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"I had pretty tough time getting my downline in order. With no leads coming my way through contacts, I decided to avail the services of a professional MLM leads provider. Business Opportunity Leads was my obvious choice due to the multiple guarantees you get while signing-up. Basically, I had nothing to lose when I signed-up because my business was going nowhere without quality MLM leads and your guarantees assured me that I won't be ripped-off of my hard-earned money. The results were terrific. Many leads turned into sales and my business was back on track. My HEARTFELT GRATITUDE TO YOUR TEAM!"
Network marketing companies, MLMs, and referral marketing companies that have been around longer are more trustworthy. Why is that? Government regulations on MLMS have increased in severity and frequency over the years. Companies that have survived such regulations will also have to have survived the threat of lawsuits, bad publicity, and negative feedback from unsatisfied distributors — not many companies would be able to survive this. A bad MLM company that is still around and has been sued, reviewed, and regulated will have extremely negative reviews and publicity surrounding it.
Fll-Inc can handle the pre-qualification of Business Opportunity Leads. This can be accomplished by gaining information from the leads about what their needs and goals may be. All of the leads are followed up with and examined carefully to ensure that they are suitable Business Opportunity Leads and that they will be able to provide the level of success or results that are desired.
MLMLeadSpecialist spends a great amount of time generating QUALITY Business Opportunity Leads. Our Multi Level Marketing leads are compiled from prospects who have responded to our National Advertising Campaigns. At MLMLeadSpecialist.com we generate fresh, responsive, and targeted MLM leads at affordable prices. When you purchase leads from us you are buying directly from the lead generator. We cut out the middleman and pass on the savings to you!
An example of a high-profile multi-level marketing company defending its practices is Herbalife Ltd., a manufacturer and distributor of weight-loss and nutritional products with more than 500,000 distributors. Although the FTC had been investigating Herbalife, it was activist investor William Ackman who shed a national spotlight on the company by shorting $1 billion of the company's stock in 2013. Ackman accused the company of operating a pyramid scheme and backed his allegations with a bet the company's stock price would fall under the weight of the scam.
The end result of the MLM business model is, therefore, one of a company (the MLM company) selling its products and services through a non-salaried workforce ("partners") working for the MLM company on a commission-only basis while the partners simultaneously constitute the overwhelming majority of the very consumers of the MLM company's products and services that they, as participants of the MLM, are selling to each other in the hope of one day themselves being at the top of the pyramid. This creates great profit for the MLM company's actual owners and shareholders.
Below is a screen shot of a program called Zennoa which l reviewed and was in the pre-launch stage. Google did not even know that program exists and ANY website could have ranked for that search term. There is really no point in wasting valuable time flogging dead horses. There is no need for another review of Empower Network, Vemma or those MLM ancestors … LOL.
Ben Thataway, a CEO benefits forever off of his employees and the employees can spend a lifetime and never make the kind of money they can make in network marketing. I know someone personally that beat out 80,000 representatives, did not join the company untli 3 years after it launched and became the top income earner. What you've heard, or what you think you know about network marketing is false.
About Us Welcome to MLM Diary We are very glad to launch MLMDiary.com, a website providing a bridge between the Leading MLM Companies and all those peoples who are connected with Network Marketing Industry. We aim to cater a wide range of MLM business group by collaborating MLM Leaders, MLM trainers, MLM Companies and MLM service providers. Our Vision To create awareness about the Network Marketing Industry to each and every peo...
look if you go and search top MLM businesses, no matter what link you click on, the number one company is amway. Why everyone goes with different companies i don't get it, check it out compare to mary kay. Here's the thing though, I contract with amway, but my organization is worldwide. Mentorship organization. I feel which ever MLM business you choose, join a mentorship organization that is in that business. The reason why amway is number one is because of worldwide. it's only 10% of everyone that is in amway, yet 90% of the 6 and 7 figure earners are part of worldwide…why? because they broken down the company and know exactly how to succeed and retire quicker than someone who tries amway on their own or joins another mentorship company. what's the success rate? to those who do what others have done 100%. So at the end of the day, consider all of this. With amway and worldwide, it doesn't matter how old you are, where you come from, ANYONE can do it. Mary Kay is a female company, good luck getting a bunch of single dudes to make it with that.
MLM salespeople are, therefore, expected to sell products directly to end-user retail consumers by means of relationship referrals and word of mouth marketing, but most importantly they are incentivized to recruit others to join the company's distribution chain as fellow salespeople so that these can become down line distributors.[3][6][7] According to a report that studied the business models of 350 MLMs, published on the Federal Trade Commission's website, at least 99% of people who join MLM companies lose money.[8][9] Nonetheless, MLMs function because downline participants are encouraged to hold onto the belief that they can achieve large returns, while the statistical improbability of this is de-emphasised. MLMs have been made illegal or otherwise strictly regulated in some jurisdictions as a mere variation of the traditional pyramid scheme, including in mainland China.[10][11]
OK here is the difference Steve. If you quit any of these MLM companies for a whole year, Continue buying product but help no one set up a shopping account, even 2 years, will you continue to get paid by the company? So Steve, as a Director with Melaleuca you helped 8 people total set up a shopping account. There is no Direct or multilevel sales in that, and if they shop you earn commission on their shopping. You will not know what they shop for and thats ok cause its private. Melaleuca is a Consumer direct Manufacturer that sells to the public the products that THEY THEMSELVES make. So by your standards then …Proctor and Gamble is an MLM also. Oh and yes, I took over a year off of inviting people to see what Melaleuca was, and still received my residual check every single month. It is against company policy to sell Melaleuca products.
Write articles or blogs. Writing is an effective way to get in front of your market through other people's websites, and your only cost is that of your time in writing. The key to writing an article or blog that another site will run is to make it useful and informative, but not advertorial. As a network marketer, you have two types of articles and markets: The first is related to your product or service. If you sell candles, for example, then write a Valentine's Day post on creating romance with candles or something about how candles can improve mood. The second option is related to direct sales and the MLM business. For example, you can write articles about how your MLM career changed your life or how to be successful in direct sales for lifestyle and business websites. Just know that most places won't want you to directly promote your business within the article, but they may allow you to include a link to your website in your bio.
Thanks for this list. Loved seeing Monat as #1! I am a Market Partner for this company and the money is crazy good because the products are awesome. I was disappointed to see Plexus at #28 and I wasn't impressed by what you had to say about them. Plexus is NOT a weight loss company. Their products promote a healthy gut and they are clinically proven to decrease inflammation and balance blood sugar. Weight loss is a natural side effect of body balance. The products work and there are a lot of people I know personally making good money with Plexus.
I totally agree, Mary. You can lose soooo much more just by opening up a small storefront business. I was in the Spa Industry and then the economy tanked in late 2008. I did not renew my lease in 2009. Lost my several hundred thousand dollar build-out. Lost so much more than taking an MLM business seriously. Even if I would have front loaded on a ton of product, I still would have been better off. People spend $750 and get some business cards then do nothing and blame MLM.
I believe the ones that don't make it in the industry (if they chose a good one) don't give it enough time (like you said they quit before a year is up) and commitment to doing what it takes to grow. I don't spam FB and only 2 family members order product but I have at least 100+ home school moms making >$2000/mth. Some team members make more, some less. It's what they put into it (business wise not monetary)
Appreciate the hard work studying this… Im apart of the #1 company on there Advocare… have been for 7 years and one of the higher paid single guys in the nation… I just have to disagree with "over priced Products" comment. There is a mark up on every product in the world… Our products actually work which is why those endorsers you mentioned turn down high level incomes with other companies to endorse us for a stipend of products per month. Advocare has numerous people making a great profit and even more just enjoying a product they would pay double what they do for to feel the way they do. Success rate isnt low my friend… Its just the quit rate is through the roof. Highly recommend everyone seeing this and you sir to watch "Rise of the Entrepreneur" by Eric Worre on Itunes to get some serious facts about the MLM industry. Thanks for all the research and blessings!
Prequalified prospects, sales referrals, or genealogy lists, whatever name is used, MLM leads are the lifeblood of any MLM (multi-level marketing) business, and without a continuous supply, the network marketing distributor will go broke and have to close down their MLM business. The question most networkers ask is "where do I get the best possible MLM leads for little or no money?" Are they generated on the internet, bought from an MLM lead-generation company, worked in the local market or found among friends and family? The answer is easier than it may seem; all of the above.
"MLMs very rarely emphasize the extreme likelihood of failure, or the extreme likelihood of financial loss, from participation in MLM. MLMs are also seldom forthcoming about the fact that any significant success of the few individuals at the top of the MLM participant pyramid is in fact dependent on the continued financial loss and failure of all other participants below them in the MLM pyramid." (Wikipedia)
Disclaimer :- We are just the publisher; we are not responsible for any plan which is listed here. We are not responsible for any kind of money lose from the joining or participation in the published programs here. It is your responsibility that where you have to invest/join any kind of program, it mean that we are not responsible by any lose you get. We do not own or promote any plan or program listed here. The information provided here is for your own use. Some programs, investments, plans, any listings or free/paid advertisements here may be illegal depending on your country's laws. We do not recommend you spend what you cannot afford to lose. We are not responsible for any lose of money. It is your own responsibilities of any lose. We are not responsible for any lose.
Writing and commenting in MLM niche forums is yet again another great way to generate free MLM leads. Network marketers hang out on forums reading, writing and asking questions. When a new expert shows up on the forum answering specific questions, the regular readers will go investigating to find out who they are, and a new relationship will start to form.
The main attraction of the binary plan is that distributors are only required two downline recruits. Why is this a good thing? Because once you recruit more than two distributors and these excess distributors are placed below your downline, you can start earning commissions; this is a much lower recruitment requirement than other compensation plans.
Our Telephone Interviewed Leads are not just contact lists. Our Verification Department has contacted each individual lead before you receive it to ensure their seriousness in wanting to start a home based business. You will receive all of their contact information and best time to call so that you are able to contact them at a convenient time and speak with an individual that is sincere about making money from home. We also offer our Telephone Interviewed Leads in female only for any business that prefers contacting only women.


