it Haven't made up my mind yet What's the name of this town we call her blue bell? Looking for a job just a drink and they'll give you one in there and you can pay for it. Thank you sheriff Right, just give me the bottle in the glass. It'll be $5. All right Must have worked up quite a thirst stranger I'll get you a better brand than the bar bottle Anything else and this will do. Yeah It belongs to that black horse outside. That's right nice animal. You care for a drink. No, thanks And I got a piece of advice for you stranger. I wouldn't drink any of that. I already have wine Customers waiting for it the Pharaoh. No, just a minute. There's a customer right here at the bar. I said get See you around mr. Now look driver and a careless stranger. Yeah Boys in that drink whiskey, mister. That's all they sell.  Who are you? That's who I am Remember me, right? You're in my place Remember what happened?   Flash in a thick roll of bills. Oh I'm gone sure no Barbaric coast trick. How come you fell for it? No excuse careless Man's always got an excuse for everything Every one of you is handsome and clever been everywhere broke a hundred hearts You've all got the same high opinion of yourself That's it. Oh Well ribs he tried to finish you off with his boot who didn't Saw good fellow saw good. I'll remember Here you need this My derringer saw me something else when he searched to his card gun will travel. I like the sound of that Will you kill him? He took a thousand dollars from me took my gun my holster I suppose my horse went along to you suppose right Will you kill him? Would you care I felt Sal's boot too You know I Have a lot to thank you for You can thank me by letting me go with you.  I'll take you as far as Wickenburg But I'm gonna see mr. Goodfellow before I leave You Sheriff when I came here this morning. I had a horse gun in a thousand dollars. I Intend to leave the same way you saying somebody stole your money. What's his name? It's all good fellow. I Just can't go along with that just tell me where I can find that won't be hard to do You just called my brother a thief. I'm jack goodfellow next thing you'll be saying is it? Cousin Jim there doctors you drink Howdy Or that maybe our uncle Ed over there has your horse in your saddlebag Mr. Seems to be your time sort of a family affair, but Sal Sal come here Here's making a complaint against you. That's the truth. I'll trouble you for my gun and my money What are you talking about that gun your holster money in your pocket? So Ask him why don't he just take him? That's the gun you say I took mister.  Don't do it.  I'll kill the next man who speaks It's true Give me those lines and get down low For a girl you drive pretty well. Yeah, we'll stop here. Give me your bag I've noticed that well, let me help you now by the time they backtrack it'll be dark. We'll spend the night here Can I see that Derringer minute here?  Come on give it to me Come on Thanks, you have your bath. All right. I'll try to find some supper The rabbit smells good Ain't you afraid of showing smoke? No Dry Mesquite doesn't smoke. Oh Help you cook supper. I washed my clothes They're dry and I I got a stainless blanket Sit down any side of them when you was out catching the dinner No How come we spend the night here? Seems darkness might be the best time to Run for Wickenburg You know the moon rises in an hour. It'll be almost as bright as day. So I Went them to tire their horses searching for us tonight and see ours will be fresh in the morning We may be able to outrun them, but we sure can't I'd fight them with one bullet You got no other reason in mind for us to end here Where do you go after Wickenburg? Back to San Francisco Paladin Do you have a wife or anything take me with you? I'm pretty Dressed up right no man would be ashamed of me. I'm I'm healthy and strong. I'm no lily-handed lady It expects more than she's willing to give I'm not asking for the center cut of your life. Go as you please and do as you please just Say something nice to me now and then that's all I ask Just think about it until we get to Wickenburg You're You're something besides pretty What is that me? Don't tell you Wickenburg And fresh clean rain Falls on a grove of rich green pine It's so nice that same clean scent of pine is in New pine-scented Lysol right now the one and only genuine Lysol brand disinfectant comes in a new pine scent It disinfects deodorizes as nothing else does kills disease germs on contact in laboratory tests Lysol's anti-germ action kept working for seven full days a bottle costs as little as 29 cents and it's so easy to use just add new pine-scented Lysol to your suds when you clean in bathroom kitchen Nursery sick room use pine-scented Lysol because Lysol deep cleans make your home You can still get regular Lysol to How much longer another two hours we ought to be in Wickenburg What's the matter? There's somebody up ahead there. Hey, you there paladin used a whip. There's no need. He isn't armed Hey, how about a ride to Wickenburg? What's the matter? I've been rustled or whatever you call it just because one of their horses have thrown a shoe that took mine right out of the Traces four men. Yes, how'd you know? Who are you Peter Keystone hide-and-telebuyer from New York for who but my father he owns the plant I Need a gun. Here's there one in your rig there. Well, that's one on your hip business It's empty. Have you got one or ammunition? What's going on those four asked me the same question those men you saw the one who took your horse They're after us.  There's a repeating rifle under the seat and some shells to go with it Just a minute now. I didn't say I know yet. Didn't this will do. What are we gonna do? Get down the road come up and cover. I see them They don't know we have a gun.  Yeah, stay with her. I'm gonna work my way up towards them I mean no sense in trying to fight us with one bullet. What are we waiting for?  What are you gonna do to me?  Goodfellow hitch one of your horses on to his rig. It's better than nothing. I Want to get to Wickenburg You know in New York, I never saw anyone just like you I think oh Hello, mr. Keystone. Hello good afternoon Mr. I didn't want to jump in that rig and run, but I was thinking of Sue here Gentlemen always consider the lady first the question is What does a lady consider first? It was your fight not his a mine, but I'm sure glad you came out all right Well, what are you looking at me for? I ain't done nothing wrong. No Of course not But this is Wickenburg.   Tyler is an expression of gratitude For the third and last time in our casual relationship. Thank you. Thank you mr. Keystone Wait a minute. Don't go mr. Pallagin.  It's just a gunfighter like I told you hardly know him. I Saw through him right from the first That's odd Thus now I have a feeling he's looking right through you Look Don't let him change our plans You promised to take me to New York with you. Where you going? Maybe we better talk some more about New York later. Well What now paladin?  Oh, mr. Palladine welcome back to San Francisco. Thank you. Hey boy I think maybe you've gone a long time. You're not going so long at all. No Tell me did I get any messages? Oh, yes So all kinds of messages but any particular messages from a particular lady. Oh You mean pretty lady with blonde hair when to marry you fast. Yes You want of course. I want where is it?  Why did you go away?   Yes very pretty and that's enough for now travel Created by Herb metal and Sam Rolfe is produced and directed by Norman McDonnell and stars John Daner as Paladin with Ben Wright as hay boy Tonight's story was written by Jean Roddenberry and adapted for radio by John Dawson Featured in the cast were Lynn Allen, Jack Edwards, Vic Peron, Harry Bartell, Frank Gerstle and Eve McVeigh Hugh Douglas speaking Join us again next week for have gone will travel


Have you ever lost your keys? Have you noticed this doesn't happen if you systematically place them in the same location? Do you know why? How does our brain optimize memory function and what can we learn from it to treat memory loss, to improve education, or even to build artificial brains? Let me start by introducing my friend Mark. Mark is a CEO of a high tech company. He's married to a beautiful career woman and he has two small children. Mark is responsible for driving the keys to school every day and he's usually on a hurry. But on that particular morning, everyone overslept. Mark was so anxious to get everything done on time and on top of it all, he couldn't find his car keys. He usually placed them in the living room table so that he didn't have to search for them in the morning. This coincident presentation of the two objects resulted in a strong association between keys and that particular location. Can you think why does the brain form such associations? We live in an era of information overload. We are continuously bombarded with information about our health, our work, our environment, yet our neural resources do not allow us to store everything. I propose that forming associations is an optimal strategy that maximizes both memory capacity and the use of neural resources. Let's take a look at Mark's brain. Deep inside lies this primitive structure that looks like a seahorse called the hippocampus. The hippocampus is critical for learning and memory formation. This is where memory associations are believed to reside. If you take a closer look, you'll find thousands of neurons communicate through electrical signals. Tiny, mushroom-like structures called synapses serve as communication portals. When activated, they lead to the generation of electrical signals that form the essence of everything our brain does. Now deep inside this complex universe, associative memories are stored in specific cell populations. In fact, we now have the technology to manipulate such memories. If you delete these neurons, the memory will disappear. If you activate them again, the memory will come back. However, to do finer manipulations, one needs to know the molecular mechanism behind such memories. And this is where computational models can help. Our simplified model neurons learn to associate two objects by modifying their synaptic connections, much like real brains do. If you present one object, the other object will be recalled, thus creating a virtual memory. In fact, our models predict that associative memories are formed by strengthening their connections in nearby locations within the same cells. This is energetically efficient because the same memories share molecular resources to be established. So how is this beneficial at the organism level? Let's go back to Mark and his efforts to retrieve his keys. What do you think he did? Well, he tried to identify the last moment that he has seen his keys and the events that followed, hoping that this would give him the answer. This mental exercise back in time started from the moment that Mark drove his car into his garage. He remember locking the door and climbing up the stairs to his house. Upon entering, he heard the phone ringing. He rushed into the study room to pick it up. And to do so, he placed his car keys next to the phone device. Now, this mental exercise recalled a memory of him driving into his garage. If our models are right, this memory also activated a set of neurons that contain the second memory, the phone ringing memory. In turn, the phone ringing memory reactivated neurons that contain the memory of him placing the keys next to the phone device. And that's how he managed to find his keys and drive the keys to school on time. Now, the goal of this presentation was to stimulate your curiosity about why and how our brain forms memory associations. If this is an optimal strategy that evolved in order to maximize performance while operating under limited resources, perhaps there's something to gain by understanding it. And this is where models can help. They serve as a bridge between the real brain and the technological innovations that may emerge by simulating such neuronal functions. Our models can be very detailed, starting from the molecular level of single neurons to the micro circuit and the entire brain regions. What can they be used for? They can predict new treatments for memory loss by pointing to key molecules. They can inspire new educational protocols that capitalize on our innate ability to bind information. Or even inspire new technological applications that lead to smart artificial brains. If the brain is doing it, it might be the best way of doing it. So here is my question for you. What's in it for you? What does the social and technological world have to gain by understanding the brain's memory strategies and adopting our tools to achieve technological advances? Thank you.


