I hesitate to "like" this post since it's so damn depressing, but the point you make is important. Your front lines perspective is invaluable. I'm also wondering how your customers would feel if the lottery were ended. Would they feel served or once again screwed by others who think they know better what's good for them? Or is the suggestion that we restructure society to the point where people choose to stop buying lottery tickets because they're no longer so desperate and the predatory scheme withers from disuse?
Kady, this is an absolutely brilliant and vital question. Thank you for cutting directly to the heart of the matter. You've perfectly articulated the two competing philosophies of change.
Your first question is the "paternalism trap," and it's a real one. Simply banning the lottery would be a horizontal move—an elite, top-down "solution" that ignores the desperation driving the demand. The Gears ⚙️ would rightly see it as another freedom being taken away by people who don't understand their lives. It treats the symptom, not the disease.
Your second question... that's the entire mission. That's the Vertical War.
The only real solution is to build a world where the predatory scheme withers from disuse because people are no longer desperate enough to need a one-in-300-million chance to escape. The goal isn't to take away the lottery ticket; it's to create a society with so much opportunity and stability that buying one feels like a foolish waste of two dollars.
You've hit the nail on the head. We don't want to be the ones who "know better." We want to be the ones who help build better.
No surprise that I'm right with you, Ethan. In my observation, society has always been in tension between the tendency for resources and power to flow to a small number of people, and collective efforts to counter that tendency. The beneficiaries use their power to accelerate the flow, which can only be resisted through collective action. The good news is that, at least for the moment, we live in one of the best political systems to non-violently resist the accelerating flow, but only if we join together and use the power we still have.
Hi Kady. For probably the first three million years of our pre-modern and modern human history we lived in gathering and hunting societies where food was shared. If one person went hungry, it was because everyone was hungry. If one person had plenty, everyone had plenty. We evolved into fully modern humans in egalitarian societies without rank or class. We would never have survived had we hoarded.
Even when complex ranked societies began to emerge, our ancestors had ritualized ways of redistributing resources to make sure people had the necessities, including self-respect.
This is such a massively important point to discuss in great detail! I personally am too damn miserly to play the lottery, but have dear friends who are addicted. So what then shall we do? ,
I was a public school teacher for 30 years. When I retired, I became a massage therapist. I was always astonished at how many people believed the lottery funded almost all of the public school fund. They were shocked when I explained the 27%, and how the state itself is scamming us. Now they want casinos, these Christian lawmakers, who have apparently seen the Native population make some money on theirs and think, why not us white guys. Meanwhile, retired teachers were told we might get a COLA in 2027; we have only had about 13% in two decades. The citizens think the lottery pays for raises.
When the lottery came to NY,I thought it would be great for my toddlers. Then they started school. No new or nearly new books, no field trips, no time spent other than assigning homework. Lots of homework. And now my grandkids "get" to add the trauma of active shooter drills. 😭😭
When there is no winner for a drawing, it means that if YOU bought all the tickets that were sold, you still wouldn’t win. I think that’s easier to understand than stating the odds.
Also how can we change the law that presidents can’t raid SS anymore. Ronald Reagan changed that law and that needs to stop. So $5.7 trillion has been looted from SS and that is why it will fail in 2035 and not for any other reason. Reagan took $3.7 trillion and now tRump took $2 trillion.
When my mother's dementia looked to be going south, my sister brought her to her lawyer's pronto to write a new will, in order to leave her house to me. I was the caretaker of both parents+ they wanted that. Sister had dealt with the state after her FIL died, and it wasn't pretty. At her death, she was in a care facility for a few months. The government lawyers tried to threaten me, saying everything was theirs now. I called my lawyer+ luckily, they stopped at that. Evil.
I see it at my pharmacy and it makes me so sad. These are very poor people who buy the tickets and the great majority of people who come into my little neighborhood pharmacy come in for the lottery. It’s worse than when they used to sell cigarettes!
I can't remember what year Florida got the lottery, it's been at least 40 some odd years ago. Never played it much, did get some a time or two for a Christmas present. I voted back then and yes if it's going to help education I was all for it. Didn't take too long to see that lie and later the biggest lie, selected, not elected. But yes,I had a friend that was addicted, and like any addiction it was hard to see.
Sennaya wakes before the sun. Cold air. Wet cobblestone. The sour-sweet smell of hay, cabbage, cheap bread, and horse sweat. The line forms before the carts arrive. A woman in a frayed shawl counts worn coins twice and still comes up short. A hollow-eyed boy watches the butcher scrape the last gray ribbon of fat from a bone. A man with cracked hands stands too long in one place, waiting for work that isn’t coming. Nobody calls this history. This is just morning.