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Cleaned out dead hives
Both hives didn't survive the winter and were filled with tens of thousands of dead bees, inches thick in the bottom of each hive. The hives were moldy but didn't smell too bad, surprisingly. Both hives were still full of honey. I had observed activity into December but nothing since. I have known since a quick peek in late January that only one hive still had a small cluster but they, too, perished.

subset: commoncrawl


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Dubai Electricity and Water Authority issues a request for qualification to build and operate new phase of the Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum Solar Park
Dubai Electricity and Water Authority (DEWA) has issued a request for qualification for developers to build and operate the fifth phase of the Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum Solar Park, with a capacity of 900MW.
The phase will use photovoltaic solar panels based on the independent power project and will be commissioned in stages starting from the second quarter of 2021.
DEWA said the move supports the Dubai Clean Energy Strategy 2050 to provide 75 percent of Dubai's total power output from clean energy.
The Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum Solar Park is the largest single-site strategic solar park of its kind in the world. It will generate 5,000MW by 2030 with investments worth AED50 billion.
The 13MW photovoltaic first phase became operational in 2013 using photovoltaic solar panels while the 200MW photovoltaic second phase of the solar park started operations in March 2017.
The 800MW photovoltaic third phase will be operational by 2020 while the fourth phase of the solar park will feature the tallest solar tower in the world at 260 metres and the largest thermal storage capacity of 15 hours.
Saeed Mohammed Al Tayer, managing director and CEO of DEWA, said: "We are committed to completing the phases of the Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum Solar Park to the highest international standards with the latest solar power technologies.
"To achieve our vision to become a leading sustainable innovative global corporation, we are working to establish sustainability as the roadmap that secures a brighter and happier future for Dubai, by launching major world-class initiatives and projects in green development," said Al Tayer.For all the latest energy and oil news from the UAE and Gulf countries, follow us on Twitter and Linkedin, like us on Facebook and subscribe to our YouTube page, which is updated daily.


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Hi Crafty Stampers!
The Occasions Mini Catalog ends tonight! So be sure to place your orders before they are gone forever.
Have a great day!
« Happy Easter | Main | Summer Mini goes live today! »
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New Delhi: The Economic Survey 2018-19 tabled in Parliament on Thursday has suggested ways to bring about behavioural changes to widen the tax net in India.
The document listed out methods such as linking religion to tax evasion, rewarding top taxpayers by naming roads, building and trains after them, and expediting boarding privileges at airports, fast-lane privileges on roads and toll booths, special "diplomatic" type lanes at immigration, among others.
The document noted that in Hinduism, non-payment of debts is a sin and also a crime. The scriptures ordain that if a person's debts are not paid and he dies in a state of indebtedness, his soul may have to face evil consequences.
The Economic Survey quoted Hinduism's doctrine of pious obligation and read, "Therefore, it is the duty of his children to save him from such evil consequences. This duty or obligation of a child to repay the debts of the deceased parent is rested upon a special doctrine."
Further reinstating the need to link religion with tax evasion, the annual document read, "Under Islam, Prophet Muhammad advocated – Allaahummainnia'oodhibika min al-ma'thamwa'lmaghram (O Allaah, I seek refuge with You from sin and heavy debt). A person cannot enter Paradise until his debt is paid off. All of his wealth could be used to pay the debt and if it is insufficient then one or more heirs of the deceased could voluntarily pay for him."
The Economic Survey also quoted from the Bible. "The Bible says, 'Let no debt remain outstanding except the continuing debt to love one another - Romans 13:8' and 'The wicked borrows and does not repay, but the righteous shows mercy and gives -Psalm 37:21'," it noted.
Thus, the document read, the repayment of debt in one's own life is prescribed as necessary by scriptures across religions. "Given the importance of religion in the Indian culture, the principles of behavioural economics need to be combined with this "spiritual/religious norm" to reduce tax evasion and wilful default in the country," it read.
In order to incentivise top taxpayers, the Economic Survey suggested the following ways:
- Signboards showing "tax money at work" in constructions projects in a panchayat/ district explicitly convey to citizens that their tax money is used in valuable public goods, thereby lowering perceptions of vertical unfairness.
- Top 10 highest taxpayers within a district can be highlighted and accorded due recognition. This may take the form of expedited boarding privileges at airports, fast-lane privileges on roads and toll booths, special "diplomatic" type lanes at immigration.
- Further, the highest taxpayers over a decade could be recognised by naming important buildings, monuments, roads, trains, initiatives, schools and universities, hospitals and airports in their name.
- Citizens perceive vertical fairness to be low if they find their tax payments being squandered in wasteful public expenditure or by corruption.
- Perceptions of horizontal fairness suffer when the employee class is forced to contribute disproportionately to income taxes while the class of self-employed gets away paying minimal taxes.
- Automatic deduction of tax and directing all or portion of refunds into savings accounts can be used to encourage savings, including retirement savings.
- Sending messages to individuals suggesting that not declaring taxes is a deliberate and intentional choice on their part can help them overcome status quo bias and improve compliance.
- Filing of tax forms even for zero payment of tax. Removing barriers to filing taxes - procrastination, hassle of filling forms, or failing to understand the terms - can improve compliance.
- Providing information about peer behaviour can make taxpayers adjust their reported income. Messages in the form of moral appeals to taxpayers regarding payment of taxes may have limited effects. Tax amnesties might reduce tax compliance if taxpayers perceive amnesties as unfair. Amnesties can decrease the government's credibility and the taxpayers' intrinsic motivation to comply by setting the incorrect social norm.
- Public shaming of individuals who don't pay taxes can reduce non-compliance if they are reintegrated immediately. However, persistent public shaming can be detrimental for compliance because of stigmatisation effects. If cheaters feel that the probability of their detection has increased, voluntary disclosure programs for tax payments can increase tax evasion incidence as these programs may offer the possibility to avoid strict punishments.


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BOSTON — When media was allowed onto the practice court at the Auerbach Center on Tuesday after the team's Summer League practice, Boston Celtics two-way contract signee Max Strus could be seen working on a variety of shots with first-round pick Grant Williams.
Strus worked on pull-up jumpers off one and two dribbles, 3-pointers clearly meant to mimic screen actions, and even a slithery side-step triple reminiscent of Jayson Tatum. Strus wasn't 100 percent from the field — the side-step 3-pointers in particular looked difficult for both he and Williams — but the former DePaul star's ability to shoot the leather off the ball was evident.


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Plot No. B-25-26, 26-A, Swarn Cinema Road New Delhi, Delhi - 110051
Home >> NABH >> NABH Hospitals >> Shri Ram Singh Hospital & Heart Institute
We all live only once and at Shri Ram Singh Hospital & Heart Institute we know the importance of your life. Shri Ram Singh Hospital & Heart Institute is one of the most comprehensive hospitals in the region, with leading specialists in every field of medicine. The Hospital comes under the patronage of ANH Group of Hospitals. Shri Ram Singh Hospital & Heart Institute had its humble beginning in the summer of 1990 and was conceived with an objective of serving the residents of the region. Envisaging the lack of medical infrastructure and the ever-growing demand for quality medical facilities compelled Dr. Ashok Singh (Director) and Dr. (Mrs.) Deepa Singh (Director) to extend their service in this part of Delhi. It is situated on the main commercial road with plenty of parking space. This is a 100 bedded hospital providing a wide range of services and quality care.
Quality Health helps to book online appointment with Transparency in charges and special discounts at NABH Accredited Shri Ram Singh Hospital & Heart Institute, New Delhi. In addition to that, booking through Quality Health, you can get Patient Friendly service and Minimal Waiting time. Get Information like Postal Address, Contact Phone Number, E-Mail id, Doctors Name and Specialities of Shri Ram Singh Hospital & Heart Institute, New Delhi.
To provide high quality and cost effective healthcare services that meet the needs of our patients and the population that we serve.
To be a national leader for excellence in patient care.


