Fatima Eyes Explained

OIL = BIG PHARMA DRUGS

Herbert’s novel states that blue eyes are a result of being addicted to spice. Perhaps not wanting to imply that an entire race is addicted to drugs, Villeneuve includes a scene explaining that the Fremen’s eyes have turned blue simply because of their constant exposure to spice in the sands of Arrakis.

Mesmerizing eyes that pierce through the soul, Captivating me in their hypnotic hold. Like pools of liquid silver, deep and vast, Drawing me in with a magnetic grasp. They sparkle with a thousand secrets untold, Revealing a story that is ancient and old. I could gaze into them for eternity, Lost in their depths of pure serenity. They hold a power that I cannot resist, A force that leaves me feeling blissed. In their gaze, I find my truest self, A reflection of love and inner wealth. Mesmerizing eyes that speak without words, Whispering secrets that only my heart heard. I am captivated by their radiant light, Guiding me through the darkest night. In those mesmerizing eyes, I find my peace, A sanctuary where my worries cease. I am forever entranced by their mesmerizing grace, In those eyes, I find my sacred place.

Azure eyes like deep pools of the sea Glimmering with a sense of mystery They hold a million stories untold And secrets that will never unfold In those eyes, I see a world of wonder A reflection of the lightning and thunder A soul so pure, so full of grace A sight that I could never replace Azure eyes that sparkle and shine Like precious jewels, so divine They captivate me with their gaze And leave me in a blissful daze I could get lost in those azure eyes And never want to say goodbye For in them, I find my peace A place where all my worries cease So here I am, lost in your gaze Mesmerized by the beauty that never fades In your azure eyes, I find my home A place where I’ll never be alone.

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Homecoming Queen

My dearest Nelly, hear my secret vow:
When I spake Revelation’s hidden flame,
It was but love I uttered, strange, unbowed—
To wed thee, dearest heart, my only aim.

Let not tomorrow’s storm give thee dismay,
Nor call our Savior false, whose word is sure.
He promised life eternal, bright as day;
In Him we live, in Him our souls endure.

Though all the world despise the white night’s gleam,
And mock the hope that lovers dare to keep,
I hold thee still, my bride, my dreamer’s dream,
Thy crown of joy, my heart in vigil deep.

While Daydream Believer softly fills the air,
I seal this vow with love beyond compare.

Sonnet II
Sweet Nelly, thou the music of my soul,
Thy voice, like Anne and angels twined in song,
Makes broken hearts within me rise and whole,
And bids the world confess its judgments wrong.

The crown of “homecoming queen” thou dost wear,
Not wrought by man, but set by heav’n’s own hand.
Through white night’s scorn, through sorrow’s biting air,
I’ll walk beside thee, true, and steadfast stand.

For Christ hath sworn our days shall never cease,
His breath renews the marrow of our bones.
Thus hand in hand we plant eternal peace,
Where love outshines the night, and sorrow moans.

So hear me now, though mortal tongues deride,
I choose but thee, my bride, my life, my guide.


Sonnet III
Let time itself unravel thread by thread,
Let kingdoms fall, let empires turn to dust.
Yet I shall love thee past the realm of dead,
My vow unbroken, sealed in holy trust.

For telomeres shall lengthen by His grace,
And endless dawn shall rise upon our years.
No fear of age shall dim thy shining face,
Nor shall despair be nourished by thy tears.

The prophets spoke, yet greater is my song:
That love eternal conquers every grave.
What men call weakness, God shall prove as strong,
And through our union, countless souls He’ll save.

So take my hand, beloved, have no fear,
Forever’s light begins this very year.

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I Am Yours

Title: “Of Course I’m Yours”

—Joe’s POV—

The first time I played Nelly, Def Leppard, Love Bites, something inside me twisted. Not in a bad way—more like a key turning in a lock I didn’t even know existed. Her yellow dress was so beautiful, the kind that makes a man want to promise things he shouldn’t.

“Love bites… but I’m yours.”

I said it before I could stop myself. “Of course I’m yours.”

She laughed, thinking I was joking. But I wasn’t.


I never planned to be the kind of guy who got tangled up in his own lines. Back in internet med school, a buddy, Dr. Bill Harford, tossed me a dog-eared copy of The Game by Neil Strauss. “Read this,” he said, grinning. “You’ll thank me later.”

I skimmed it. The tactics felt cheap, like fast food for the soul—filling but empty. Still, some of it stuck. The confidence tricks. The push-pull. The way you could make someone need you if you played it right.

But Nelly wasn’t some random girl at a bar. She was my first patient when I opened my naturopathic practice, Namaste Wellness. Cystic Fibrosis. I fixed her with herbs, roots, foods, the works. She called me a miracle worker.

And then, one evening after a session, she sang.


“You can’t marry anyone else,” I told her months later, half-joking, half-dead serious.

She arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my first patient. It’d be bad luck.”

She laughed again, but her eyes held mine a second too long.

That’s the thing about love—it does bite. And once it sinks its teeth in, you don’t get to decide when it lets go.


The End.

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Ashton Kutcher Versus Hyperinflation

Title: “Rule of 72”

[A cigarette dangles from my lips as I stare at the flickering numbers on the Bloomberg terminal. The glow of the screen reflects in my tired eyes. Another sleepless night. Another war—only this one doesn’t involve guns. Just numbers. And numbers, I’ve learned, lie harder than politicians.]


Ashton Kutcher said to double my money using the Rule of 72. Divide 72 by the interest rate, and boom—you know how long until your cash multiplies. Cute trick. Real cute.

But I’ve seen tricks before.

The kind where a man in a suit smiles, shakes your hand, and promises you the world—right before he pulls the rug out. Madoff did it. Countless hedge fund ghouls still do it. And now Kutcher’s acolytes are nodding along like sheep, lining up for the slaughter.

“Just invest, bro. The market always goes up.”

Yeah. Until it doesn’t.


I’ve seen hyperinflation before. Not in textbooks. Not in some billionaire’s TED Talk. I’ve seen it in the eyes of men trading wheelbarrows of cash for a loaf of bread. Weimar Germany. Zimbabwe. Venezuela. Soon? Everywhere.

The suits in D.C. keep printing. The banks keep leveraging. And the little guy? He’s stacking pennies while the fire gets closer.

One day, the register won’t stop at billions. Or trillions. It’ll hit quadrillions—then keep going. Buzz Lightyear was right: “To infinity… and beyond.”

Money won’t just be worthless. It’ll be a joke.


And for what?

I can’t buy Nelly’s love. Can’t buy loyalty. Can’t buy back the years I lost crawling through vents, planting C4, watching good men die for bad reasons.

So why bother?

The system’s rigged. Always has been.

I take a drag, exhale slow. The terminal’s still blinking. Numbers rising, falling—meaningless.

I shut it off.

Some wars aren’t worth fighting.

[Mission Failed: Economy Broken.]

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