A kitchen girl stands in that line. Thin coat. Red hands. Breath showing in the cold. She hears it plain. Bread is short again. Prices jumped overnight. Someone’s cousin didn’t come back from the front. A rumor about flour trains that never arrived. She doesn’t argue. She listens. Then she turns and walks.
From Sennaya to the narrow service gate.
Through the iron gate to the dim basement corridors.
From the basement to the heat and noise of the kitchen.
She works inside the palace.
Polished floors reflect chandeliers like still water. Felt pads whisper across parquet. Boots are brushed until they shine. Silver trays catch candlelight. Steam rises from heavy pots. Knives strike wood in steady rhythm. She moves through it with lowered eyes, steady hands. She stands in rooms where decisions are made and says nothing. She hears everything. She keeps one sentence and lets the rest fall away.
From the girl to the cook.
“Bread’s tighter in Sennaya.”
The cook wipes his hands on a stained cloth, frowns, says nothing for a beat.
From the cook to the footman.
“They’re lining up before dawn now.”
The footman straightens a cuff, smooths his coat, nods once.
From the footman to the chambermaid.
“They’re restless out there.”
The chambermaid pauses with a folded sheet, eyes narrowing.
From the chambermaid to the lady-in-waiting.
“It’s getting worse in the city.”
The lady-in-waiting lowers her voice, adjusts a ribbon, chooses her words.
From the lady-in-waiting to the Empress.
“People are unsettled.”
Each step cleans it. Each step shortens it. Each step makes it safe.
On Gorokhovaya Street, Grigori Rasputin listens. A cramped room. Heavy curtains. Worn chair. The air thick with candle wax and damp wool. Servants come without their uniforms, coats smelling of smoke, onions, soap, and cold air. They bring fragments—kitchen talk, corridor whispers, a glance from a room where someone didn’t sleep.
A girl stands in the doorway longer than she should, twisting her hands, eyes lowered. He doesn’t rush her. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets the silence settle until it presses the words out of her.
He smells the smoke in her clothes before she speaks.
He takes it in. Holds it longer than anyone else will. Turns it. Softens it. Gives it back changed.
Not bread lines.
Not prices.
Meaning.
Warning.
Faith.
From Rasputin to the Empress.
“They are troubled, but they remain loyal.”
She believes it. She needs it to be true.
From the Empress to the Tsar.
“Russia is strained, but it stands with you.”
Nicholas reads it behind glass. Thick carpets. Tall windows. Heavy silence. Reports come the same way—inked pages, careful summaries, measured words. Unrest, yes—but contained. Agitators, perhaps—but manageable.
Sennaya wakes before the sun. Cold air. Wet cobblestone. The sour-sweet smell of hay, cabbage, cheap bread, and horse sweat. The line forms before the carts arrive. A woman in a frayed shawl counts worn coins twice and still comes up short. A hollow-eyed boy watches the butcher scrape the last gray ribbon of fat from a bone. A man with cracked hands stands too long in one place, waiting for work that isn’t coming. Nobody calls this history. This is just morning.
A kitchen girl stands in that line. Thin coat. Red hands. Breath showing in the cold. She hears it plain. Bread is short again. Prices jumped overnight. Someone’s cousin didn’t come back from the front. A rumor about flour trains that never arrived. She doesn’t argue. She listens. Then she turns and walks.
From Sennaya to the narrow service gate.
Through the iron gate to the dim basement corridors.
From the basement to the heat and noise of the kitchen.
She works inside the palace.
Polished floors reflect chandeliers like still water. Felt pads whisper across parquet. Boots are brushed until they shine. Silver trays catch candlelight. Steam rises from heavy pots. Knives strike wood in steady rhythm. She moves through it with lowered eyes, steady hands. She stands in rooms where decisions are made and says nothing. She hears everything. She keeps one sentence and lets the rest fall away.
From the girl to the cook.
“Bread’s tighter in Sennaya.”
The cook wipes his hands on a stained cloth, frowns, says nothing for a beat.
From the cook to the footman.
“They’re lining up before dawn now.”
The footman straightens a cuff, smooths his coat, nods once.
From the footman to the chambermaid.
“They’re restless out there.”
The chambermaid pauses with a folded sheet, eyes narrowing.
From the chambermaid to the lady-in-waiting.
“It’s getting worse in the city.”
The lady-in-waiting lowers her voice, adjusts a ribbon, chooses her words.
From the lady-in-waiting to the Empress.
“People are unsettled.”
Each step cleans it. Each step shortens it. Each step makes it safe.