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Trail Snow Report
Matthew Lourey State Trail - Nemadji State Forest
Trail conditions:
|Trail conditions: closed
|Trail groomed? no
|Trail base: "
|Trail mileage: 60.0
The trail(s):
The trail consists of northern hardwood forest with vast swamp lands. You may see deer, wolf, bear, grouse and waterfowl.
Last updated on March 25, 2019. Local snow depth is ".
Getting there
701 South Kenwood Ave
Moose Lake, MN 55767
To get to trailhead, take Highway 23 northeast to county road 8 to Holyoke. From Holyoke, take county road 145 to Harlis Road. Take Harlis Road to Bley Road. Trailhead is located off Bley Road.
Parking available at the trailhead.
Phone: 218-460-7021
Email: [email protected]
Contact hours are Monday through Friday, 8:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
More InfoSkiing »
Ski pass »
Snowmobiling »


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Prices start from £1000 for 2 hours of live music (separated into 2 x 1 hour or 3 x 40 minute sets) and a DJ service until 12am
Performances can be tailored to your needs wherever possible. Please get in touch for a bespoke quote
Events outside of the midlands - cost varies by location. For a bespoke offer, please contact us.
DJ after 12am - £100 per hour (please note that many venues are only licensed until 12am)
We provide all of our own equipment (including lighting) and sound engineer at no extra cost.
Please contact us if you have special requests - we will do our very best to accommodate and make your special day unique.
contact information
Click here to download a booking form
Please send completed forms to:
For any general enquiries, please complete the form below and we'll get back to you right away


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Philip accepts instructions in a range of commercial disputes, including contractual matters, condemnation hearings, issues related to customs, excise and duties, credit hire and road traffic accidents, insolvency and others. He is particularly interested in matters where commercial law intersects with public and regulatory law.
Examples of recent work,
Successfully acted for three claimants in a four day multitrack case in the high court where the court ruled that the defendant held a lease on trust for a company in which the claimants were directors/shareholders, Application to set aside judgment in default on behalf of a businessman who was sued for deceitfully engaging investors in a scheme to operate ATM machines that dispensed gold bars, Instructed as part of a legal team by Ingenious Media in a high value tax dispute concerning the scope of tax breaks in the British film industry.
British Chevening Scholarship, 2000
Suffolk and North Essex Law Society (SNELS) for 1st place on the masters or Law (LL.M) 2000-01 programme, Essex University
Association of Regulatory and Disciplinary Lawyers (ARDL)
Bar Transfer Test (BTT), 2012
Masters of Law (LLM) in International Human Rights law (Distinction), Essex University, 2002
Legal Education Certificate (Jamaican Bar Vocational course), Norman Manley Law School, 1996
Bachelor of Laws (Honours) 1993, University of the West Indies, 1993


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Study Finds Gains From Teacher Evaluations
The education research of recent years has pointed overwhelmingly to the importance of teachers. Perhaps more than anything else – quality of principal, size of school, size of class – the strength or weakness of classroom teachers influences how much students learn and even how they fare later in life. Read more here.


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Asset Performance Management (APM): APM is a set of software tools and applications for optimizing operational assets (such as plants, equipment, and infrastructure) essential to the operation of an enterprise.
Organizations invest in APM tools and technologies to reduce unplanned repairs (downtime), improve asset availability, minimize maintenance costs and reduce the risk of failure of critical assets. APM tools can improve an organization's ability to comply with regulations that prescribe how assets are inspected and maintained.
APM uses data capture (IIoT), integration, visualization and analytics to improve operations and maintenance timing and to identify which maintenance and inspection activities to perform on mission-critical assets.
With IIoT valuable, real-time data is available to analyze asset performance. Sensor data can include temperature, speed, energy usage, vibrations and much more, giving your team the ability to diagnose issues before they are critical.


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1. Levitate configuration explained
The decision to build Levitate based on pos and pow0reward sctypt was made because of its eco-friendly character. This algorithm and its code base do not waste energy and money in mining. The inclusion of pos0reward makes sure miningenergy is not wasted and it provides a solid and future-proof base to Levitate.
2. The meaning and goal of Levitate
Levitate means to ascend, hover, float or rise. With Levitate we intend to introduce a coin that will do that in means of awareness, usernumbers and market value. Our goal is to make Levitate beneficial for all its users and to become a reliable and solid cryptocurrency for people all over the world. Levitate aims to facilitate worldwide trade and exchange of value.


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Futurism believes communication between customer and company is the key success factor in any business relationship. If you wish to make an inquiry, or require information regarding our services, products and any other issue related to Futurism, please get in touch with us.
"*" symbols for mandatory fields
Setup Your Website + eCommerce + Back Office ERP Within Few Minutes. . .
Futurism Technologies has caught the attention of some of the world's leading certification organizations. The company has been in the limelight for its constant endeavor to provide quality products and services to its customers.


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- Easy to mount step-through design
- Powerful 500W Brushless Motor
- 30-50 Mile Estimated Range Per Charge (556.8Wh Lithium-ion Battery)
- Max Speed 28mph (45kph)
- Hydraulic Disc Brakes w/ Safety Motor Cut-Off Sensor
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Pace 500 Step Through Ebike
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Pace 500 Step Through Ebike
"No need to swing that leg to mount this e-bike, just step-through and have fun! This 28mph Class III e-bike maximizes your outdoor activities and keeps you going on. It's like powering up your legs to make hills a thing of the past. With a 500W hub-drive motor and large comfortable tires, the Pace gives you the ultimate balance in comfort and power. With a relaxed, upright riding position and 5-levels of pedal-assist, this ride will keep the smile on your face all day long."
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In this Book
- The Empire Strikes Back: Outsiders and the Struggle over Legal Education
- 1998
- Book
- Published by: NYU Press
- View |
- View Citation
Once dismissed as plodding and superfluous, legal scholarship is increasingly challenging the liberal white male establishment that currently dominates legal education and practice. The most significant development since the emergence of the casebook, at the turn of the century, this trend has unleashed a fierce political struggle. At stake is nothing less than the entire enterprise of law and education, and thus a powerful platform from which to shape society.
The result, here vividly recounted by Arthur Austin, has been an uncompromising, take-no-prisoners fight for dominance. The challenge comes from Outsiders, a collection of feminists, critical race theorists, and critical legal studies scholars who rely on unconventional methods such as storytelling to give voice to the underrepresented. In the other, demographically larger camp resides the monolithic Empire, consisting of traditionalists who, having developed an effective form of scholarship, now circle the wagons against the outsider heathens.
Neither partisan nor objective, Austin is both respectful and critical of each faction. The Empire, he believes, is imperious, closed-minded, and self-perpetuating; the Outsiders are too often paranoid, anti-pragmatic, and overly tolerant of fringe work. Is the new scholarship a vacuous, overpoliticized, soon-to-be-vanquished trend or the harbinger of an important new paradigm? Is reconciliation possible? Anyone with a vested interest in the answer to these questions, and in the future of law, cannot afford to miss Arthur Austin's invaluable volume.
Arthur Austin is the Edgar A. Hahn Professor of Jurisprudence at Case Western Reserve University.
Table of Contents
- Acknowledgments
- p. xiii
- Download |
- Note to the Reader
- pp. xv-xvii
- Download |
- 1: The Outsiders vs. the Empire
- pp. 1-13
- Download |
- 2: The Empire
- pp. 14-32
- Download |
- 5: "CLS Is Dead As a Doornail"
- pp. 83-111
- Download |
- 6: Critical Race Scholarship
- pp. 112-133
- Download |
- 7: Can Voice and Truth Coexist?
- pp. 134-155
- Download |
- 8: The Abyss of Legal Scholarship
- pp. 156-178
- Download |
- 9: Comments and Conclusions
- pp. 179-200
- Download |
- Bibliography
- pp. 201-207
- Download |
- About the Author
- p. 215
- Download |


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The musicians' area
This minstrels' gallery is a balcony where the musicians sat to play. It has an Arab-style wooden lattice and rail inset with ivory.
The musicians' area leads to a small room that leads to a gallery used by the servants to observe visitors to the main floor.


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- Tel:
- Work +372 626 4300
- Fax:
- Fax +372 626 4306
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- tgsbaltic.com
Dr Jur Leonid Tolstov
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Work Department
Real Estate & Construction, Litigation & Dispute Resolution, Corporate/Commercial, Insolvency
Leonid Tolstov advises clients on various matters, such as on transactions, mergers, divisions and liquidation of companies and liability of members of management bodies. He is a strong litigator and has represented clients in various corporate disputes concerning management liability, disputes between shareholders, contractual and consequential claims, non-contractual liability, legal remedies arising from law, property claims etc. Leonid has also represented clients in complex landmark disputes in all court instances including the Supreme Court. He is also a good intermediary and negotiator and is able to reach a compromise satisfying all parties even in the most complex disputes. He is a regular lecturer in non-contractual obligation matters in the University of Tartu and has published articles in both in local and foreign publications, including in scientific journals. His PhD thesis was "Tort liability of the director to company's creditors". Leonid Tolstov is a Member of the Supervisory Board of Estiko, one of the leading real estate developers in Estonia.
2017 to date Partner, Attorney-at-Law, Law Firm TGS Baltic (formerly VARUL)
2010–2017 Partner, Law Firm VARUL
2004–2010 Senior Associate, Law Firm VARUL
1999–2004 Associate, Law Firm VARUL
Estonian, English, German, Russian
International Bar Association since 2013
Commercial Law Commission of the Estonian Bar Association 2013–2017
Estonian Bar Association since 2000
2015 University of Tartu, Faculty of Law, PhD
2000 University of Tartu, Faculty of Law, BA
Commercial, corporate and M&A
Within: Commercial, corporate and M&A
At TGS Baltic, a notable mandate for the M&A team was advising pharmacy chain Euroapteek on its acquisition of Ülikooli Apteek, while the corporate team was involved in the restructuring of Møller Real Estate Baltic. Leonid Tolstov heads the firm's corporate practice, while newly promoted partners Kadri Kallas and Sander Kärson lead in M&A work. Other key clients for the firm include Cybernetica, Merck Sharp & Dohme, and Talot, which the firm advised on its €10.5m acquisition of Lasbet.