THE TOWERS AND THE NIGHT by Amin Rahani read for LibriVox.org by Maliki Orozco over the white ways flood of light over its sea of fiery flowers arose the voice of the ancient knight and the youthful towers. Oh, night of nations past, the towers said, one day stood high your monuments, but now your highest pyramid must lift its head to see the lights that crown our city's brow. But man replied the night, shall crown the stars with flowers of thought divine and write his name upon a monument greater than yours and mine. END OF POEM This recording is in the public domain.   SHE COMES DOWN, COVERED WITH THE DUST OF STARS, AND GIVES HER LIFE AGAIN TO BUILD THE WORLD. END OF POEM This recording is in the public domain. THE CATACLISM BY AMIN RAHANI read for LibriVox.org by Maliki Orozco Even through the city of the dead she passed, her sack of horrors harvest to refill. And low into the untilled world she cast, with a million hands, the black seeds of her will. But in the bone-strewn waste I saw a snail crawling out of the socket of a skull, exultant still, rising from the universal bane to thank the rain. And in the thorny flanks of the riven tomb, gorged yesteryear with the fruits of fear and doubt, the nations bear when their sinews run out, I saw the crocus weave her tender bloom into the ivies-tangled hair, while struggling out of the gloom to praise the air. The cataclysm passing to her goal turned inside out the pockets of the world, not sparing even the altar of the soul, which at the cradle of the soul she hurled. But when at last she fell across the sill of hell, I saw in her incalculable toll a butterfly winging out of the riddled emblem of God toward the sky, rising with the faith free one to serenade the sun. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Reflections by Amin Rahani. Read for LibriVox.org by Maliki Orozco. I walked along the countryside at eventide, and everywhere the road was fair with moons of water here and there, into whose heart the grasses spied. And suddenly upon them shone the light of the city's eye, reflected from a bulb on high, which made them and their shadow one. Nay made each moon a mirror seem to serve the dream of tender blades in bending grace a swoon. I walked into the night, and every bode beyond the dark, deserted road was a prattle of light. And I thought of the eye unseen, which sheds its charitable sheen not on our goal, but on the byways of the soul. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Song of Shiva by Amin Rahani. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachuk. Tis night, all the sirens are silent, all the vultures asleep, and the horns of the tempest are stirring under the deep. Tis night, all the snow-burdened mountains, dream of the sea, and down in the wadi, the river is calling to me. Tis night, all the caves of the spirit shake with desire, and the Orient heavens are saying its lances of fire. They hear in the stillness that covers the land and the sea, the river in the heart of the wadi, calling to me. Tis night, but a night of great joyance, a night of unrest, the night of the birth of the spirit of the east and the west, and the caves and the mountains are dancing on the foam of the sea, for the river inundant is calling, calling to me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Fruits of Death by Amin Rahani Read for LibriVox.org by Becky Bright November 14th, 2018. Said the folded leaves upon the heath, to the opening leaves upon the tree, soon will the wardens of the storm bring us to our mother's sea. Even as they opened yesterday night, our prison doors of destiny, we envy not the birds now nor the dew, to them we leave the forest and to you. The infant leaves thus made reply, but we rejoice that we are here. We stand in the cerulean gate of life to crown the dying year. Him who emancipates we love, he who enchains is also dear.  End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Constantinople by Amin Rahani Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachok When Othman's sword as paleologs is broken and Othman's gods are smitten to the dust and not remains not even a rusty token of their hierarchal cruelty and lust when church and mosque and synagogue shall be, despite the bigot's cry, the zealot's prayer, unbounded in their bounties, all and free, in every heritage divine to share. When thou shalt rise rejoicing in thy loss upon the ruins of a state nefast to reconcile the crescent and the cross and wash thy hands of thine unholy past, when with the faith newborn of east and west, which spans the azure heights of man's desire, the spirit of thy people, long oppressed, is all aglow with its undying fire, when thou thyself, Byzantium, shall stand in the minaret of freedom and thy voice rising above the muassans in the land, bids all the seekers of the light, rejoice, when in thy heart the flame of freedom sings and in thy hand the torch of freedom glows and in thy word the sword of freedom rings and in thy deed the seed of freedom grows. Then shall we call thee mistress of the morn, bride of the straits, queen of the golden horn. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Andalusia. By Amin Rihani. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachuk. Alcazar.  Her throne, which Bard and Saki shared, was stained with virgin wine, as with the blood of feuds. And in her lyric woven interludes, epitomizing destiny and time, her spirit hid an opalescent rhyme, the shades of melancholy still eludes. Where ere she trod the rose and bulbul meat, where ere she reveled gardens ever blow, where ere she danced the henna of her feet, yet lends a luster to the poppy's glow. Arabia, dark-eyed, light-hearted, fair, is but a flower in Andalusia's hair. Alhambra. Gods of the silence, still remembering the dying echoes of her lute, bemoan in canticles of golden monotone, her orient splendor, too soon vanishing. And while lions guard her courts, gray eagles wing around her turquoise domes, and seedlings blown from distant lands to her hushed fountains cling. Yay! And the sun himself sits in her throne. Time, once her vassal, lingers near the streams that woo the shadows of her crumbling walls. And, musing of Alhambra's glory, dreams of elegance and power, in myrtle halls, Arabia, once counted of the strong, is but a sigh in Andalusia's song. The mosque, in the bewildering grove of colonnades, once brilliant with a flood of saffron light, poured from ten thousand lanterns day and night, her memory, like Spikenard in the glades of distant Ind or Yemen, never fades, and her devotion, though the ages blight the mystic bloom of her divine delight, still casts on alien altars longing shades. But through the mirabs, which the humble hand of genius wrought, or marbles hollowed deep by knees that only piety could command, I see oblivion coming forth to reap. Arabia, in Allah's chaplet strong, is but a word on Andalusia's tongue. Al-Zarah. Not with the orient glamour of her pleasures, nor with fond rhapsodies of prayer or song, could she, her sovereign reign, a day prolong. Not in the things of beauty that man measures by the variable humor of his leisure's, or by the credibilities that change from faith to fantasy to rumour strange. Was she the mistress of immortal treasures? But when the holy shrine Europa sought herself of sin and witchcraft to a soil, the sovereigns of Al-Zarah, Maxims wrought, and Averroes burned his midnight oil. Arabia, the bearer of the light, still sparkles in the diadem of night. And a poem, this recording is in the public domain. In the Palm Groves of Memphis, by Amin Rihani. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachok. The calm scene comes robed in the Libyan sands, veiled in the haze of June. Armed with Sahara's serpent-wreathed brands, shod with the sun and moon. Swift-winging in a cycloramic flame of Typhon-born, unseeing, and untame, she comes her reign of terror to proclaim, while crowning day and night with all the blazonry of Tropic noon. She claps her iridescent wings, and lo, the rolling heat, tremulous, reverberant, aglow, sibilant, fleet, sweeps over the land with unabating hire, devouring Spring's heritage entire, setting the very pyramids afire, engulfing even the turtle-shelter and the turtle-doves retreat. Alas, where are the roses which the prime of summer share, with the sesame, the myrtle, and the thyme in meadow's fair? Where is the sacred lotus and the bloom of common and mimosa, whose perfume once filled the shrine of Isis and her tomb? Where is the pomegranate flower that shone in Cleopatra's hair? Where is the riant beauty of the land of mystic runes that decorates its shimmering robes of sand with emerald moons? Where are the emerald-shelters desert-bound that with the prayer of caribans resound? Where is the desert trail, the watering ground, that murmurs low of lost oases amidst the fast- dissolving dunes? Where is the caravan that yester-night to the merry sound of bells set out of the city of delight to Nubia-bound? Where is the Nubian caravan that late passed heavy laden through Dendera's gate, speeding to reach the city for the fate when gold and silver freely flow, when Allah's bounties abound? Where is the crested lark, the golden thrush of the sacred grove, which made the sensitive acacia blush and bloom with love? Where has the bearded bustered fallen? Where is Ibis, once the pet of Hermes' fair, nursing his purple wings and his despair? Where is the red flamingo hiding? Where's the house of the turtle dove? Across the welkin, like a shadow cast upon a cloud, but one undaunted dips his black wings in the blast and rears anon his form against the rushing winds, alone the vulture hovers around the flame-draped throne of death and over the palms that rock and moan, peering through the desolation, staring at the laughing sun? And come, seen, in her chariot of fire upon which clings the malt of her unsatiable desire, delirious sings and shakes the harvest from her tangled hair, the sesame seeds, the grasses sear, the tear, the golden tassels which the rushes wear, the purple feathers of the Ibis and the swallows' shriveled wings. She shakes her booty from her sapphire tresses in gleeful guile, as she in passing savagely caresses the crouching nile, while everywhere, within her sight or call, along its banks or in its rushes tall, all things are swooning in her leaden thrall. Yay! Prostrate is the salamander, Prostrate is the crocodile. And when at intervals her madness takes a sudden turn, Alal ensues, and over Egypt breaks the sacred urn of silence, while to quench her ancient thirst, which licked up every running stream and cursed every pool in cave or