On Gorokhovaya Street, Grigori Rasputin listens. A cramped room. Heavy curtains. Worn chair. The air thick with candle wax and damp wool. Servants come without their uniforms, coats smelling of smoke, onions, soap, and cold air. They bring fragments—kitchen talk, corridor whispers, a glance from a room where someone didn’t sleep.
A girl stands in the doorway longer than she should, twisting her hands, eyes lowered. He doesn’t rush her. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets the silence settle until it presses the words out of her.
He smells the smoke in her clothes before she speaks.
He takes it in. Holds it longer than anyone else will. Turns it. Softens it. Gives it back changed.
Not bread lines.
Not prices.
Meaning.
Warning.
Faith.
From Rasputin to the Empress.
“They are troubled, but they remain loyal.”
She believes it. She needs it to be true.
From the Empress to the Tsar.
“Russia is strained, but it stands with you.”
Nicholas reads it behind glass. Thick carpets. Tall windows. Heavy silence. Reports come the same way—inked pages, careful summaries, measured words. Unrest, yes—but contained. Agitators, perhaps—but manageable.
Sennaya wakes before the sun. Cold air. Wet cobblestone. The sour-sweet smell of hay, cabbage, cheap bread, and horse sweat. The line forms before the carts arrive. A woman in a frayed shawl counts worn coins twice and still comes up short. A hollow-eyed boy watches the butcher scrape the last gray ribbon of fat from a bone. A man with cracked hands stands too long in one place, waiting for work that isn’t coming. Nobody calls this history. This is just morning.
A kitchen girl stands in that line. Thin coat. Red hands. Breath showing in the cold. She hears it plain. Bread is short again. Prices jumped overnight. Someone’s cousin didn’t come back from the front. A rumor about flour trains that never arrived. She doesn’t argue. She listens. Then she turns and walks.
From Sennaya to the narrow service gate.
Through the iron gate to the dim basement corridors.
From the basement to the heat and noise of the kitchen.
She works inside the palace.
Polished floors reflect chandeliers like still water. Felt pads whisper across parquet. Boots are brushed until they shine. Silver trays catch candlelight. Steam rises from heavy pots. Knives strike wood in steady rhythm. She moves through it with lowered eyes, steady hands. She stands in rooms where decisions are made and says nothing. She hears everything. She keeps one sentence and lets the rest fall away.
From the girl to the cook.
“Bread’s tighter in Sennaya.”
The cook wipes his hands on a stained cloth, frowns, says nothing for a beat.
From the cook to the footman.
“They’re lining up before dawn now.”
The footman straightens a cuff, smooths his coat, nods once.
From the footman to the chambermaid.
“They’re restless out there.”
The chambermaid pauses with a folded sheet, eyes narrowing.
From the chambermaid to the lady-in-waiting.
“It’s getting worse in the city.”
The lady-in-waiting lowers her voice, adjusts a ribbon, chooses her words.
From the lady-in-waiting to the Empress.
“People are unsettled.”
Each step cleans it. Each step shortens it. Each step makes it safe.
On Gorokhovaya Street, Grigori Rasputin listens. A cramped room. Heavy curtains. Worn chair. The air thick with candle wax and damp wool. Servants come without their uniforms, coats smelling of smoke, onions, soap, and cold air. They bring fragments—kitchen talk, corridor whispers, a glance from a room where someone didn’t sleep.
A girl stands in the doorway longer than she should, twisting her hands, eyes lowered. He doesn’t rush her. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets the silence settle until it presses the words out of her.
He smells the smoke in her clothes before she speaks.
He takes it in. Holds it longer than anyone else will. Turns it. Softens it. Gives it back changed.
Not bread lines.
Not prices.
Meaning.
Warning.
Faith.
From Rasputin to the Empress.
“They are troubled, but they remain loyal.”
She believes it. She needs it to be true.
From the Empress to the Tsar.
“Russia is strained, but it stands with you.”
Nicholas reads it behind glass. Thick carpets. Tall windows. Heavy silence. Reports come the same way—inked pages, careful summaries, measured words. Unrest, yes—but contained. Agitators, perhaps—but manageable.
“The Lottery, with its weekly pay-out of enormous prizes, was the one public event to which the proles paid serious attention. It was probable that there were some millions of proles for whom the Lottery was the principal if not the only reason for remaining alive. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned, even people who could barely read and write seemed capable of intricate calculations and staggering feats of memory. There was a whole tribe of men who made their living simply by selling systems, forecasts, and lucky amulets. Winston had nothing to do with the Lottery, which was managed by the Ministry of Plenty, but he was aware (indeed everyone in the party was aware) that the prizes were largely imaginary. Only small sums were actually paid out, the winners of the big prizes being nonexistent persons.”