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Get Behind The Badge is currently chartered to assist first responders in Franklin, Delaware, Fairfield, Licking, Madison, Pickaway and Union Counties (Central Ohio). These chartered counties are eligible for an immediate Line of Duty Death (LODD) Benefit that fits the PSOBA Guidelines.
Part of the charitable mission of Get Behind The Badge is to assist first responders with any financial hardships due to death, injury or illness that have occurred on or off duty. Get Behind The Badge will assist any first responder and/or their families throughout the State of Ohio by holding a fundraising event.
For more info about Get Behind The Badge's charitable mission, please contact us at email@example.com
Get Behind The Badge also supports First Responders with financial sponsorships for sporting activites, memorial and monument expenses, scholarships and endowments. For more info about requesting a sponsorship, email us at email@example.com.
*All campaigns are subject to rules and regulations set forth by the GBTB executive board. All rules and regulations will be discussed upon request. For further details, contact us at 614-715-4282 or at firstname.lastname@example.com
Death must have occurred on-duty or be duty related.
Death must meet Federal PSOB guidelines.
Must be a full-time, part-time, reserve or volunteer law enforcement or fire personnel as defined by ORC.
Must be employed by a municipality, township, city, county, state or federal agency. (No private agencies or security companies).
Must be a full time special agent with the ATF, FBI or DEA.
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The financial hardship can be an injury, death or illness that has occurred on or off duty.
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GBTB will assist the requestor with coordinating a fundraising campaign chosen by the family. Contact us at email@example.com
For assistance please contact us at 614-715-4282 or complete and submit our "Assistance Request Form" and e-mail to firstname.lastname@example.com
We will respond within 48 hours and provide you with further instructions.
All matters, criteria, benefit amounts and regulations subject to change without notice. For current information, please contact us at 614-715-4282 or firstname.lastname@example.com .


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What is HTV Cadets?
Ozan Fikri, the man behind Highlands TV, has decided to open up the film and television world to aspiring film-makers, young and old. Oz, along with his team of trained professionals, online film-making master classes, and special guest speakers from within the industry, will provide all the information and hands-on experience you need to become an established videographer with our Cadetship Programme. Starting on the 14th January 2019, we will be taking weekly junior and senior classes at the Mittagong Women's Association Hall. There, you will learn the in's and out's of the film-making trade, as well as developing your business skills. As part of your graduation, you will work on YouTube shows, film sets, and participate in the return of HighlandsTV to the online platform. You will also have the opportunity to tour the sets at Fox Studios and learn from the very best of Hollywood in Australia. Positions are limited, to apply for yours today!
Classes are $15 per session, 2 sessions a week for juniors and seniors respectively. *(minimum enrolment: 1 term) The year is 4 x 10-week terms with ~12 weeks holiday
Sign Up Today!
All ages 11 and up
Monday and Wednesday
JUNIOR CLASS: 11yo - 18yo
4:30pm - 6:30pm
7:00pm - 9:00pm
Cost: $15 a session
(minimum enrolment period: 1 Term)
Any further questions?
Ph: 0421 507 777
Email: email@example.com
Term Dates:
14th & 16th of January 2019: Open Days (4pm - 5pm)
TERM 1: 21st of January 2019- Orientation Day
27th March 2019 - Term 1 ends, Holidays begin.
TERM 2: 15th April 2019
19th June 2019 - Term 2 ends, Holidays begin.
TERM 3: 8th July 2019
11th September 2019 - Term 3 ends, Holidays begin.
TERM 4: 30th September 2019
4th September 2019 - Term 4 ends, Award Night.