hollow nursed, she plunges deep into the nile and wonders why his waters burn, and wonders, too, when in the winnowed sands, out of the gloom of Labyrinthine avenues and lands of mystic bloom, arise the sense of blossoms that have known ten thousand comscenes, and where often blown to dust their meanies sat upon his throne, the blossoms of the teeming depths that float above the crest of doom. Yay! And in the scattered dust of Ta, the flawless gleam that once shone in the fain of Amun Ra, would fain redeem from darknesses of immemorial time, which swallowed Thebes and Memphis in their prime, the symbol of a heritage sublime, and light again the sacred temple of the world's eternal dream. For though the earth itself should perish in a flaming pyre, and the wasting sun should like a spider, spin his cobwebs of fire, yet in the serdabs under comscenes feet, around the blue of Osiris's judgment seat, is this which glyphs vermilion repeat, the sun of thought, of faith, of God, shall never expire, shall never expire. Albeit in a mocking gust, she veers into the gloom that knows nor time nor sun, nor ever hears the voice of doom, and rifling the bejeweled gods, she drops the veil of splendor from her how-does-tops, and rocks in state, from karnak to keops, to tramp the dust of Pharaoh's pride, to smite the phantom of his tomb. And mocking comscene, when her mood is spent, lulls the morn in luscious breezes, swooning with the scent of love reborn, caressing winds, the tree senescent grows in you, as young and fruitful, and the rose upon the bister lips of Ramesses blows, whispering of things immortal to the wandering seed and the reed forlorn. She passes in phantasmagoric waves, overshifting dunes, through shattered orbs, beyond the barren caves of murdering moons, while the antique youth the sun, as young today as when the cricket first assayed her lay, across the flood of Nilus, makes his way, and with him waves for Egypt, wondrous summer garlands and galoons. And lo, the comscene of the world, in flames of crimson hue, and clouds of vitriolic dust, proclaims the era new, but through the storm a spirit wings his flight across the phosphorescent gulfs of night, and this upon the rising sun doth write, God liveth yea, God liveth still, and man shall nothing rue. O Lord of Bounties, melt thy heaven's breath, which spreads its gold around the head of death, which, while it smiles, devours all living things, giving to desolation wondrous wings, lest in the waste Arabia's star should wane, a little rain, Allah, a little rain. Thou bountiful, thy sun is weaving fast the shroud of earth, now in the sandstorm cast. Death cannot weep, the well of faith is run, its rivers and its desert sands are won, O thou bestower, once more sustain thy sun-crowned daughter with a little rain. Quiet this rising phantom-haunted sea of sands, the faithful from its fury free, enchain the monsters of the dire Samoom.  Arabia's thousand wounds to thee appeal, and with their lips its gaping wounds we seal, prostrate upon the sands we lift our hearts, pierced in thy presence by thy flaming darts, thy children, Allah, in the throes of pain, pray for a little rain, a little rain. Here are flowers, O my beloved, here are flowers. Let us lay our hearts today among the flowers. Let us not be led astray by the mirage far away. Here is Virger, and in Virger, love in bowers. Here are springs, O my beloved, here are springs. Let us rest and build a nest near the springs. Let us cease our weary quest for the mountains of the blessed. Here is water, and in water blessing sings. End of Poem This recording is in the public domain. Allah is merciful, Allah is kind, his heart in the tears of the earth is enshrined. He chains the desire of whirlwind and fire, the drought, the semen and their forces entire in the fast-spreading shades of his pity's suspire, it rains, it rains. Allah is gracious, Allah is sweet, the desert is flowering under his feet, in the fires he fanned and the mountains they spanned, and the caverns that groan under burdens of sand are dazed with the bounties that flow from his hand, it rains, it rains. Allah's all-seeing, Allah is wise, the palm from the stone to praise him shall rise, the deer in the dale, the plant in the shale, the bird in the nest and the gall in the gale, or joyously chanting hail, Allah hail, it rains, it rains. Allah is mighty, Allah is great, his hands all things resuscitate, he burns the shroud, he shakes the cloud, and the dead of the earth with new life are endowed, the bones of the earth are joyous and proud, it rains, it rains. House of Night by Amin Rahani Her sable robes the gloaming trails from golden strand to purple height, and softly over the wheels and dales into the vacant house of night. But lo, where her first footsteps mark the sun-set's last extinguished fire above the hills, a saffron spark, a gleam of unconjectured fire, between the foliage zone and sky, where centuries of the forest stand, it peeps and flits a firefly, it soars and glows a firebrand, a sacred flame from hemlock shades rising like a mystic sign above the silence of the glades into the solitude's divine, a sign perchance from those who pass to those who follow in the gloom, dancing round a molten mass above the grudging gulfs of doom. A newborn world, though years untold, have fed the forge that gave it breath, where life still casts a beaten gold crescents for the shrine of death. A dying world, though alike a gem of sapphire hues and knacker bright, dropped from the zone or diadem of the immortal queen of night. A world, from depths to heights as dark it leaps anon into the dance, and whirls away, tis but a spark from the anvil of the god of chance. But faith and fancy often mar the mystery of things divine, for that which is a rolling star was fluttering neath a lonely pine. And lo, another orb doth roll above the groves where once it trod, and still another seeks its gold in the infinities of God. From where the eagle marks his flight across the void that earthbound seems, they twinkle forth a circle of light around the glooming's couch of dreams. And thus they first themselves disguise as glowworms in the gathering gloom, and suddenly refulgent rise, or the abysmal tracks of doom. For eons thus, from hill to sea, a thwart the grudging gulfs they glow, and weaning tell of the worlds that be, and the ghosts of worlds of long ago. For eons thus, their torches high, the gods unseen, as when the light of day conceals the starry sky, illuminate the house of night. After reading King Lear, by Amin Rihani, read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachuk, it's strange that in the cycle of his woes, which shakes his cloud embosomed peak of years, and shatters the very fountain of his tears, he seeks the friendly path of winds and snows. In villainy, forgiven, more villainous grows, and treason in his robes herself attires, and love beneath adultery's sheet expires. It's strange that mating with the storm he goes. Father and King, in sooth they know thee well, the whirlwind, and the forest, and the night. And we, who win the obscure shelters dwell, know better of thy sorrow than thy might. Father and King, thy heritage is vast, wherever children be, its seeds are cast. I wonder among the hills of alien lands, where nature, her prerogative, resigns to man, where comfort in her shack reclines, and all the arts and sciences commands. But in my soul, the eastern billows roll, I hear the voices of my native strands. My lingering eyes, a lonely hemlock, fills with grace and splendor, rising manifold. With her boughs, the maple spread their gold, and at her feet the silver of the rills. But in my heart, a peasant void of art, echoes the voices of my native hills. On every height a studied art confines all human joy in social polkretude. The boxwood frowns, where beckoning birches stood, and where the thrushes carrelled, fashion dines. But through the spreading cheer, the shepherds read I hear, beneath my Lebanon terribence and pines. And though no voices here are heard of toil, nor accents least of sorrow, nor the din of multitudes, nor even at the inn, the city is permitted ought to spoil. Yet in my breast a shack at best laments the mother of my native soil. Even where the sumptuous solitudes deny a shelter to a bird or butterfly, as in the humblest dwelling of the dale, a gracious welcome shone the passer by. But ever more clear, all where I hear, the calling of my native hot and sky. Land of my birth, a handful of thy sod, resuscitates the flower of my faith. For whatsoever the seer of science sayeth, Thou art the cradle and the tomb of God, and for ever I behold a vision hold of beauty weeping where he once hath trod. Little poem, this recording is in the public domain. Lebanonus, oh my love, is calling, yea, and waiting in his ancient tower. In his ancient cedar-shaded castle, night and day, Lebanonus sits amusing of the memories that bloom unnoticed every season at the feet of sorrow. Musing of the radiant days of Tammuz, that went dancing with the bride of summer, down the deep and pine encircled wadi, musing of the time the prophets kindled sacred fire in man's emperpled temples, blazing all the highways of the world. Musing of the days embattled monarchs, laid their shields and lances at his feet, bowed before his throne invincible, oh my love, the sad and lonely cedar ever rocking in her arid splendor, ever in penurious shades embosomed, reaches out for water in the meadows and for sunlight in deserted vineyards, rears her hope above the snow eternal, crowning her time hallowed desolation, oh my love, the crumbling temples dreaming of the star that wonders from its orbit, of the rose that blooms and dies forsaken, of the leaves that fall from sheltering branches only to become the sport of chance winds, or the bed of some unsightly creeper, dreaming of the Lebanon lily drooping in the dells beneath forbidding ridges, dreaming of the corums of the elder that forgot the touch of loving hands, for the zephyr of the south which passes o'er their bloom of tender welcome, only fans into a flame the smoldering embers of the anguish of departed lovers, oh my love, the furses are in full bloom waiting on the terrace of Lebanonus, for the ardent and enamored seeker, waiting, and the secret of their silence locked, remains within their shells of amber, till thou comest, till they hear thee whisper, I am thine, and thou art mine, for ever, oh my love, how long wilt hither tarry, making toys of times discarded hours, fair Lebanonus, oh my love, is calling, yey, and waiting in his house of flowers, and around it wings of song unnumbered, amber