I think it’s even darker than this. I have a very strong suspicion through all of the research I’ve done on the system from the “winners” to how the money is “controlled” that a ton of this money is stolen. The auditor of powerball is a tiny little firm from GA. Why doesn’t an institution that has billions of dollars running through it and is this high profile have a large reputable big 4 audit firm? It’s all very suspicious.
Wow. Thank you. I got very interested in this after watching McMillions on Netflix. Watch it if you haven’t. I am a CPA. I Audit large financial institutions and I’m skeptical anywhere that there’s lots of money because there’s always fraud.
Your point on not having a large accounting firm is partially true. I discovered Deloitte (which is pretty big) is a key to all the money laundering and accounting ring fraud with States and IGT. Ie..Syed Hussain who works as the CIO for the Oregon Lottery developed the INTELLIGEN CMS technology and he also holds a certification from Deloitte. He also served on IGT’s IGSA board.
Hillary it is much darker and I recently completed a three year investigation. Your comment is correct. The MUSL is a joke of an organization formed originally by IGT/Scientific games, Oregon Lottery, and a few others in the 1990’s. The dark part is nobody seems to ask the obvious.
Who controls the technology for all Lottery games? It is not the States or Federal Government. It is the 2nd largest Wall Street Hedge Fund, Apollo Global Management who now owns IGT. Every time you buy a scratcher or drawing game you just paid a hedge fund. Go check out my articles on Substack if you want to see the details.
Wow this is very interesting. I work for EY so I know Deloitte very well. I’m not saying that the big four doesn’t have their issues, but this is downright sinister. I would love to know more as an auditor and Cpa.
There’s good reason why those who have hit the lottery have gone broke within years, those who never had money can’t handle having it. Friends and family guilt you into paying off their debt as new friends chase you for the rest, while you can’t spend what’s left fast enough. It’s a nightmare, leaving the “winner” worse off than before. So many claim it ruined their lives.
I actually had a friend of mine, well guy I used to hunt and Fish with occasionally win a lottery. 16.8 million. Was single, decent individual and loved to give to charity. Later he developed brain cancer. Specialists in Canada told him to get his effects in order.. dead man walking! One of his best friends talked him into going to surgeons in the U.S.. 4 months later he walked out of the hospital but couldn’t drive for months. It did come back eventually his wife took him all over the globe but no one could save him sadly. And that’s about as close as I’ll ever come to a lottery win! I very rarely purchase a ticket. When I do I never get a dime back! 😂
And I’m dying of social IV cancer. And you think I feel bad about not taking half his money. I had to sign a document saying I was acting against the lawyer’s wishes or advice. Lmao, def wishes!
But I have never regretted it. It is no way to live. Take it from someone who’s dying.
My ex became an investment banker then started his own private equity firm. He worked days on end and often spent nights there. They all do at that level, the lowest rung, and until they make it. Normal people don’t go zero dollars (or in the red) to billionaires. People who are willing to throw away everything in their lives do.
Nobody out there wants to become a billionaire. Or yes, they do — in theory — but it’s in theory. And it’s misguided.
He’s a billionaire, and he’s surrounded family and friends and utterly miserable. And the people around him — his wife and friends — are literally scary. They are not someone you see at a party and say I wanna be that man or that woman.
Mmm no you jl pop package deliveries online payments, but customer data was not impacted at a pair. Post Office employees turned away frustrated customers trying to send a retreat packages. Customers of the bank postal were blocked from using the application to approve payments or conduct other banking services, the bank redirected approval to text messages that teams are working to resolve the situation quickly. A car bomb has killed a Russian in general, the third such killing of a senior military officer and just more than a year investigators say Ukraine may be behind the attack since Moscow sent troops into Ukraine nearly 4 years ago Russian officials have blamed Ukraine for several assassinations of military officers in public figures in Russia claimed responsibility for some of them we had breaking news off the top of the show from North Wichita one person in critical condition following a shooting Wichita police talking about this situation. It’s near 25th in our Kansas. Let’s go live and listen.
Give you details in reference to a shooting occurred shortly after 316 this afternoon in the 2600 block of therapy so around 316 this afternoon Office responded to the 2600 block Fairview, where to shooting location. They located a 14 year old male with a gunshot to the upper Wichita Police Officers ems Life measures that Mail was transported to hospital for critical condition at this time. At this time. This is still ongoing investigation. We’re still trying to learn the details and facts of what occurred what I can tell you also that Mail found three other males as well, so this is preliminary investigation where we don’t have a bunch of details it’s unfortunate that we’re standing here again with another juvenile but right now we wanted to give you the information in the details we had so right now I’ll step.