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Part devil, part angel, the specter of Jim Morrison has haunted America's consciousness since his premature death in 1971. His spirit seemed dark, and the graphic despair of his Lizard King persona reigned supreme in his lifetime, but Jim Morrison died with a smile on his face. Was his journey through the afterlife as tumultuous as his journey through life? This is the question Mick Farren answers in his fascinatingly complex novel based on one of the twentieth century's most enigmatic figures.
Jim Morrison's Adventures in the Afterlife picks up the story of Morrison as he hurtles through a purgatory-like afterlife in search of some way to bring his soul to peace. Along the way he finds Doc Holliday--and together they find themselves chasing the restless fire-and-brimstone evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson, whose soul has broken after death into two warring halves. McPherson's sexier half becomes the object of Jim's obsession, and as the two struggle to find each other in this disordered land, their wild, careening chase through a dozen dystopiae recalls imagined worlds as diverse as Burgess's A Clockwork Orange or Terry Gilliam's Brazil.
This is a daring, hilarious romp through the landfill of millennial society. Possessed of an imagination that rivals that of any of our edgiest fantasists, steeped in the detritus and ephemera of three decades of pop culture, Mick Farren has crafted in this new novel a bizarre and compelling fantasia.
Animee McPherson stood on the terrace and stared balefully across the landscape of Heaven. For perhaps the two millionth time since her death, her rage at the manner in which God had betrayed her boiled to one of its cyclical peaks. How dare He, if indeed He existed at all, treat her with such unconscionable treachery? She had done so much on His behalf. She had avoided temptations, bypassed indulgences, forgone the pleasures of the flesh. She had sacrificed to the maximum in His name and, from her perspective, He had cynically betrayed her. Her entire life had hinged on a single belief in which she had placed absolute trust. He had promised a Heaven when she died. That He then so totally reneged on the deal transcended the criminal and took the burden of guilt to a new level of divine iniquity. Aimee McPherson had arrived in the Afterlife only to discover that, if she wanted a Heaven, she was expected to build it herself. God Himself had failed to put in even the most cursory manifestation, and she had begun to doubt that He actually existed at all.
If there was a God, He appeared to believe that this psychic erector set would be ample reward for a lifetime of love and devotion, of prayer, praise, and supplication. He had presented her with a blank celestial slate and left her to make it up for herself. After all the promises, the only Heaven she had received or perceived had come directly out of her own imagination, without help, without encouragement, without even the benefit of an instruction manual.
Aimee McPherson stood on the terrace and stared balefully across the landscape of Heaven and knew that it was entirely her own creation. This should have pleased her, if for no other reason than that of pride in accomplishment. Pride in accomplishment, however, counted for little beside abandonment by God. This Heaven had been torn, at a great cost of emotion and energy, piece by piece and construct by construct, from the deepest soul core of her imagination, and the effort of its manufacture had not been easy. Back on Earth, from the moment that she had devoted herself to God and His works, she'd had little call to use her imagination, and now she found it a weakened and atrophied thing. Creating Heaven from the ground up had been a struggle and chore, imposed on her at exactly the time she was expecting only relief. Heaven should have been ready and waiting for her when she arrived, spick-and-span, fluffed and folded, like some metaphysical five-star hotel with Saint Peter to greet her at the reception desk, angelic bellhops to assist her, a deputation of long-deceased pets waiting for her with soulful eyes and wagging tails, and a metaphoric complimentary mint on the pillow.
Even coming up with an overall design concept had been no easy thing. At first she had leaned heavily on what she remembered of the work of the artist Maxfield Parrish, coupled with no slight touch of Disney's Fantasia. This early borrowing, and her admittedly flawed memory, tended to account for the overly vibrant cartoon colors, the wine-dark indigo of the water in the lake, the dazzling ultramarine of the cloudless sky, the deep somber green of the cypresses and Scotch pines on the headland on the far side of the water. The heliotrope of the ice-cream mountains in the far distance and the velvet unreality of the immaculate daisy-flecked grass that ran down to the water's edge, drawn directly from the Disney school, was, if anything, less plausible. She had to admit that the way the outcropping of raw, gold-veined marble tended to resemble some strange, overripe, processed cheese food was actually her own fault. She seemed to be incapable of producing authentic-looking minerals, much in the way that some people can't draw hands. The Maxfield Parrish memory also accounted for the presence of the small neoclassic temple over on the promontory that projected into the lake some two hundred yards from where she was standing. Parrish had inspired the half dozen diaphanously clad virgins who danced, hand in hand, perky and unflagging sprites, endlessly circling in a dance with basic choreography in the interpretive tradition of Isadora Duncan. Disney, on the other hand, had provided the fawns, bunnies, and happy little bluebirds that cavorted in the air above, whistling and cheeping the melodies of saccharine pop ballads of the thirties, forties, and fifties, as Aimee stood on the terrace regarding her Creation.
As though sensing, if not her actual thoughts, certainly her general mood, a lone bluebird darted to within eighteen inches of her face and hung hovering, smiling blandly and whistling disjointed snatches of
Over the Rainbow. Suddenly furious, Aimee snarled and swatted at the bird.
Get away from me, you inane figment! Get the hell away from me!
The bird deftly dodged her slapping hand, but then only retreated some six inches and continued to hover. It started to whistle the chorus from
Swinging on a Star. This time she swung at the bluebird with a clenched and unexpectedly accurate fist. The blow connected, taking the bluebird completely by surprise. It staggered back, cartoon-style on empty air, with small stars, suns, and planets circling its head. Aimee allowed herself a grim smile.
That'll teach you to screw around with me, you flying rodent.
The bluebird shook itself in midair, shedding three feathers that drifted lazily down to the terrace. The bird looked at her reproachfully and then zigzagged away to join its companions. Aimee glared after it.
I ought to erase the whole bunch of you and start all over again.
In moments of self-doubt, anxiety, and depression, Aimee would castigate herself for concocting a Heaven that resembled nothing more than a very bad animated painting on black velvet, set to a soundtrack of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs blended with New Age elevator music. In the depths of this emotional trough, she found it all too easy to believe that even her own creations, the bluebird included, were turning against her and secretly laughing at her presumptuous ambition. Fortunately, after she discovered that both Prozac and Valium could be conjured out of the air merely by thinking about them, she was able to ensure that the frequency of such moods was strictly limited, and she began to find both the construction of Heaven and the contemplation of the finished product a great deal less stressful.
For a time, she had half believed that God might come to her, like some crowning glory or ceremonial prize, when Heaven was finally completed to both His and her satisfaction. This belief had finally wilted and died, however, when God failed to put in His much-anticipated appearance. After no manifest rainbow, no pillar of fire, not so much as a lousy dove, her attitude had changed and her resolution hardened. If God was going to forsake her so casually, she, doing as she had been done by, would likewise forsake Him. She would continue to extend her Heaven, and it would be open to all who came. It would be exactly what every Christian soul needed and expected after the trauma of death and its immediate aftermath, right down to the very last golden sunbeam, faithful collie, and cascading waterfall. The only difference was that she would provide the godhead herself. She would make herself the focus of the cumulative praise and adoration; she would be the happy recipient of the lauding and magnifying. She knew that it might take a certain degree of adjustment, particularly on the part of the males, before they could accept her as the legitimate deity. On the other side of the coin, she would have the instant loyalty of all those feminists who maintained that God was a woman. She was aware that there might be a number of unwavering fundamentalists who, even in death, would refuse to accept a fait accompli as to the legitimacy of her divinity. For them, of course, there was always Golgotha and the Pit.
In life, the idea of beating God at His own game would have been the ultimate blasphemy. Here in the Afterlife, it felt more as though she and God were on a level footing, and the concept of blasphemy demanded a noticeable inequality between blasphemer and blasphemed. Blasphemy was a mortal sin, after all, and she was no longer mortal. Of course, should God finally notice and take exception to her efforts, she would be glad to fall down and worship Him. If He chose to cast her to the fire or otherwise chastise her for her presumption, so be it. At least she would have His attention.
At first her plans had not been too grandiose. Heaven would be a modest, fairly exclusive place, a Club Paradise, with just room enough for her and a few million faithful who might choose to follow and dwell with her. Unfortunately, Aimee McPherson, possessed of that megalomaniac drive and absolute certainty of ambition that is almost unique to evangelical preachers, found it difficult to retain a modest attitude toward anything for very long. As a concept, her Paradise grew and grew until she knew the only logical conclusion was to engage in a Holy Mission, perhaps an actual Crusade, to forcibly reconfigure the entire Plane of the Afterlife to her image of Heaven. Only then would the newly dead know for certain that the biblical promises and predictions were true, that covenants had been kept, even if she was filling in for the absentee Almighty. Unfortunately, her powers of creation were unable to match the scope of the concept. For a while, she and Semple had still been a part of the same single entity; warring factions, perhaps, but at least united under quasi-flesh. They had managed to work together. Aimee had done the expansion; Semple had filled in the details. Increasingly, though, Semple had used the construction of Heaven as a vent for her perverse sensuality, her willful pride, and her invert's delight in the sick and abominable. Aimee's Heaven became littered with small pockets of the irrational and the warped, many too disgusting even to cite in passing, and the split between the two of them had shown itself as manifestly inevitable.
In the end, the conflicted sisters, Aimee and Semple, had faced reality and divided, by a unique binary fission of their own inventing that made them two instead of one. Aimee had compensated for the loss of what amounted to half of her personality by becoming even more obsessive about the transformation of her personal Paradise into what she increasingly thought of as the Omniheaven. Without the Omniheaven, she was nothing but another previous human living in a world concocted from delusions and fantasy gratifications. If she couldn't bend others to her perspective, she was no different from the fool who pretended he was Moses and staged quasiCinemascope, biblical spectacles so he could spend eternity righteously smiting sinners of his own creating, forever and ever, world without end, amen. Although Aimee didn't care to admit it, even to herself, the removal of her sister from the original and essentially schizoid personality had taken with it many of the previous checks and constraints. Aimee discovered that her manic enthusiasms and headlong obsessions tended to run faster since Semple's departure, always more reckless and always at full flood. Likewise the depressions tended to mire her even more deeply. In divorce from her apparently dangerous dark half, Aimee had herself become darker and more dangerous.
Once split, the sisters had maintained little contact, although they were constantly aware one of the other, and were capable of a frightening empathy. Semple kept mostly to herself, indulging in her dubious amusements and pastimes in the environment that she had created since the one had become two. Aimee had never visited the place, but she had the impression that it was a replication of Semple's idea of Hell. In many respects, this fit serendipitously well with Aimee's master plan. Her Heaven, counterbalanced by her sister's equal and opposite Hell; a positively Newtonian theology. This didn't mean, on the other hand, that she had any plans to visit the place.
Separation also didn't keep Semple from deliberately devising ways to irritate her from afar. At all-too-regular intervals, her sister would play some minor prank, causing a black and sinister helicopter to clatter across Aimee's azure sky, disturbing the fleecy clouds with its violent prop wash, or sending a flock of malicious and predatory birds to settle in the cypress trees and stare at her with bleak, beady, Alfred Hitchcock eyes until they abruptly left and flapped away to the other side of the sunset. Semple also had a habit of removing the odd cherub or angel for her own nasty amusement. Although Aimee could hardly approve, these abductions were of little importance. Angels could always be replaced.
At that moment, however, Aimee had more pressing matters on her mind than Semple and her games. The master plan was hardly coming to fast fruition, and Aimee had to admit that she lacked the imagination required to conjure a suitably infinite Celestial Vault. What she needed was a helper. A Michelangelo who would labor in her Sistine Chapel. What she needed was a visionary whom she could bend to her will and inculcate with her vision, and who would help her make Heaven the place that it really ought to be. For a while she had considered making overtures to the phony Moses; the size and elaboration of some of his spectacles certainly bespoke a measure of power and directorial talent. They also indicated, if by nothing other than their bizarre repetition, that the Moses guy was barking crazy. Despite, in theory, having all eternity in which to work on it, Aimee knew she would never bend him to her will. His insanity was too inflexible. What she really needed was an artist, a painter or a poet, one who was fresh from death or otherwise clean-slated, without preconceptions and totally vulnerable to suggestion and manipulation.
As with so many of her recent trains of thought, the railroad eventually led back to Semple. Aimee knew she would need Semple in on this capture of a creative hireling. The artist would have to be located. He would have to be kept ignorant and off balance, and then be brought to her quickly before he could develop any inclinations or preferences of his own. Aimee knew she wasn't the half with the capacity to accomplish this. It was Semple who had the necessary cunning and seductive charm. It was Semple who would have to find and snare the poet or painter for her, and persuading her sister to accept the assignment would not be easy, unless Aimee could somehow appeal to her innate perversity.
As Aimee turned away from her less-than-satisfactory landscape and walked back along the terrace, an uninvited vision wandered aimlessly into her mind. A young man, wild dark curls, a sensual pout, and thumbs in the conchoed belt of a pair of narcissistically tight leather pants strolled idly down a dusty road, roughing the dirt with the heels of his worn engineer boots, dragging on a cigarette. He clearly had no place in Aimee's design and she consigned a thunderbolt to the vision, garbaging it before it could grow or develop. The young man staggered, stunned, and left her mind. The obvious first reaction was to blame Semple, and Aimee would certainly quiz her on the intrusion, but she knew instinctively that the apparition of the strange young man was something other than one of Semple's annoyances. She also hoped he wasn't a portent of future problems.