tinted, berylene, vermillion, pour their riches in the land of mourning, strew their silver in the olive grove, weave their magic through the almond blossoms, shake the incense from the terribents, spread in vain their gladness o'er the pines, yey, a sea of siren witchery, like the sundown inundates the heaven, rolling o'er a sea of boughs emblosomed, multi-hued, a glow with burning rapture, waves of song o'er on the scented breezes, rolling o'er the virgin snow of Sannin, o'er the trackless verger of the lowland, o'er the mottled mountains joined for ever in a wild embrace of stony silence, rolling over waddies, funly nursing sicklemen's of unremembered seasons, oleanders of unfathored beauty, irises of mothered tenderness, yey, my love, the robin in the olives thrills the very shadow of the branch, in the pomegranate, thrush and skylark, fairlets crimson cups with flaming rapture, in the fig tree and the laden vineyard, bull bulls chant the joy of harvest time, yey, my love, the birds of dawn are calling, whispering, chattering, warbling everywhere, dancing, flitting, waiting in the groves, lingering in the chinks of terraces, making early visits to their young. Nay, they're busy making preparation for thy coming, longing to behold thee, singing meanwhile to the morning star, which borrows from thine eyes its radiance, from thy tresses all its golden splendor. O my love, how long wilt hither tarry, wilt dally with the web of time, how long? Lone Lebanus, oh my love, is calling, yey, and waiting in his house of song, and over it our star is reappearing, the star of our own destiny is rising o'er the mountains of embrace eternal, o'er the cedars of the sacred faith, o'er the ruins of the ancient temple, flooding them with light of tender pallor, like the light that lingers in the eyes of parted lovers, shaking from the bosom of night their shadows, dew-drenched, iris-centred, garlanding the messengers of morning for the coming of the well-loved stranger, yey, the star of love, the light supernal, before which bowed the world in adoration, is reappearing in the orient heaven for thy sake, for thee, oh my beloved, yey, without thee, neither song nor flower nor star nor temple of antique, Lebanus has ought compelling of the soul's devotion, but with thee the caves, the naked ridges, the very rocks betoken the divine, oh my love, how long wilt hither tarry weaving gossamer of day and night, sad Lebanus, oh my love, is calling, yey, and waiting in his house of light. And a poem, this recording is in the public domain, The Pagan by Amin Rihani, read for LibriVox.org I walked into her temple as of yore, my Tyrion Sires allured by cryptic signs, but sudden as I entered closed the door upon the hope that mortal love resigns before her ancient mortal-boured shrines. I sorrowed not, though every lamp I lit flamed up in speech articulate and said, Beware, oh foolish worshipper, Tizrit, who craves a gift shall give his soul instead, who lights a lamp is cursed of the dead. I did not heed, I passed from shrine to shrine, filling the lamps with oil, the fane with light, but when I approached, oh one eternal thine, I heard the terror of her tongue, and night was creeping on her brow of Malachite. I did not stop, although the vote of oil I poured into thine urn to water turned, but when the dawn her enchantments came to foil, the secret of thy clemency I learned, again the oil upon thine altar burned. Then suddenly the temple shook and swayed, and all the shrines, except thine, disappeared. Even so her heart, by knowledge undismayed, unloves one altar with thy hand upreared, to loves one god, is ever more endeared. THE LOST DISCIPLE By Amin Rihani Red4Libervox.org By Stefan Oh Master, I cannot adventure with thee. At the door of the dawn, in my lone wandering, I have broken my staff. For the true dawn is she, who comes every day with her jar to the spring. I, Master, I tarried last night at the gate of her garden, which kisses the lake Galilee. She was gathering flowers and fruits for the fate, and with tulips and poppies she beckoned to me. In her lamp there was oil. In my hand there was fire. In her house cried a voice, O make haste with the flame. On my lips were the names of the daughters of Tyre. On her breast were the lilies that whispered thy name. I have dared, O my Master, to envy thy feet, and to yearn for the love of a model in fair. I have dreamed that mine too, in the heart of the street, were laved with her own hands and dried with her hair. O Master, my lips her devotion have stained. For her soul's precious ointments were offered too late. I have lost in the fire of my lust what I gained in my longing and love for her love and thy fate. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain from the Arabic by Amin Rihani. Read for Libervox.org by Stefan. Why art thou so hushed and sad, so thin and wan? Who robbed thee of thy flesh and song? Was it Ramadan? Nay, Ramadan is not to blame, for I have ceased to fast and pray. But to my vacant dwelling came an unknown guest. He came to stay. And in my heart he eats and drinks. He drinks my blood of wines the best, and eats my burning flesh. Ah, yes, my love for Zahra is that guest. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. She went out singing by Amin Rihani. Read for Libervox.org by Bruce Gachok. She went out singing, and the poppies still crowd round her door, awaiting her return. She went out dancing, and the doleful rail lingers beneath her walls, her news to learn. Their love is but a seed of what she has sown. Their grief is but a shadow of my own. O tomb, O tomb, did Zahra's beauty fade, or dust thou still preserve it in thy gloom? O tomb, thou art nor firmament nor glade, yet in thee shines the moon, and lilies bloom. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Haanem by Amin Rihani. Read for Libervox.org by Bruce Gachok. Haanem, we must have met before, perhaps a thousand years ago. I still remember when I tore your virgin veil of lunar snow. By Allah I remember too when sowsing in my mortal bane. You bit my lip and said, Adieu, when shall we, Syrian, meet again? Haanem, thine eyes are brighter far than when in mine they shone one day. I wager every moon and star the tax of luster to them pay, and those who dared with them to jest, where are they now? Those lovers slain who whisper dying on your breast? O Haanem, shall we meet again? The victims of your eyes are here. In pyramids they keep their clay, and even your sister Flames are near.  Full many a time from them you bore this mortal love, this mortal gain. Remember Nubia's Sable Shore. When shall we, Haanem, meet again? Lenvoi. Why quickly through the Cairo Street? Will you return? Shall I remain? Fate might not ever the chance repeat. When shall we, Haanem, meet again? And a poem. This recording is in the public domain. All Freedom. By Amin Rihani. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachok. O Freedom, in thy cause I fought. For twenty years I fought in vain, and in my mountain shelter not but worthless trophies now remain. Yet in my heart I hear a cry, which never there makes a vain appeal. I would once more beneath thy sky brandish my sharp and shining steel. How much one stakes upon thy dream. How much for but thy name we pay. How cheap the passing ages seem when years are given for thy day.  I would once more beneath thy sky brandish my sharp and shining steel. The purest love I give away. The bliss of it I set at naught. Again I'm on my wayward way, seeking what I have often sought. My wounded hopes, my bleeding ties. No peace in glorious air shall heal. I would once more beneath thy skies brandish my sharp and shining steel. Lenvoy. O Freedom, though thy price be high, though one for thee his life must seal. I would once more beneath thy sky brandish my sharp and shining steel. And a poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Road of Make Believe. By Amin Rihani. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachok. She sits upon a rock along the stream that heard the whisper of her first desire. Washing the faded garment of her dream, which she had often carried to the dire. The dream of her self-centered lyric fire. And in the flowing scarlet wounds of twilight, expiring on Aurora's drooping wings beneath the secret scimitar of night. She dies again her garment while she sings of newborn love. Though to self-love she clings. He seeks the path of glory in the noon of self-intoxication, dreaming still of power, wondering why the sun and moon are not yoked to the chariot of his will. His soul, a clinging vine, his mind and hill. He beats against the peaks of earthbound dreams, subsisting on the thistles of his heart. Whatever seeking in the fitful gleams of his own fire, self-admirations mart to mend his horn or wet his venom dart. They walk together in the golden vast of vision haunted, soul alluring sands, beholding the illusions of the past among the ruins of deserted lands. Together, although neither understands the groping purpose of the other, and yet while in their hearts the gods of conflict nod, they glows and smile, dissembling their regret. Love on the road of make-believe, they prod. He going to the dogs, and she to God. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Renunciation. By Amin Rihani. Red4LibraryVox.org by Bruce Gachok. At eventide the pilgrim came and knocked at the beloved's door. Who's there? A voice within. Thy name? Tis I, he said. Then knock no more, as well ask thou a lodging of the sea. There is no room herein for thee and me. The pilgrim went again his way, and dwelt with love upon the shore of self-ablivion, and one day he knocked again at the beloved's door. Who's there? It is thyself, he now replied, and suddenly the door was opened wide. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Sufi song. By Amin Rihani. Red4LibraryVox.org by Bruce Gachok. My heart's the field I sow for thee. For thee to water and to reap. My heart's the house I hope for thee. For thee to air and dust and sweep. My heart's the rug I spread for thee. For thee to dance or pray or sleep. My heart's the pearls I thread for thee. For thee to wear or break or keep. My heart's a sack of magic things. Magic carpets, caps and rings. To bring thee treasures from afar and from the deep. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Two Brothers. By Amin Rihani. Red4LibraryVox.org by Bruce Gachok. In the grotto the forest designed, where the firefly first dreamed of the sun, and the cricket first chirped to the blind zoophyte. In the cave of the mind we were born, and our cradle is won. We are brothers. Together we dwelt unknown and unheard and unseen for eons. Together we felt the urge of the forces that melt the rocks into willowy green. For eons together we drifted in the molten abysses of flame. While the cycles are heritage sifted, from the vapor and ooze and uplifted, the image that now bears our name. I am God, thou art man, but the light that mothers the planets. The sea of stardust that roofs every height of the universe. The gulfs of the night, they are surging in thee as in me. But out of the chaos to lead us, the giants that borrow our eyes, and lend us their shoulders must heed us. They yield us their purpose, they deed us forever, the worlds and the skies. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. God of the Distances Hear Us by Amin Rihane Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachok God of the Distances Hear Us Hear Us and Guide Us Today Thy footsteps, though never so near us, are lost in the dust of the fray. Thy High Priests, who often have spoken the word that was heeded, are mute. Their torch is extinguished, their token is distrust, and discord, and dispute. God of the Distances, never was man, though still fettered, so free to challenge his star, and to sever himself from the past and from thee. But we, though our spirit is broken, we heed thee again and anon. We trust thee, O God, though thy token be the desert, thy promise the sun. Forever the distances call us, the distances veiled of the dream, and we come whatsoever befall us, our pledges and thine to redeem. We come, and though often we altered our course at the gates of dismay, we never looked backward or faltered, never regretted our way. God of the Distances Hear Us Hear Us and Guide Us Today From the cave of the first dream we wandered, through the forests of fate and of chance, and on many an illusion we squandered, the treasures of faith and romance. We fared with the fairies of Noontide. We roved with the gin of the night, our high priests we left on the wayside, our prophets we lost on the height of rebellion recurrent. We passed many a temple and shrine, where the sherds of old creeds were recast, and traded as tokens divine. We passed them forever consoled, and cajoled by the voice, tis the way of your goal, your forebodings allay. But thousands of cycles we told, millions of leagues we unrolled, heedless of time and his sway. God of the visions of old, hear us and guide us today. We sailed all the seas of the mind. We rounded the capes of the soul. We crossed all the channels that roll over the dead of our kind, and on many a beckoning strand, furrowed with silvery streams. We lingered but low in the land, where the desolate gardens of dreams. Onward the sails of desire, born of the distances fire, tattered but ever unfurled, to worlds undiscovered aspire, to the life-giving worlds of our world. Onward, though no signs appear where once rose the fares of the seer and the prophet, on, on to the goal, though veiled in the billows that roll over Orion. The fear of the distances never was leech of our hearts, but the mazes besiege the bridges of faith on our way. God of our vision, us dear, hear us and guide us today. Hear us, the captains of sorrow, the tellers of the soil of defeat, the lights of the oft-promised morrow, whose false dawns thy promise repeat. Our name and our purpose are written in blood on the tablets of time. Our spirit, though frequently smitten, to the dust has arisen sublime, and triumphant again and again. Our torch, though extinguished, was never relinquished, our sword and our pen are brandished for ever and ever. Yay, the ideals undying desire and the wreaths of defeat it has won. Their story in letters of fire is limned on the brow of the sun, and not till a new world's begotten of the womb of our own will the word of the soul of the earth be forgotten or the cry of the earth be unheard. Tis our word, tis our cry, tis our yearning, which shall mark even the ending of time. For no cycle of darkness returning shall reach to the path we must climb, or a face from our sight the supernal beauty of truth born of dream. God of the vision, eternal, we are thine, though in darkness we seem, but hear us, oh hear us, today, and help us again to our way. Which you may never behold until my sons and satellites are cold. And in the seeking you shall find the hidden jewels of the soul and mind, and every jewel shall reveal things divine, even in a Sufi's logic wheel. Yay, even in the lowing kind. The eye-wash, oh lone Badrudin, I bring, is of the first dews of the first born spring. Apply it, and behold, your dog-bitten sandals are transformed into gold. Your staff, sand-heaton, and far-wandering is bursting into foliage, blossoming, bearing fruits of wondrous lush and glow.  Cast off the garments of the world, and wear the sacred shades, whose color of contentment never fades, and sit beside me with the golden fawn, whose name is eternal dawn. Oh, thou beloved, every word of thine is like a draft of purple wine, every syllable is like the singing of the bulbol. More potent are they than the magic lore, which to the blind the sight restore, as now to one who though a pilgrim old is but an infant in the cradle of love.  Musk to my nostrils, bomb to my soul, strengthening ointments to my feet, and what, in the stores and treasures of the world, is equal unto this wealth and beauty, fame and power. They are but mirages in the boundless waste that separates me from thee for an hour. Once I tarried at a well in an oasis fair, but in the cup I lifted to my lips I saw the image of thy wrath and my despair. I dashed against a rock the common play, and hastened away.  In thy glory garbed, I come, but I tremble at thy threshold lest the thorns in my feet the story of my sacrifice repeat. I tremble at thy threshold lest the flowers of my heart betray the painted lips of conscious art. I tremble at thy threshold lest the eyes that long have sought to behold but once thy face deserve not even thy shadow to embrace. And a poem, this recording is in the public domain, The Sufi, by Amin Rihani, read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachuk. Lord, in the purple darkness is my soul, behind the curtain, Allah, of my sight, where recreative waves of wonder roll, from sad seas of color over dead seas of light. I close my eyes and lo, the laden night stops at the ivory gate to pay thy toll to my soul. And with it wealth in destitution's van, and power in the chariot of dole, and fame upon the skeleton she stole from death, ambition too amidst her clan, spurring her jaded nag, the caravan of life is at the gate to pay thy toll to my soul. They pass. I open my eyes, and as I try to con the cruel pages of the scroll, which censure left in fragments at their goal, then suddenly, illumining the sky, a form of grace and beauty I describe, tis love, O Allah, come to pay thy toll to my soul. But once, while lingering in the doleful shades among the fallen, wine-stained colonnades of what was once thy temple, were still troll, with languid step, the spirit of pagan maids, I saw thee, Allah, coming through the glades with food of love, and from thy script I stole a jasmine for my hungry soul. And a poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Fugitive by Amin Rihani, read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachak. I saw thee following me. I heard thee calling me. I even felt thy narrows in my tears. I know thou art shadowing me, and wilt yet, forstalling me, whip out the vanities of all my years. I ran, and still I run away from thee through maze and mirage of mortality, over the hot sands and the frozen lakes, across the sable wilderness that breaks infragrant moors. I ran to hills of dreams, up to the secret borderland that gleams eternally, casting its shafts of light from every incommunicable height, upon the spinning feet of humankind. Oh, how I leap from peak to peak to find the path to the azure dance hall of the world, whose dome is gemmed, whose portals are imperiled with hearts that melt and crystallize and shine, with frozen music, frozen beads of wine, and whose laughter echoes through the spinning spheres, where we were taught to dance in former years. Yay, I, who lit thine altar as a boy, and nursed in incense fumes my vision of joy, and, like a roebuck, leaped across the rills, and danced like sparks of sunlight or the hills, to be at early morn and even tide, the first of acolytes that served with pride, thy venerable priests. Alas, one day, casting my shame and piety aside, I snuffed the candles out, and walked away into the dazzling night of dance and song, into the temple of the merry throng. And ever since, a fugitive from thee, shod with thy lightning, chuckling oft with glee, unburdened and unfettered and undaunted, with naught, not in my shamelessness to hide, and only by beguiling beauty haunted, I trod the path of demiurgic pride. Yay, I was proud, when in the dance desire I could command the fruit of every tree, the bloom of every garden, and the fire of every passion, every ecstasy upon my way. O pride of brawn and dare, I'd shake the luster from the stars and steal the sap from the vines of dune, and I would share my booty with the comrade that would seal his thieving faith with peons to the deed that knows nor law, nor moral code, nor creed. I ran, and still I run away from thee, past pyramids and labyrinths of reason, through gleaming forests where the upus tree feeds both the saint and sinner for a season, and I danced in its lethal shades. I climbed up to the highest fruit-concealing bow that bends beneath a mucking wing. I rhymed my joy and pride, and o'er the very brow of death I leaped into the howling void where the acrobats of mind with balance pole of logic in their hands are ever employed in scanning the dark canyons of the soul, and I was proud when on the tight rope I assayed my feet and fixed my giddy brain upon the universe where at the sky was but a mute infinity of vain belief, and every mystery divine a sea-washed iridescent hollow shell upon the sands of faith. Yay, every sign upon the road led to an empty well, and I was proud, o' pride of intellect that the nothingness of things I could detect. I ran, and still I run away from thee, mistaking thy compassion for thine ire, a rebel eye fantastically free, a green-eyed flame of prepetating fire whipped by the winds of circumstance, and yet by thee pursued, and by thy love beset, and why? I oft pretend to know not why this fond solicitude, for what am I but a bubble of vanity, a human thing puffed with the vision of a loneliness in which a pimpled ego tries to sing of self alas, and spread its ebb and wing. But I remember still thy first caress, which in my infant vision I could feel even as the flowers which thy love reveal, even as the ocean in the moon's embrace, even as the sunrise that reflects thy face, and this remembering I hailed the soul, flaunting the sacred symbol of the goal that shrines thine image, yea, and I was proud that rising over self, thyself, to find, with thine own godliness I was endowed, and yet I am but partially resigned. O spiritual pride, which would disguise the hollow heart of holier than thou, in accents borrowed from the meek and wise, I too have prated with a placid brow, though I, still casting shadows in the mire, was but a scarecrow in the vineyard of desire. I saw thee following me, I heard thee calling me, I even felt thine arrows in my tears, I know thou art shadowing me, and wilt yet forstalling me, whip out the vanities of all my years. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Chant of Mystics by Amin Rahani, read for LibriVox.org by Josh Kibbe. 1 From the mist of Arcana we rise, through the universe of secrets we come, and we enter the tavern as lovers, whose features are pale as the false dawn, whose statues are lean as the new moon, like unto a jar is the body, and the soul in the jar is the silvery voice of the fountain, is the rose-scented breath of the mountain. For your sake we have come, the shape of a jar from the sea, for your sake we have come as disgrace, but glory incarnate are we, for the sake of the world we dance, or the flame on the point of the lance, oh, think us not mortal, for we are the light on the foam of the sea. Of a truth we are akin to the sun, the infinite source of all splendors, we are one with the world's riddles and wonders, but not of the world nor the sun is the breath that lingers awhile in the regions of death, the dust on our sandals betrays us, we know, we have traveled afar our devotion to show, to him who is waiting for us at the gate, of the garden of union our longing to sate. We shall interpret the truth, we shall the secret unveil, for naked we come like the dew, like the zephyr we come in the gale, naked through thornbush and grass we speak and we pass, our garments were burned in the fire of the mind, in the world where the death still disputes with the blind, we are the truth, and into the world from the universe of secrets we are hurled, we are the truth, and into the skies from the mists of arcana we rise. 2. In the light of the day and the stars of the night we behold, the face of the master, the feet of the pilgrim of old, in the sigh of the wind and the voice of the thunder we hear, the plain to the bard and the rhapsodic chant of the seer, without them alas we are dumb, though not deaf to the flute and the drum, but the vision is true, alahu alahu, they are garbed in blue, alahu alahu, they are drenched with dew, alahu alahu. 3. Hail Senai, the moon of the soul, the guide on the road to the gole, hail Atar, the vizier of birds, who sing in his musk-scented words, hail Rabi, the tongue of the truth, the eye of the prophet ensuth, hail Rabi, the heart of the sphere, beloved of the bard and the seer, the rosebud that rises to greet the splendor beneath all his feet, hail Ghazali, the weaver of light, the maker of wings for the flight, hail Halar, the diver divine, whose pearls decorate every shrine, whose blood was the pledge that his words, I am truth, shall for Arabia sign, to Jalauddin Rumi, all hail, the master who flung every veil to the wind who ne'er sober was seen, though ne'er to the tavern had been, but ever, and often alone, was dancing before all his throne, hail Tabrizzi, who nourished the bard with jasmine and myrtle and nard, who loafed and invited his soul and would not write a word in his scroll, hail Farid, the love-stricken one, the heart of the rhapsodic sun, the soul of the vineyard, the press that knew every vineyard's caress, the host of the tavern divine, the sake, the cup and the wine, the vision is true, alahu alahu, they are garbed in blue, alahu alahu, they are drenched with dew, alahu alahu, and casting the years from their folds in the shame from their bosoms they leap in the circle of flame, they leap with the flash of their limbs to the dance in the tender caress of the beautiful's glance, for only in rapture the face of beloved is seen, through the mask of the spheres and the veils of existence to reign, and only the slaves of devotion and love have the feet that dare to approach the enravishing glow of the screen, yea, hither we come as the flame of his rapturous fire, and to the music of Rebekah and Flute in the dance we expire. 3. Yea, man is as near the beloved as far from the world he may be, he is full of the beauty of Allah and he is void of the Thou and the me, life in the world we abandon, that the life of the world we may see, oh, come to the assembly of lovers in the shade of the tuba tree, oh, come to the banquet of union in taste of the ecstasy, oh, come to the tavern where nectar and wine are flow as the sea, for only the drunken are sober and only the fettered are free, like the waves of the ocean we rise and we melt into foam, that the moon's caravan might carry us back to our home, like the motes in our sunbeam we dance in the dawn's disarray, that the sun might preserve us awhile from dust and decay, but the atoms of bean, the motes in the sun of his love, are a flame with desire to be where no night is nor day, like a child in the cradle whose mother must rock it to sleep, we rock to and fro that the child of our heart might be still, like the lonely palm when the whirlwinds over its sweep, we sigh and we chaff in our chains and we bow to his will, like the bird in the cage who pecks at his sugar and sings, so we in the cage of the world to quiet our wings, but the vulgar will say that the dance of the palms to the wind, and the bird to the sugar is singing, alas for the blind, we come for their sake in the shape of a jar from the sea, we are filled with the water that heals, and though sealed we are free, nor crescent nor cross we adore, nor buddhan nor Christ we implore, nor muslim nor jew we abhor, we are free, we are not of Iran nor of Ind, we are not of Arabia or Sind, we are free, we are not to the east or the west, no boundaries exist in our breast, we are free, we are not made of dust or of dew, we are not to the earth or the blue, we are free, we are not wrought of fire or of foam, nor the sun nor the sea is our home, nor the angel our kin nor the gnome, we are free, yay beyond all the moons and the suns and the stars, and a place where no shadow of horizon is nor of darkness a trace, where the garden of God is a bloom on love's radiant strand, there is our temple, our home, and our own native land, yay body and soul is the world and the sun do we give, and in the first soul the soul of beloved eternally live. Four. Awake, O ye pilgrims awake, O lovers arise and prepare, the drum of departure we hear, the driver has come for the fair, the camel's already, their bells are decking with silver the air, Awake, O ye pilgrims awake, O lovers arise and prepare, the nightingale sings on the branch to wake up the blossoms, the creek, whispers a word to the fern who follows, his favorite is seek, the tulip is begging to go with the zephyr who kisses her cheek, the face of the mist is aglow for dawn mounts the minaret to speak, open the road is and safe, no gates and no sentries are there, Awake, O ye pilgrims awake, O lovers arise and prepare, each moment a spirit is sent with the message of mystery sealed, each moment a spirit goes forth that the mystery might be revealed, and whenever the dawn opes his eyes, a blind one on the wafer is healed, whenever a lover appears the night drops her star-studded shield, whenever a lover is slain, blooms a flower in the world's barley field, and always the pangs of departure are wrought into torches that flare, Awake, O ye pilgrims awake, O lovers arise and prepare. ere the sake was born, ere the vineyard existed, the cup brightened brimful enchanted our eye, ere the tavern was built, we reveled and tristed with the loved one and drank to his beauty divine, we drink till we wander away from self and desire, we drink till in drunkenness we on his bosom expire, we have known long ago all the raptures of madness, all the raptures of burning from childhood we know, and our soul is the soul of the mother of gladness, and our heart is the heart of the father of woe, transported in smitten we wander with narrow complaint, our story entrances the sinner and raptures the saint, transported in smitten and drunk we are thought to be mad, self-abandoned unity seeking where the puzzle the fools, for the mad men's madness has varied in art and the sad, piety-monger tickles his heart when he drools. O mind not the strings of our robe, they were loosed in the revel, they snapped when we drunk with the saints and danced with the devil. There is nothing that we would conceal in the seeking, our love is the sun and our passion its flame, to dance all our tavern we come not as sneaking, for the right and the wrong of the world are the same, and if you are a seeker, the blood of hypocrisy shed, nor be trampled by shame take a pondured and cut off her head. For your sake we have come in the shape of a jar from the sea, for your sake we have come as disgrace, but glory incarnate are we. O think us not mortal, for we are the light in the foam of the sea. Still hire our rank that we come with the flute in the drum, and the veils of the world do we come with the flute in the drum, as vigilant warders we come with the flute in the drum, to call you to the tavern we come with the flute in the drum. 5. Perchance in our sleep, we become unaware of the circumstance strange of our birth. Perchance ahead divides the heaven and the earth. But whether two worlds or a hundred, the loved one is all. Only one do we seek, only one do we know, only one do we hear, do we see, do we call. We come as the heroes and slaves of the mighty, the dear. We come as the mind and the soul of the violent sphere. What place have your meat and your bread, where we were first born and first fed? Through our eye and our ear, and now without eyes can we see. Without tongues can we speak, without ears can we hear. And when the clouds and the storms of the mind darken and shed out the skies, we kindle the torch of the heart, which we give to the mighty and wise. For the heart is the bird of a world made holy by song. It is the love-lorn and love-guided bull bull the owls among. And doing its wings all exultant its ways over mountains and more, it dreads nor the depths nor the heights nor the transcending lore. The heart is a treasure of gold and the