It’s so sad that our own governments are now selling HOPE to its poorest citizens… but the odds are so incredibly small it’s ridiculous, the sad part is that they cling on to any hope they can🤬and there’s the trap…
I hesitate to "like" this post since it's so damn depressing, but the point you make is important. Your front lines perspective is invaluable. I'm also wondering how your customers would feel if the lottery were ended. Would they feel served or once again screwed by others who think they know better what's good for them? Or is the suggestion that we restructure society to the point where people choose to stop buying lottery tickets because they're no longer so desperate and the predatory scheme withers from disuse?
Kady, this is an absolutely brilliant and vital question. Thank you for cutting directly to the heart of the matter. You've perfectly articulated the two competing philosophies of change.
Your first question is the "paternalism trap," and it's a real one. Simply banning the lottery would be a horizontal move—an elite, top-down "solution" that ignores the desperation driving the demand. The Gears ⚙️ would rightly see it as another freedom being taken away by people who don't understand their lives. It treats the symptom, not the disease.
Your second question... that's the entire mission. That's the Vertical War.
The only real solution is to build a world where the predatory scheme withers from disuse because people are no longer desperate enough to need a one-in-300-million chance to escape. The goal isn't to take away the lottery ticket; it's to create a society with so much opportunity and stability that buying one feels like a foolish waste of two dollars.
You've hit the nail on the head. We don't want to be the ones who "know better." We want to be the ones who help build better.
No surprise that I'm right with you, Ethan. In my observation, society has always been in tension between the tendency for resources and power to flow to a small number of people, and collective efforts to counter that tendency. The beneficiaries use their power to accelerate the flow, which can only be resisted through collective action. The good news is that, at least for the moment, we live in one of the best political systems to non-violently resist the accelerating flow, but only if we join together and use the power we still have.
Hi Kady. For probably the first three million years of our pre-modern and modern human history we lived in gathering and hunting societies where food was shared. If one person went hungry, it was because everyone was hungry. If one person had plenty, everyone had plenty. We evolved into fully modern humans in egalitarian societies without rank or class. We would never have survived had we hoarded.
Even when complex ranked societies began to emerge, our ancestors had ritualized ways of redistributing resources to make sure people had the necessities, including self-respect.
This is such a massively important point to discuss in great detail! I personally am too damn miserly to play the lottery, but have dear friends who are addicted. So what then shall we do? ,
Let's create opportunities for political change and invite others to join us?
With the way things are going, I’m wondering how these lotteries could even survive—
I was a public school teacher for 30 years. When I retired, I became a massage therapist. I was always astonished at how many people believed the lottery funded almost all of the public school fund. They were shocked when I explained the 27%, and how the state itself is scamming us. Now they want casinos, these Christian lawmakers, who have apparently seen the Native population make some money on theirs and think, why not us white guys. Meanwhile, retired teachers were told we might get a COLA in 2027; we have only had about 13% in two decades. The citizens think the lottery pays for raises.
When the lottery came to NY,I thought it would be great for my toddlers. Then they started school. No new or nearly new books, no field trips, no time spent other than assigning homework. Lots of homework. And now my grandkids "get" to add the trauma of active shooter drills. 😭😭
When there is no winner for a drawing, it means that if YOU bought all the tickets that were sold, you still wouldn’t win. I think that’s easier to understand than stating the odds.
Also how can we change the law that presidents can’t raid SS anymore. Ronald Reagan changed that law and that needs to stop. So $5.7 trillion has been looted from SS and that is why it will fail in 2035 and not for any other reason. Reagan took $3.7 trillion and now tRump took $2 trillion.
When my mother's dementia looked to be going south, my sister brought her to her lawyer's pronto to write a new will, in order to leave her house to me. I was the caretaker of both parents+ they wanted that. Sister had dealt with the state after her FIL died, and it wasn't pretty. At her death, she was in a care facility for a few months. The government lawyers tried to threaten me, saying everything was theirs now. I called my lawyer+ luckily, they stopped at that. Evil.
I see it at my pharmacy and it makes me so sad. These are very poor people who buy the tickets and the great majority of people who come into my little neighborhood pharmacy come in for the lottery. It’s worse than when they used to sell cigarettes!
I can't remember what year Florida got the lottery, it's been at least 40 some odd years ago. Never played it much, did get some a time or two for a Christmas present. I voted back then and yes if it's going to help education I was all for it. Didn't take too long to see that lie and later the biggest lie, selected, not elected. But yes,I had a friend that was addicted, and like any addiction it was hard to see.
Fascinating. I’d not thought of the lottery from this perspective before. Thanks for the post and all the comments, which are edifying.
I've been saying this for a very long time! Thanks for making my screams into the void coherent. Keep up the good work.