Jim Morrison shook his head, trying to clear it. Had he been mauled? Mindfucked? Struck by lightning? Large parts of his consciousness were wastelands of fractured shards, data retrieval had become history. Sometime, someplace, someone had royally flamed his memory, though he couldn't recall where or when. He had a flash of sun, dust, and a back road, idly dreaming of an ice-cold beer, but it was such a brief sparkling fragment it could provide not even a pointer to the thread of a real story. So it went with most of his mind. All he knew about himself was that he had once been a poet and that, at least for the time being, he would be forced to live absolutely in a highly specialized moment where even the mundane appeared strange and unexplored, and reality checks could only come via the benevolence of the passing crowd.
One of the few things about which Jim Morrison was certain was that his true death had not occurred on that dusty back road. All thoughts of his true death conjured fragmented but repeated impressions of lukewarm water, a womblike tub, and the city of Paris. Beyond that, all he could retrieve was a useless combination of details, motor skills, and unrelated images. One major problem was that, for the time being, his own name was one of the things that determinedly eluded him. He could read and write, he could remember the names of songs and the titles of books. He knew enough to put his pants on one leg at a time and zip the fly when he was done. The rest was a destructed jigsaw of fear, rage, and unhappiness, both his own and others'. A woman ran with her hair on fire, smoke drifting across a bleak concrete freeway lined with withered palms and choked with frightened cars, while a threatening red sun on the hazy horizon struggled to shine through that same smoke. Blind horses drowned in slate-gray ocean and Indians died on the sands of a sterile desert.
He sincerely hoped the apparent garbaging of his memory was purely temporary. Painful as it might prove, it was his and he wanted it back. He was fairly optimistic that it would one day return. Something, possibly a perceived familiarity with advanced and multiple intoxication, told him that his life on Earth had been replete with blackouts and memory lapses, and suggested that this could well be a cosmic version of the same condition. If it was, he had only himself to blame. One of his most profound desires, when he had found himself discorporated at such an unexpectedly early age, was that he could somehow avoid the thereafter being merely a rerun of the same drugged, drunk, chaotic shambles. As far as he could tell, and to his eternal shame, his resolve wasn't holding up too well.
The immediate concrete fact before Jim was that he had suddenly found himself at a party, and he knew enough to realize that it was no ordinary party. Jim had no clear idea of how or why he had arrived there, but it was plain that this Cecil B. DeMille production of howling, dancing, undulating vice was full of others who had rendered themselves as mindless as he was. He could see the unmistakable vacancy in the eyes of a high percentage of the revelers. They, too, had sacrificed mind and memory to the specific moment; for them, it was a moment of vibrance and abandon, a gratifying instant of tongues and hair, sweat and flesh, lips and liquidity. All set against the backdrop of a towering, slowly erupting volcano that spewed majestic flows of bright, sulfurous, hellfire lava and sent them slithering and easing their way sinuously down the upper slopes in ponderous slow motion. All around him, faces gleamed with flame reflections of red-orange heat, and demon-black shadows crouched among the crush of groaning, howling participants.
The thousand or more human beings who made up this plunging mass, plus the hundred or so other entities who couldn't quite be classified, were crowded into a natural amphitheater at the base of the mountain. The set for this epic surrender to hedonism and sexual abandon was a flat-bottomed basin surrounded on three sides by high black basalt walls that looked to have been carved out of prehistory by some vast, violent geological scoop. Within its confines, men and women, intoxicated to the borderline of psychosis, clawed and pawed at each other's greased, painted, and perfumed bodies. Some lay sprawled in spread-eagled abandon on the now damp and stained cushions that had been strewn across the floor of polished stone, while others groped, staggered, and stumbled, bent on staying on their feet come what might. Such clothing as had been worn back when the festivities had started was, for the most part, long since shredded or ripped away, and, along with it, any sense of individual identity, even on the most minimal level. The crowd had all but merged into a single, moving, but apparently unthinking, entity. This lust-driven composite was a constant flux of wave motions that, at regular intervals, would erupt into screaming pockets of mass hysteria or moaning cluster orgasm.
On a rock ledge above the seething crowd, Ethiopian drummers, their shining, oiled forms festooned with gold jewelry inlaid with turquoise and ivory, and their faces hidden by the fall of their dripping dreadlocks, pounded furiously on the hard hide heads of leopardskin-draped kettledrums, rhythmically urging the already furious crowd to even greater frenzy. The drummers seemed all but oblivious to the women and men who crouched at their feet, seemingly worshiping what they saw as the driving force of the orgiastic confusion. Intrusive, urgent hands stroked the players' legs and shamelessly cupped their genitals and buttocks, but the ritual drummers missed not so much as an inflection or accent. Even when bold, eager tongues licked the very sweat from them, the beat went on, relentlessly maintained, unwavering and unchallengeable.
On a second ledge, immediately below the drummers, relays of young men and women, all but naked in sheer drapes of near-transparent Hunan silk, poured dark, aromatic, psychedelic wine from a seeming endless supply of stone jars into the upheld goblets and even directly into the open mouths of the Mad magazine mass that milled below them. The hair of these serving youths was garlanded with twines of white flowers and some wore luxurious orchids behind their ears. Every one of these exquisite servants swayed in time to the throb of the drums as they slaked the mob's obvious thirst, and they broke frequently from their appointed tasks to allow themselves to be kissed and fondled by absolute strangers and even carried down, unresisting, into the squirming carnality. When these dalliances interrupted the wineflow, celebrants would climb up and help themselves. Entire jars would be passed down and borne away, their contents slopping and staining what remained of the surrounding crowd's disarrayed clothing, and adding to the profusion of fluids that drenched and lubricated the desperate celebration.
The Golden Calf itself squatted balefully at the center of the entire sensual maelstrom, presiding over the sinuous chaos. Over fifteen feet high from its cloven hooves to the tips of its branching Texas horns, and constructed entirely from beaten gold and crusted with precious gems, it provided the ultimate focus and singular provocation of all that happened around it. Ultimately pagan in its sculptured ferocity, the tall idol's nostrils flared, and the huge rubies that formed its eyes glared down with implacable bovine contempt at those who prostrated or disported themselves before it. The Golden Calf had been festooned with more white flowers, splashed with wine, and columns of smoke rose on either side of its massive head from braziers of burning incense, all but creating the impression that the beast was breathing fire. Two women, bodies bare from the waist down, straddled the wet ridge of its metallic spine, rocking their hips backward and forward, riding the towering effigy with eyes closed, faces ecstatic, locking in lewd oblivion. The idol even came with its own sacrificial maiden, who hung in chains suspended from its mighty horns and, in the tatters of her blue silk ball gown, bore an uncanny resemblance to Debra Paget in the Vista Vision, wide-screen version of The Ten Commandments, although in the movie Debra Paget had not been used with such repeated depravity by such a representative cross section of the massed celebrants. In historical and mortal fact, that kind of thing had been the prerogative of Howard Hughes.
That Jim had no idea of how exactly he had come to be under this particular volcano at the time in question had, after repeated draughts of the purple wine, pretty much ceased to bother him, in part because, as the crowd swayed around him, he was hallucinating to the point of near-blindness. At one point the effects of the wine had prompted the vaguest of recollections of being in the middle of a pitched battle in a high mountain pass between the Dionysians and the Apollonians. The Apollonians had come in with automatic weapons and air support, while the Dionysians had only coup sticks and ghost shirts. Needless to say, he had been on the side of the Dionysians in this unequal conflict, and his memory may have been the price that he paid for his ill-advised participation.
About the only thing of which he was sure was that he hadn't created the orgy himself. His recall might be down, but he still knew his own personality, and he was confident that his tastes, although certainly of a Bacchanalian bent, didn't run to such old-Hollywood, pornographic grandiosity. When he found himself at the base of the Golden Calf, caressing the exceptionally full and well-formed breasts of a naked and nameless young woman who resembled a very young Mamie Van Doren, he knew it was the work of some mysterious other. If he had been in control, he would never have allowed himself to be dragged from off her so early in the encounter.
Initially the young woman had been energetically eager, and in the mere space of their first minute together she had entirely ripped away his white linen shirt. Jim hadn't been too concerned about the shirt, and when the woman had started unbuckling the belt of his ancient leather jeans, he had been quite prepared to swim with the prevailing sensual tide. The only thing that bothered him was that, when she spoke, he found himself unable to understand a word she was saying. At first he was alarmed that he had been deprived of language as well as memory. This theory hardly seemed to fly, though; he not only thought in English, but when he attempted to say anything, he formed English words and sentences despite the drunkenness of his condition.
The woman's speech also seemed to lack the form and natural repetition of language; it was little more than a sequence of unstructured grunts and glottal cries. Jim's next assumption was that she had consumed so much of the psychedelic wine that she was actually talking in tongues, but then he noticed that a similar glossolalia was being mouthed and uttered by most of those around him. Could it be that whoever had fashioned this lavish and ultimately impressive event, and possibly even brought Jim there from wherever he'd been, had problems with giving speech to his creations? Either that or he wanted to keep his celebrants in mindless noncommunication in his lush pit of Babel. It was while Jim pondered this question that he discovered that he who ponders can also lose. Two men, a bull-dyke lesbian, and a creature who could easily have been a Sasquatch had picked up the Van Doren replicant by her arms and legs and physically removed her, while the surrounding crowd brayed with laughter. Jim considered the action neither friendly nor sexually ethical, but he was too loaded to make an issue of it.
After that, he had wandered aimlessly through the chaos of the orgy, shirtless in his jeans and scuffed engineer boots, finding himself repeatedly splashed with wine and fondled by total strangers of both sexes and none. This licentious buffeting soon grew tiresome, and he looked around for some detached vantage point where he could observe the epic debauch without any compulsion to become part of the action. He noticed a hollow niche some twelve feet up on the rock wall, opposite the ledges occupied by the Ethiopian drummers and the youths serving the wine. A usable if rudimentary path led up to the niche and it seemed to be exactly the kind of spot to which he could happily withdraw. The only snag was another individual already had the same idea. A fully clothed man was sitting there, knees drawn up, shoulders against the rock face, and a wide-brimmed black hat pulled down so it concealed his face. He was the only fully clothed, not to say elaborately dressed, character in sight, which, in context, made him appear singularly perverse.
As Morrison observed the man who had beat him to the sanctuary, his rival pulled a silver one-pint flask from his coat and took a long drink. He then returned the flask to his pocket and almost immediately fell into a spasm of uncontrolled coughing. He struggled to extract a white lace handkerchief from another pocket and bring it to his mouth. When he finally withdrew the uncharacteristically dainty piece of linen, Jim could see, even from a distance, that it was stained with fresh red blood.
The man looked strangely familiar to Jim, although he was of course unable to put a name to him or locate him in any context. That someone in the Afterlife should be suffering from what appeared to be not only a terminal earthly disease but one that was classically Victorian was remarkable enough, and the man's style was certainly in profound contrast to any of the other guests at the orgy. Where the rest were primitive or Old Testament, he was clearly a son of the nineteenth century. The cut of his black velvet frock coat and ornamental brocade vest could only be described as rakish, and the same applied to the long, old-fashioned cavalry boots that extended well above his knees. His soft floppy hat was turned down at one side in a decidedly dandified manner, and in Morrison's estimation he had struck an almost-balance between western gunfighter and dissolute pre-Raphaelite aesthete. Jim wasn't quite sure how he recognized these origins, but he was relieved to find that at least his cultural reference bank hadn't completely gone off line.
While he was entertaining these thoughts, Jim also found himself being pawed at by a naked and grossly obese hermaphrodite who not only talked in tongues but did so with a repulsively sibilant lisp and a spray of drool. Jim quickly decided that enough was enough. He ducked away from the creature's damply eager clutches and unappetizing, fish-belly flesh and began to negotiate the series of hand- and footholds that led up to the niche now occupied by the familiar stranger in the frock coat and soft hat. The hollow in the rock was large enough to accommodate three or four grown men; the worst the stranger could do, Jim reasoned, was scream at him to go away. As he approached the man, Jim called out, extending what he saw as a minimal social courtesy even if it wouldn't be understood.
Do you mind if I join you up there?
The frock-coated stranger pushed back his hat, revealing a sickly pallid face with a dark drooping mustache, hard blue eyes, and the expression of one who is easily irritated. To Jim's surprise, he answered not only in English but in a deceptively indolent drawl that might have had its origins in the old, and largely fictional, antebellum south.
May I assume that you're looking for some peace and quiet and not some kind of homosexual liaison?
Jim halted halfway between orgy and niche. Despite the lazy speech, the stranger's overall demeanor was quite enough to warn him that this was not a character with whom to trifle.
I'm definitely looking for some peace and quiet.
The stranger shrugged.
Then come ahead, young man. Come right ahead.
As Jim reached the hollow in the rock, the stranger looked at him questioningly.
You seem, sir, not to be remembering me?
Jim instantly adopted an improvised approximation of the stranger's fanciful speech patterns.
I fear, sir, I have no memory at all.
The man's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Considering the nature of our last encounter, I'm surprised that you would have forgotten it in such a hurry.
Jim was quick to explain.
I mean I have no memory of anything. I appear to have materialized here with no recall beyond a sorry and confused blur.
The man seemed content with the explanation, at least for the present.
That's unfortunate.
Jim sat down, allowing a civilized distance of almost two paces between them. The man seemed to accept this as a mark of well-mannered respect.
At least you and I are not the wanton creations of whoever started this thing.
What makes you say that?
If you and I were mere fantasy figments, we would not be up here, playing the part of nonparticipant watchers. We'd be down there, wallowing with the rest of the recently invented swine. To mangle Descartes a little, we observe, therefore we are.
This statement was so far from anything that Jim might have expected that he was temporarily at a loss for a response. The stranger, for his part, seemed to have nothing to add, and the two of them sat quiet for a time while the bacchanal continued to howl and throb below them. Finally, Jim could contain his curiosity no longer regarding the familiar stranger's identity.