desperate of things. It is the rebeck of love and of love for ever it sings. It is the pearl in the sea and the fair on the shore of the mind. It is the ear of the deaf and the all-seeing eye of the blind. The heart is the maker of dreams, the olympic of power. It is the gate to all beauty, the key to the ivory tower. It is the crown of the Buddha, the Christ. It is the sword of the prophet. It is the flame with the temple of faith, and of reason, the flower. The heart is the last star that leaves in the wake of the night, and the first star that ushers Aurora's pageant of light. It is the first and the last ray of hope, the salvation of man. It is our guide and our standard, the leader of our caravan. Hawken the voice of our leader in the dawn stillness and glow. Allahu, allahu, we're ready, sight-seeing with us who will go. The hour of departure has come, the caravans moving. Wo-ho! We are bound for a country of wonder, sight-seeing with us who will go. Whenever we stop on the way is a feast for the heart and a show. Everywhere too is the tavern sight-seeing with us who will go. He who has led us thus far will lead us still further we know. He opens to us every gate sight-seeing with us who will go. He is the magnet and we are but pieces of steel, wo-ho! Earthward the magnet is moving sight-seeing with us who will go. Sweet scents from the curl of his tresses are afloat on the breezes that blow, from the radiant peaks of the world sight-seeing with us who will go. As we fix our amorous gaze upon him more amorous we grow, he moves in a soul-witching maze sight-seeing with us who will go. Come, but come empty of purse and empty of hand, who travel with us shall not hunger or thirst nor shall need. For the stores of the master are open in every land, and as stewards the earth and the sun his wishes exceed. He is our need, our staff and our creed. Of our hope and despair he's the sun in the seed. Come, but come empty of heart and empty of mind, who travel with us shall not carry a thought or a care, for they who all things abandon everything find, and they who are drawn to the loved one escape every snare. He is our care, our goal and our snare, of our grief and our joy, the bequither and air. Six. Grape juice must ferment in the jar ere it turns into wine, so the heart in the jar of desire to sparkle and shine. Like the face of the mirror that's clear of image and form, so the heart must be free, e'en the shadows to reflect the divine. O brothers, our words are the petals of the rose that eternally blooms, and the thornless rose-bush of the soul which his image assumes. O brothers, our word is the truth, our standard the guide, no Sufis are speaking but he in whom all things abide. Yea, his parrots are we, sugar-chewing and repeating his words evermore, while the habitants root of the world camel-like thistles devour. Sugar-chewing we come for your sake, awake, O ye pilgrims awake, the cypress that once graced the grove is afloat on the river of love. O lovers, the veil of the secret he rins, and like light drops of water he gently descends, he walks on the face of the turbulent sea, driving before him the waves to their lee. Like a shepherdy calls and his flock turn to foam, scurries and scampers impatient for home. A moment alas, when his face is revealed, all the wounds of the world are miraculously healed. A moment alas, when his light disappears, the world is submerged in an ocean of tears. We are the light that is spun, for the firefly and the sun. We are the thread in the pearls of the sea and the tear. Make use of our pearls and our foam and our fire, for your sake we have come as disgrace from the sea. For your sake we have come in the flesh of desire, but to glory and beauty incarnate are we. We are the flowers in his garden, the lights in his hall, the sign on his portal, but he, he is all. He is all. The banquet, the host and the guest. The seeker, the salt and the quest. All three is he. The given, the taker, the giver. Love, the beloved, the lover. All three is he. And we, to rejoin him, like torrents escape through the hills. No fetters, no walls can restrain us. No welfare, no ills. Hope is sighing. Faith is crying. Creeds are dying. Allah, Allah. A clap of thunder, rinse of thunder, man's little wonder. Allah, Allah. Idols tumble in a jumble. Temples crumble. Allah, Allah. Flames are sweeping. Priests are reaping. Kings are weeping. Allah, Allah. Ashes cumber. Flame and dimber. Who remember? Allah, Allah. Night is crawling. Stars are falling. Souls are calling. Allah, Allah. Orbs are winging. Fire bringing. And of him singing. Allah, Allah. Clovenard in his first garden. Wait is pardon. Allah, Allah. Every flower in his bower is love's dower. Allah, Allah. His compassion and his passion are our fashion. Allah, Allah. Whirl, whirl, whirl. To the world is the size of a pearl. Dance, dance, dance. To the world's like the point of a lance. Soar, soar, soar. To the world is no more. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. End of A Chant of Mystics and Other Poems by Amin Rouhani.


There are basically three important ingredients that leads to some success in public service. Number one, you have to have a reputation for total integrity. Secondly, you have to have a reputation for hard work. And last, and it's very important, you have to have a capability of getting good people to work with you. If we can stimulate good people, the servant government, I think that's a great tribute to the school. When I came here on my job interview I was so impressed with how engaged the students are. They're engaged in the classroom, they're engaged in the community, they're engaged in the policy process and it just energizes me to work with students who want to go into the world and make a positive difference. I remember coming to Spring Preview weekend after I got accepted into Ford and just feeling so excited because I had this feeling of these are my people and this is where I belong and this is the right fit for me. So right now the world of public policy, especially here in the United States is messy and it's volatile and we need leaders who not only understand quantitative measures of policy but who can communicate those ideas well and the Ford School is a place where you can learn to do those things. Within the public service sector it is easy to get jaded when tackling difficult public policy issues but being part of a cohort that's very supportive and very inspiring helps me push on forward and continue my dreams. We do feel like a community. The students are really engaged, want to make the world a better place. Our faculty are engaged in some really interesting research and the staff help both the students and the faculty make their dreams come true. The Ford School's mission is helping improve people's lives and we do that by teaching students a toolkit that is really versatile and really powerful. And so a gift to the Ford School enables young people to have the skills to go out in the world and make a difference. Seeing so many alumni and friends of the school get excited about helping students to be able to earn their degrees was just wonderful and a really special part of the campaign for me. You know, I'm investing in future leaders who are dedicated and have the ability to solve some of our world's most pressing challenges. The Bonet Foundation Fellowship that I received has been really instrumental in my success as a state legislator. I am currently a Yenching scholar at Peking University in Beijing, China but while I was still at the University of Michigan, I co-founded an organization called We Listen. Jim Hudak's gift allowed We Listen to host a conference this fall which brought Bill Crystal and Nira Tanden to the Ford School's campus and we are excited to keep growing with the help and support of the Ford School. The Wiser Family Fund has given Ford School students chances to get overseas and experience international policy practice firsthand through internships, through overseas courses and other experiences that help launch them into careers in international affairs. The gifts that are given to the Ford School to help support student learning go a long way. They help us do some really incredible things and I think for a lot of people they wouldn't be here without them. The Rieger Fellowship let me go to Washington D.C. for the first time in work, which is something I didn't think I was going to be able to do and it helped me to navigate my way into a space where I'd been wanting to work for a long time and it turns out I'm very passionate about. It's really important to me to have a life of public service and to specifically support communities. So receiving the Gerald R. Ford Fellowship has allowed me to really maximize my academic experience here. I've been really lucky to not have to worry about finances and so I've been able to devote all of my energy and attention to classes and really get the most intellectually out of my experience here. So through the Burnett Fellowship I was able to do a summer internship with the City of Detroit's Planning and Development Department. In my work with the Planning Department I did a lot of outreach and engagement with residents who are working to create change in their neighborhood and drive strategic investment. I really hope to take the skills and experiences that I've learned here at the Ford School to work with disadvantaged communities to make sure that they have equal access to opportunity. The experiences that I gained through the fellowship program will stay with me throughout my career and I'm very grateful for having had those opportunities. The new Wiser Diplomacy Center is going to position UM to be the place in the Central United States to study diplomacy in one of the leading centers for the study and practice of diplomacy in the country. The Victors for Michigan campaign has been a huge success for the entire Ford School community. It's enabled us to help our students with fellowships and internships. It's expanded our programmatic activity. It's deepened our faculty's ability to engage in cutting-edge research and it's made us able to have a much bigger impact in the world. It's also setting the stage for incredible growth and opportunity for the Ford School in the years to come. Working with our donors has been really great, a real privilege since I've been here at the Ford School. They've been so successful in their own careers and now they're working with us to make the world a better place. I'm just deeply grateful to them. Thank you for your support. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for your support. Thank you.