What a wonderful post
I have never liked the lottery or what it does to my friends and loved ones
Feeling dreams are the most vulnerable people
It’s despicable
Thank you for the fight
The people need you
S-E-N-N-A-Y-A
Sennaya wakes before the sun. Cold air. Wet cobblestone. The sour-sweet smell of hay, cabbage, cheap bread, and horse sweat. The line forms before the carts arrive. A woman in a frayed shawl counts worn coins twice and still comes up short. A hollow-eyed boy watches the butcher scrape the last gray ribbon of fat from a bone. A man with cracked hands stands too long in one place, waiting for work that isn’t coming. Nobody calls this history. This is just morning.
A kitchen girl stands in that line. Thin coat. Red hands. Breath showing in the cold. She hears it plain. Bread is short again. Prices jumped overnight. Someone’s cousin didn’t come back from the front. A rumor about flour trains that never arrived. She doesn’t argue. She listens. Then she turns and walks.
From Sennaya to the narrow service gate.
Through the iron gate to the dim basement corridors.
From the basement to the heat and noise of the kitchen.
She works inside the palace.
Polished floors reflect chandeliers like still water. Felt pads whisper across parquet. Boots are brushed until they shine. Silver trays catch candlelight. Steam rises from heavy pots. Knives strike wood in steady rhythm. She moves through it with lowered eyes, steady hands. She stands in rooms where decisions are made and says nothing. She hears everything. She keeps one sentence and lets the rest fall away.
From the girl to the cook.
“Bread’s tighter in Sennaya.”
The cook wipes his hands on a stained cloth, frowns, says nothing for a beat.
From the cook to the footman.
“They’re lining up before dawn now.”
The footman straightens a cuff, smooths his coat, nods once.
From the footman to the chambermaid.
“They’re restless out there.”
The chambermaid pauses with a folded sheet, eyes narrowing.
From the chambermaid to the lady-in-waiting.
“It’s getting worse in the city.”
The lady-in-waiting lowers her voice, adjusts a ribbon, chooses her words.
From the lady-in-waiting to the Empress.
“People are unsettled.”
Each step cleans it. Each step shortens it. Each step makes it safe.
On Gorokhovaya Street, Grigori Rasputin listens. A cramped room. Heavy curtains. Worn chair. The air thick with candle wax and damp wool. Servants come without their uniforms, coats smelling of smoke, onions, soap, and cold air. They bring fragments—kitchen talk, corridor whispers, a glance from a room where someone didn’t sleep.
A girl stands in the doorway longer than she should, twisting her hands, eyes lowered. He doesn’t rush her. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets the silence settle until it presses the words out of her.
He smells the smoke in her clothes before she speaks.
He takes it in. Holds it longer than anyone else will. Turns it. Softens it. Gives it back changed.
Not bread lines.
Not prices.
Meaning.
Warning.
Faith.
From Rasputin to the Empress.
“They are troubled, but they remain loyal.”
She believes it. She needs it to be true.
From the Empress to the Tsar.
“Russia is strained, but it stands with you.”
Nicholas reads it behind glass. Thick carpets. Tall windows. Heavy silence. Reports come the same way—inked pages, careful summaries, measured words. Unrest, yes—but contained. Agitators, perhaps—but manageable.
He sees movement.
He does not hear voices.
Sennaya keeps moving.
Bread gets smaller.
Lines get longer.
The girl walks back through the square at night.
Street to servant.
Servant to servant.
Servant to room.
Room to throne.
What begins as hunger arrives as reassurance.
It was something he could live with.
It was something he would die by.
S-E-N-N-A-Y-A
Sennaya wakes before the sun. Cold air. Wet cobblestone. The sour-sweet smell of hay, cabbage, cheap bread, and horse sweat. The line forms before the carts arrive. A woman in a frayed shawl counts worn coins twice and still comes up short. A hollow-eyed boy watches the butcher scrape the last gray ribbon of fat from a bone. A man with cracked hands stands too long in one place, waiting for work that isn’t coming. Nobody calls this history. This is just morning.
A kitchen girl stands in that line. Thin coat. Red hands. Breath showing in the cold. She hears it plain. Bread is short again. Prices jumped overnight. Someone’s cousin didn’t come back from the front. A rumor about flour trains that never arrived. She doesn’t argue. She listens. Then she turns and walks.
From Sennaya to the narrow service gate.
Through the iron gate to the dim basement corridors.
From the basement to the heat and noise of the kitchen.
She works inside the palace.