I fear, sir, you have the advantage of me.
This time the stranger didn't bother to raise the brim of his hat.
You think so?
I do indeed. You would appear to know who I am, while I have no recollection of either your name or where we might have met. In fact, I'd be more than happy if you could tell me who I am. My own identity also appears to have escaped me somewhere in the mysterious transit that brought me here.
The man chuckled and then coughed as a result of the unguarded laugh.
Are you saying that you want me to introduce you to yourself?
I suppose I am.
That's some singular request, my friend.
But one that I need to make.
The familiar stranger paused for a very long time, toying with Jim, perhaps, or pondering the ethics of reuniting an individual with his mislaid identity. Below them the orgy showed no signs of abating. The Debra Paget look-alike chained to the golden calf was now being forced to pull a train for a gang of burly Cro-Magnons with thick red hair all over their bodies. Finally the stranger made up his mind.
In that case, my friend, your name is Morrison . . . James Morrison.
James Morrison?
James Douglas Morrison, commonly known as Jim.
You're telling me that I'm Jim Morrison?
That's what you were calling yourself last time I saw you.
You're putting me on.
Indeed I am not.
The Jim Morrison?
So you said. You claimed you were the Lizard King, whatever that might mean. You went on to boast that you could do anything.
I suppose I was drunk.
As a skunk. Indeed, a good deal drunker than you would appear to be right now.
Jim nodded slowly and thoughtfully. This took some digesting.
No shit.
As I recall, you were inordinately proud that you had made something of a nuisance of yourself for a short while in the twentieth century.
Jim was beginning to get the distinct impression that the stranger was making fun of both him and his disability.
I'm beginning to remember.
In fact, a whole block of memory had abruptly tumbled back into place, memories of crowds and lights, fame and fortune and a myriad of women, of hashish and heroin and massive quantities of alcohol. Of flash and flamboyance offset by monstrous hungover depression and a constant dicing with the death that had ultimately become inevitable.
The familiar stranger took another pull on his flask. He also coughed again, but only a couple of times and without the previous painful violence.
Of course, you may not really be Morrison.
Jim frowned.
What do you mean?
You know how it is.
No, I don't.
The stranger pushed back his hat.
That's right. I was forgetting. You don't have a memory.
I'm getting some memory back and it's all Morrison.
Well, it would be, wouldn't it?
It would?
We all indulge our fantasies, my friend. We strive for seamlessness.
Jim was now totally confused.
We do?
It rather goes with the territory. In fact, it quickly becomes all the territory we've got.
I don't understand.
Of course you don't. You lost your memory on the way to the orgy. You don't remember the death trauma. You may have left it in the cab.
Left it in the cab?
A figure of speech.
You really don't remember, do you?
I'm afraid I don't.
And you certainly don't remember the next stage, hanging cursed and discorporate, one of the million tiny, anonymous pods in the Great Double Helix.
Jim shook his head.
Are you kidding me?
The stranger scowled.
Why should I do that?
Jim shrugged.
I don't know.
The stranger turned his head and looked directly at Jim for the first time. His eyes had changed from merely hard to downright dangerous.
You wouldn't be about to suggest that I'm a damned liar, would you, sir? You wouldn't think of suggesting some slanderous thing like that?
Jim half-smiled.
Oh no. I've done some dumb shit, but nothing that dumb.
The stranger nodded.
I'm glad to see that at least your animal cunning and instincts for self-preservation haven't deserted you.
For a while neither man spoke. The stranger tapped his right foot gently in time to the relentless drumming. Finally Jim decided that he should prompt the stranger to go on with his story. "You were saying . . .
The tapping foot stopped.
I was saying what?
I was a discorporate pod hanging in the Great Double Helix.
The stranger nodded.
Indeed you were. We all are directly after death. And some of us like it so much we pay repeated visits, just to start again.
So then what happened?
You began to find that you had the capacity to make this stage of the Afterlife practically anything you wanted it to be.
I did?
Damn right you did. The pods dream.
The pods dream? The drumming or the wine sloshing in his stomach, or maybe the ongoing confusion, was starting to give Jim a headache.
The pods dream and find that their dreams might become their reality. The pods think and thoughts become things. A few, the really unadaptable, go the disembodied route, hanging around waiting for a séance to happen or spooking out and haunting some of their lifeside mortal hangouts. Those of a more Hindu mind-set take the Canal and get busy reincarnating themselves as kings or cockroaches, entirely according to their level of earthly self-esteem.
And the rest of us?
The stranger unscrewed the cap on his flask.
The rest of us? Indeed, Jim Morrison, what of the rest of us? The rest of us create an environment out of our previous realities and fantasies.
You mean that, after death, there are people who take on the identities of the famous and notorious?
Why the hell not? Maybe on Earth you were some sorry, no-class, turd-shoveling creature of insignificance, but you don't want to go damned from here to eternity like that. Oh dear me, no. What happens is, after a couple of incalculable timeless aeons hanging in the Helix, you realize that you can be Alexander the Great or Catherine de Médicis or the Old Whore of Babylon if you so wish. And so you wish and, presto, that's exactly what you become. That's what you are until maybe you think better of it and transcend.
Jim frowned.
But surely you must retain some turd-shoveling memories?
Believe me, friend, they fade like a dream with morning in this wonderful new postmortem reality. The stranger suddenly grinned.
Hell, I'm not even sure that I'm really who I claim to be.
And who might that be?
Again the stranger turned and stared at Jim.
My name, sir, is John Henry Holliday, although many people call me Doc.
He slowly extended a thin, rather feminine hand. Jim grasped it, noting that it was as cold as that of corpse, which, of course, technically it was.
So you're Doc Holliday.
Indeed I am. To the best of my knowledge and belief.
I'm proud to meet you.
And so you should be, boy.
I used to watch movies about you.
They liked me in Hollywood. I was the perfect foil for the insufferable Wyatt Earp.
Jim eased in a question before Doc Holliday could embark on a tangent of recollection.
There is one thing I don't understand.
And what might that be?
I didn't create you out of my fantasy. I'm certain I didn't create any of this.
Of course you didn't.
So what am I doing here?
That's a good question.
Is there an answer?
Doc took a pull on his flask.
Even in death, no man is an island.
Doc Holliday seemingly took a delight in elliptical conversations, and Jim figured that, for the moment, the best policy was just to wait out his loops. Eventually he would come across with something approaching an explanation.
The first thing you learn when you start building an existence here in the Afterlife is that a billion other sons of bitches are doing exactly the same thing. In my father's house there are many mansions. Unfortunately, they all have walls as thin as a cold-water walk-up, interconnecting doors and unending corridors. You start colliding, overlapping, banging into each other, and setting up a general interlocking confusion.
Jim framed his next words cautiously. Now he knew that the stranger was, at the very least, an analog of Doc Holliday, his survival instincts still told him it was probably unwise to piss him off, real or not.
That doesn't quite tell me how I got here.
I can tell you why I'm here.
Jim figured that this was better than nothing.
So why are you here?
The truth is I was already here.
You were?
Doc gestured airily to the eruption behind them.
I was up on the volcano disposing of a power ring that had turned out to be singularly destructive. It's the only way to get rid of those damn things. You bring them to life and after a while you find they're not only taking on a life of their own but also taking over yours. You have to burn them up in either an active volcano or the breath of a dragon. I imagine that, in your case, you were probably wished here by whoever's throwing this al fresco wingding.
You may not know it, but you've got something of a rep around the hereafter.
Jim groaned. It seemed that history had been repeating itself.
And my memory got scrambled in the process?
You got it. Unless you've been hitting the absinthe or ingesting alien fungoids.
I'm afraid I'm still confused.
Doc chuckled.
You'll be even more confused when you find out about the other problems.
Other problems?
"Like how the bit players in the fantasy also take on a life of their own.
Would you care to explain that?
I'm not sure there's going to be time right now. Doc gestured to a point above them, a rocky promontory higher on the slopes of the volcano.
I fear Moses is come upon us to smite the fornicators.
Jim turned and looked where Doc was pointing. A tall bearded figure, angular and bony in a tattered and dirty woolen robe, and with a mass of gray hair that hung well past his shoulders, was standing on the rocks, glaring down at the orgy around the Golden Calf with the disapproving stare of patriarchal wrath. Jim glanced at Doc.
That's really Moses?
Doc shook his head.
I very much doubt it. Just some turd-shoveler putting on the style. In point of fact, Moses was bicameral and he couldn't make a move without his right brain telling his left brain that it was the Voice of God. He probably transcended millennia ago, and now he's sitting on what he fondly believes is the right hand of Jehovah.
Jim saw that the Moses figure was actually carrying a pair of stone tablets like miniature headstones.
He seems to have the Ten Commandments with him.
Of course he does. They go with the costume.
So what does this turd-shoveler want?
Like I said, he's most likely here to smite the fornicators.
Can he do that?
Sure, that's probably the reason he set up this rat-shit drunk, buck-naked hoedown in the first place. Nothing these Bible-thumping retards like better than smiting a mess of sinners in flagrante. Doubtless that's why you were dragged here at the unfortunate cost of your memory.
Moses set this thing up?
Doc was getting to his feet.
Sure he did. A pristine piece of ego tripping. His mission is to punish sinners, so he has to create a few sinners to punish. He also buses in outside talent like you to give the proceeding a measure of heft.
Some of the celebrants below had broken off from their fun and games and were staring up at the figure on the mountain with its stone tablets. The drums faltered and stopped together. Jim also scrambled to his feet.
Are you saying we're going to get smitten?
Doc pushed back his coat, revealing a nickel-plated Colt .45-caliber automatic with a mother-of-pearl handle inlaid with a gold lightning flash.
Not if I can help it.
As Doc spoke, the Moses figure braced his legs, drew himself up to his full height, and raised the stone tablets above his head. His voice, monstrously amplified and heavy with unnatural and highly electronic reverb, roared out and echoed around the mountains,
The impact of the sound was like a thunderclap, and, even inured as he was from his days on Earth to super-amplified noises, Jim flinched momentarily. The roar of Moses was certainly enough to bring the orgy to an abrupt stop. Drunks halted in their tracks and copulating couples froze in midthrust. Individual revelers broke away from each other, retreating for supposed protection in the shadow of the Golden Calf.
Moses advanced down the mountain, bearing the tablets of stone above his head.
Jim glanced at Doc.
I don't even believe in God.
Doc smiled grimly.
I don't recall that ever giving one moment's pause to any Bible-thumper.
Threateningly bright and powerful streams of plasma energy undulated from the stone tablets and circled Moses, ducking and weaving but growing in strength. One suddenly darted out, swooped down into the amphitheater, and struck the Golden Calf, burning off one of its horns, and a large chunk of the idol's golden head. It also totally vaporized the Debra Paget look-alike. This seemed scarcely fair or just to Jim. Bound and restrained as she had been, she was about the only one at the party whose participation in the depravity hadn't been obviously willing. He could only assume that prophets and patriarchs still operated on the principle of guilt by association. If you're there, you're guilty, and damn the extenuating circumstances.
Doc growled angrily in his throat as a second plasma stream struck the Calf on its haunches, vaporized a dozen or more sinners in a single dazzling explosion, and scattered a fine rain of molten gold over the terrified crowd. Now the guests at the orgy were scurrying in every direction, looking for any way out or any available cover but finding none. A third plasma bolt struck home and the amphitheater began to resemble a battlefield more than a party.
I think it's time I did something about this. And so saying, Doc Holliday drew the Colt automatic from under his coat and pointed it at Moses.
Jim looked at him as though he were crazy.
Surely you can't kill anyone in the Afterlife? I mean, we're all already dead.
Doc grinned unpleasantly.
I can still fuck him up some. This piece was made for Elvis and the bullets are gold. It should have some effect. He gestured with the gun in the direction of Moses.
Depending on that son of a bitch's belief structure, a gold bullet going through him could trigger a bunch of possible responses. The Elvis connection should also make its contribution.
You've really got that thing loaded with gold bullets?
The look in Doc's eyes was starting to verge on insanity.
To be strictly accurate, the shell casings are only gold-plated, but the slugs themselves are pure twenty-four-karat. Soft-metal hollow points, guaranteed to make one hell of a mess of both bone and tissue. Now shut the fuck up, I need to concentrate.
Steadying his right hand with his left, fingers extended in a way that was almost delicate, Doc took slow and careful aim at the figure of Moses. More plasma crashed down on the sinners in the amphitheater, but Doc didn't duck or flinch. His focus was such that he seemed unaware of anything but his target. This being might not be the genuine and original Doc Holliday, but he certainly had a cold killer's calculated detachment down pat and Jim had to admire him for that. When it came, the report of the pistol was unnaturally loud with an artificial echo similar to the intensified Moses voice. Doc allowed the recoil of the weapon to carry it up to a two-handed, high port with the gun beside his head. His gaze, however, was still locked on Moses. The simulated patriarch reeled backward for three faltering paces. His spine arched unnaturally, as though cringing somehow to accommodate the impact of the gold .45 slug, but almost immediately he appeared to recover. His body straightened, and it was clear, even from a distance, that his sinews were stiffening with righteous fury.
Moses slowly turned, as though searching for the heretic behind this blasphemous assault.
A silence so profound that it could have come directly from the gulf between galaxies fell over the amphitheater. The ex-revelers froze in their panicking tracks. As far as Jim could objectively tell, the silence lasted for five, maybe six seconds before it was shattered by the soft tubercular wheeze of Doc Holliday's hollow laugh as he answered the irate Moses.
I guess I'm your boy, pilgrim. Are we going to make an issue of this?
Jim could only suppose that, at this point, Moses' rage had simply boiled all the way out of character. He looked the same, he sounded the same, but the content was hardly from the Book of Exodus.
And with that, he hurled one of the stone tablets directly at Doc. Doc, however, gracefully sidestepped, and five of the Ten Commandments, streaming a rainbow plasma contrail, spun past Jim, just scant inches from his left shoulder. The stone burst on the rocks behind him like a divine hand grenade, with a blinding, phosphorus-white flash and a shock wave that all but blew Jim clear off the ledge. From that point on, all hell broke loose. Firing from the hip, Doc proceeded to empty the entire clip of the automatic into the figure of Moses, but this seemed to have little effect except to make him even more furious and cause him to hurl the other tablet at them—the one containing commandments six through ten—and then, when this second explosion failed to dislodge Doc and Jim, to call down the full-blown Energy Storm of