What's going on everyone Sam here with late in sports cards? We are doing 22 and 21 bowman sterling One four box mixer number four random team style. Here's a look again at your random teams as always you can find these on the website under the Results tab as well as the link that is currently in chat. Good luck here. Everyone. Let's do it Start with 21. Good luck everybody. I have to put that all the Yankee game Kenzie Gore Hunter Bishop we got there you go Grayson Rodriguez. There you go, Rory Nice one there. Very promising prospect for the Orioles. You've got Otto Johan Rojas 44 out of 125 for the Phillies on the wave Jared Kellnick and Ronnie Mauricio. That's actually pretty solid Rory. G-Rod is very good. Very good. Gonna be very good It's like top 10 prospect in the MLB right now or at least was at one point JJ Boudet, Nicoladolo, Francisco Alvarez. We've got Sherton Apostle on the rookie auto going to the Rangers There you go, Texas, Jeffrey M Jermaine Mercedes, Hassan Kim, probably will be getting probably will be getting some mount castles for sure, Rory Half a dozen mount castles Got Alexander Vargas, Emerson Hancock, Nick Gonzalez, we got a goal That is Austin Cox 9 out of 50 going to the Royals. There you go KC Nam Q Jazz Chisholm rookie and 6-0 Love to see it. Hunter Bishop, Compusano, that's Pradoma. We got Blue, Yolbert Sanchez, 4 out of 25 There you go, White Sox Who's got Chicago? That would be Ricardo H Christian Robinson, CJ Abrams, Joe Yanks Joe Yanks, baby, Matthew Allen, Elliott Ramos, Trisha Mackenzie Rookie, we've got Clark Schmidt 60 out of 99 going to the Yanks on a speckle auto There you go, Shane D with the Yankees, Bobby Dahlback rookie and Spencer Howard That'll do it for box one. Is this the only sports market here? Are you talking for NBA? Uh, Jacob, or are you talking like MLB and other sports? I haven't heard of ballies Ballie sports, yeah Really? NBA and NHL? We can watch NHL on Hulu, I'm pretty sure I know I watch uh Like hockey on Hulu all the time Yeah, now that's a note.  Yeah, same thing.  There you go Washington Arthur on the uh Um combo hit there Christian Pashé rookie and Austin Hendrick. It's a good game actually Because what's his name's playing, right? Oh, they bought out Fox Sports. Wow Give it a Reese, Wayne Glears. We got Christian Robinson going to the Diamondbacks to 25 Uh auto jazz chisel. There you go Marlins Ross D congrats on the jazz. You like jazz Bobby Whitjr and Josh Jung Like that B movie reference. You know what I say to that? That's sick Let's go Oh my god Glenn and Jake Bogle going to the Dodgers I'm on the uh base Debbie Garcia rookie and Andrew Vaughn going to the White Sacks I was telling Dylan all about it today when I came in. Tom casted that. Yeah. Yeah Yeah, I know we had Tom. We always had Tom cast back up in Connecticut Logan Gilbert, we got Nick Gonzalez going to the pirates on the on-card auto There you go. Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh always does well in these. There's a rushman rookie and Nate Pearson Uh, Luis Petino that is 15 out of 199. We've got Wow, Peter Lanzo Four out of 10 on the atomic ice There you go, Rory Four out of 10 on the polar bear Pete. Let's go Rory. Can you grant buddy? That's sick, dude. I was not expecting. I had no idea that that was going to be in this product.  What a way to uh, what a way to end 2021 right there It's going to 22. Good luck here guys That is fire We stay hitting for Rory. We stay hitting for Rory on on on sports over here Sam and Sean the double S combo Steady It is the wow. There it is. That's that's it right there. That's it right there 100% it I haven't I don't think there's anything in the world. That's more it than that right there Gavin sheets Jackson co-art Cooper Kenny going to the race There you go, Tampa Jose Ramos piguero and artega favorite blackjack the air pulls through. You know it You know it Rory Let me know when you if you do end up selling that ticket too.  We got a redemption that shamed boss redemption yiddy cappy Speckle uh Refractor parallel auto going to the marlins There you go Ross again picking up a jazz chisel now a yiddy cappy very nice Willem and Diaz and JDom Oh, congrats on that one Ross Ian Lewis Colson Montgomery, that's louis on jalicuña eight out of 199 refractor Speckle Ezekiel Tovar going to the um Rockies six out of 99 on the Tovar Daniel K Rogoffal Castro and Mackenzie Gore rookie for the Padres Let's go baby. Who's up the judge? Go Aaron Let's go Aaron shell this bomb George Valera on the base auto going to the guardians. There you go Cleveland Matthew G. I'm telling you guardians always do well in this nice Valera auto on the base The new bar rookie louis seal and hunter green Alonso's actually nasty dude. Those are so cool Marcello Meyer Greg Dieckman Jose Ramos going to the Dodgers 99 out of 150 on the refractor auto please Got one. Yep as Victor Acosta and yosuara Garcia. Is that a comfort gold too? I'm assuming they probably only do that in gold. I don't see why they would do like a lower number parallel on that But yeah, 200 bucks not bad man Especially for a combo spot So the g-roge just gravy at that point I mean granted. It's not gonna be worth, you know a fortune or anything, but Have check 130 sold 250 not bad man. Take that for sure Reevaas Myers matt beerling speckle 112 out of 150 Wave aral vera, uh eight out of 125 going to the angels nice one there Warming burnabelle and alboros. Hi same card. There you go Hi, yeah, dude It's cool because it's just unique to on card as well. It's a nice looking card man Edward Cabrera. This is the doll brujan rookie. We've got steven kwan hit the kwan baby Roberto Campos going to the tigers on the base of rookie auto that is got Detroit christopher e there you go christopher Marco Luciano and colton wilker if you're steven kwan. I know honestly it has to be That would be pretty funny Jordan Lawler, you know, well, we've got refractor harry Ford 86 out of 199 going to the mariners We've got dustin harris prospect auto going to the rangers. There you go, texas very nice jeff ream Jeremy paneo rookie astros and pressy auto going to the cubs Trace weenie south relic. We got orange victor acosta 16 out of 75 going to the padres Nice hit there san diego that donovan d Donovan d cutter crawford sec beer matt veerling all on the rookie And last box uh mini box of the brakes the last pack of the break technically too See what we got alfonso reboss. There's jake meyers Blue is going to be ellie daylock cruz one out of 25 going to the reds Ross d killing it, man That is huge That is awesome, man. Nice hit on the ellie one out of 25 Pressy auto and warming burn about man. What a great break that was really good mixer I'll do a quick recap here Look at what uh toke said on uh The joke dustin harris rangers reberto compost tigers aerol vera going to the angels jose ramos dodgers george valera guardians cooper kinney reyes nick gonzalez pirates jake vogel going to the dodgers jazz chisel marlins Uh, kade kevali nationals sherryton apostol going to the rangers yohan rohas, uh, phillies zikil tovar going to the rockies Clark schmitt yankees victor acosta for the um Padres that's yolbert sanchez white socks awesome cox royals Yeti capay going to the marlins very nice and we had a pililanzo black gold atomic Four out of ten going to rory and the meps Then we had nasty one out of 25 ellie daylock cruz Going to the reds Very nice card there that'll do it for the break. Thanks again for the fill guys next up. We've got full case of this stuff