Polished floors reflect chandeliers like still water. Felt pads whisper across parquet. Boots are brushed until they shine. Silver trays catch candlelight. Steam rises from heavy pots. Knives strike wood in steady rhythm. She moves through it with lowered eyes, steady hands. She stands in rooms where decisions are made and says nothing. She hears everything. She keeps one sentence and lets the rest fall away.
From the girl to the cook.
“Bread’s tighter in Sennaya.”
The cook wipes his hands on a stained cloth, frowns, says nothing for a beat.
From the cook to the footman.
“They’re lining up before dawn now.”
The footman straightens a cuff, smooths his coat, nods once.
From the footman to the chambermaid.
“They’re restless out there.”
The chambermaid pauses with a folded sheet, eyes narrowing.
From the chambermaid to the lady-in-waiting.
“It’s getting worse in the city.”
The lady-in-waiting lowers her voice, adjusts a ribbon, chooses her words.
From the lady-in-waiting to the Empress.
“People are unsettled.”
Each step cleans it. Each step shortens it. Each step makes it safe.
On Gorokhovaya Street, Grigori Rasputin listens. A cramped room. Heavy curtains. Worn chair. The air thick with candle wax and damp wool. Servants come without their uniforms, coats smelling of smoke, onions, soap, and cold air. They bring fragments—kitchen talk, corridor whispers, a glance from a room where someone didn’t sleep.
A girl stands in the doorway longer than she should, twisting her hands, eyes lowered. He doesn’t rush her. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets the silence settle until it presses the words out of her.
He smells the smoke in her clothes before she speaks.
He takes it in. Holds it longer than anyone else will. Turns it. Softens it. Gives it back changed.
Not bread lines.
Not prices.
Meaning.
Warning.
Faith.
From Rasputin to the Empress.
“They are troubled, but they remain loyal.”
She believes it. She needs it to be true.
From the Empress to the Tsar.
“Russia is strained, but it stands with you.”
Nicholas reads it behind glass. Thick carpets. Tall windows. Heavy silence. Reports come the same way—inked pages, careful summaries, measured words. Unrest, yes—but contained. Agitators, perhaps—but manageable.
He sees movement.
He does not hear voices.
Sennaya keeps moving.
Bread gets smaller.
Lines get longer.
The girl walks back through the square at night.
Street to servant.
Servant to servant.
Servant to room.
Room to throne.
What begins as hunger arrives as reassurance.
It was something he could live with.
It was something he would die by.
S-E-N-N-A-Y-A
Sennaya wakes before the sun. Cold air. Wet cobblestone. The sour-sweet smell of hay, cabbage, cheap bread, and horse sweat. The line forms before the carts arrive. A woman in a frayed shawl counts worn coins twice and still comes up short. A hollow-eyed boy watches the butcher scrape the last gray ribbon of fat from a bone. A man with cracked hands stands too long in one place, waiting for work that isn’t coming. Nobody calls this history. This is just morning.
A kitchen girl stands in that line. Thin coat. Red hands. Breath showing in the cold. She hears it plain. Bread is short again. Prices jumped overnight. Someone’s cousin didn’t come back from the front. A rumor about flour trains that never arrived. She doesn’t argue. She listens. Then she turns and walks.
From Sennaya to the narrow service gate.
Through the iron gate to the dim basement corridors.
From the basement to the heat and noise of the kitchen.
She works inside the palace.
Polished floors reflect chandeliers like still water. Felt pads whisper across parquet. Boots are brushed until they shine. Silver trays catch candlelight. Steam rises from heavy pots. Knives strike wood in steady rhythm. She moves through it with lowered eyes, steady hands. She stands in rooms where decisions are made and says nothing. She hears everything. She keeps one sentence and lets the rest fall away.
From the girl to the cook.
“Bread’s tighter in Sennaya.”
The cook wipes his hands on a stained cloth, frowns, says nothing for a beat.
From the cook to the footman.
“They’re lining up before dawn now.”
The footman straightens a cuff, smooths his coat, nods once.
From the footman to the chambermaid.
“They’re restless out there.”
The chambermaid pauses with a folded sheet, eyes narrowing.
From the chambermaid to the lady-in-waiting.
“It’s getting worse in the city.”
The lady-in-waiting lowers her voice, adjusts a ribbon, chooses her words.
From the lady-in-waiting to the Empress.
“People are unsettled.”
Each step cleans it. Each step shortens it. Each step makes it safe.
On Gorokhovaya Street, Grigori Rasputin listens. A cramped room. Heavy curtains. Worn chair. The air thick with candle wax and damp wool. Servants come without their uniforms, coats smelling of smoke, onions, soap, and cold air. They bring fragments—kitchen talk, corridor whispers, a glance from a room where someone didn’t sleep.