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|Night at the Museum
|Night at the Museum
OGDENSBURG, NY - The Frederic Remington Art Museum will host Night at the Museum on Thursday, July 18, 2019, from 6 to 8 PM. The Museum will be open extended hours for guests to take in the museum's exhibits, including the 2019 Members' Juried Art Exhibit and enjoy live music in the Eleanor Vilas McNally Courtyard. Light refreshments will be available and as well as a cash bar provided by Hosmer's Marina. Admission will be $5 for members and $10 for nonmembers.
Classical guitarist and award-winning photojournalist, Gary Walts will provide guests with live music in the Eleanor Vilas McNally Courtyard. Mr. Walts studied guitar locally with Ron Sacci of Watertown and then with world-renowned Christopher Parkening in Master Classes for three consecutive years at Messiah College near Harrisburg, Penn. in the 1980s.
The Wimpy's Inn food truck is scheduled to park on the Museum property for the event. A wonderful addition to live music, guest are welcome to enjoy the music, see the art and partake in this delicious long
-standing Ogdensburg tradition.
From 6 PM - 7 PM, the Museum will be offering a public educational program, "One Hour One Work," in the Albert P. Newell Gallery. The program invites participants to slow down and dive deep into a single work of art on display at the Remington Museum. A Museum docent will facilitate 60 minutes of focused looking, consideration, conversation, and interpretation of a single artwork. In July, the featured artwork will be Frederic Remington's 1909 oil painting The Love Call which is on loan to the Remington Museum from the Sid Richardson Museum in Fort Worth, TX. A total of nine iconic Remington Western paintings on loan from the Sid Richardson Museum are on display in the Museum's Albert P. Newell Gallery and Addie P. Newell Gallery through September 8, 2019. The educational program is free with admission to the event, but reservations are requested. To learn more and register, contact Laura Desmond at 315-393-2425 or email@example.com