A girl stands in the doorway longer than she should, twisting her hands, eyes lowered. He doesn’t rush her. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets the silence settle until it presses the words out of her.
He smells the smoke in her clothes before she speaks.
He takes it in. Holds it longer than anyone else will. Turns it. Softens it. Gives it back changed.
Not bread lines.
Not prices.
Meaning.
Warning.
Faith.
From Rasputin to the Empress.
“They are troubled, but they remain loyal.”
She believes it. She needs it to be true.
From the Empress to the Tsar.
“Russia is strained, but it stands with you.”
Nicholas reads it behind glass. Thick carpets. Tall windows. Heavy silence. Reports come the same way—inked pages, careful summaries, measured words. Unrest, yes—but contained. Agitators, perhaps—but manageable.
He sees movement.
He does not hear voices.
Sennaya keeps moving.
Bread gets smaller.
Lines get longer.
The girl walks back through the square at night.
Street to servant.
Servant to servant.
Servant to room.
Room to throne.
What begins as hunger arrives as reassurance.
It was something he could live with.
It was something he would die by.
“The Lottery, with its weekly pay-out of enormous prizes, was the one public event to which the proles paid serious attention. It was probable that there were some millions of proles for whom the Lottery was the principal if not the only reason for remaining alive. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned, even people who could barely read and write seemed capable of intricate calculations and staggering feats of memory. There was a whole tribe of men who made their living simply by selling systems, forecasts, and lucky amulets. Winston had nothing to do with the Lottery, which was managed by the Ministry of Plenty, but he was aware (indeed everyone in the party was aware) that the prizes were largely imaginary. Only small sums were actually paid out, the winners of the big prizes being nonexistent persons.”
― George Orwell, 1984
I think it’s even darker than this. I have a very strong suspicion through all of the research I’ve done on the system from the “winners” to how the money is “controlled” that a ton of this money is stolen. The auditor of powerball is a tiny little firm from GA. Why doesn’t an institution that has billions of dollars running through it and is this high profile have a large reputable big 4 audit firm? It’s all very suspicious.
Wow. Thank you. I got very interested in this after watching McMillions on Netflix. Watch it if you haven’t. I am a CPA. I Audit large financial institutions and I’m skeptical anywhere that there’s lots of money because there’s always fraud.
Your point on not having a large accounting firm is partially true. I discovered Deloitte (which is pretty big) is a key to all the money laundering and accounting ring fraud with States and IGT. Ie..Syed Hussain who works as the CIO for the Oregon Lottery developed the INTELLIGEN CMS technology and he also holds a certification from Deloitte. He also served on IGT’s IGSA board.
Hillary it is much darker and I recently completed a three year investigation. Your comment is correct. The MUSL is a joke of an organization formed originally by IGT/Scientific games, Oregon Lottery, and a few others in the 1990’s. The dark part is nobody seems to ask the obvious.
Who controls the technology for all Lottery games? It is not the States or Federal Government. It is the 2nd largest Wall Street Hedge Fund, Apollo Global Management who now owns IGT. Every time you buy a scratcher or drawing game you just paid a hedge fund. Go check out my articles on Substack if you want to see the details.
Wow this is very interesting. I work for EY so I know Deloitte very well. I’m not saying that the big four doesn’t have their issues, but this is downright sinister. I would love to know more as an auditor and Cpa.
If lottery money is not in fact going to schools it is no wonder people are so uneducated and that has to stop.
There’s good reason why those who have hit the lottery have gone broke within years, those who never had money can’t handle having it. Friends and family guilt you into paying off their debt as new friends chase you for the rest, while you can’t spend what’s left fast enough. It’s a nightmare, leaving the “winner” worse off than before. So many claim it ruined their lives.
I actually had a friend of mine, well guy I used to hunt and Fish with occasionally win a lottery. 16.8 million. Was single, decent individual and loved to give to charity. Later he developed brain cancer. Specialists in Canada told him to get his effects in order.. dead man walking! One of his best friends talked him into going to surgeons in the U.S.. 4 months later he walked out of the hospital but couldn’t drive for months. It did come back eventually his wife took him all over the globe but no one could save him sadly. And that’s about as close as I’ll ever come to a lottery win! I very rarely purchase a ticket. When I do I never get a dime back! 😂
And I’m dying of social IV cancer. And you think I feel bad about not taking half his money. I had to sign a document saying I was acting against the lawyer’s wishes or advice. Lmao, def wishes!
But I have never regretted it. It is no way to live. Take it from someone who’s dying.
Hold the phone:
What is the “normal“ way to become a billionaire?
My ex became an investment banker then started his own private equity firm. He worked days on end and often spent nights there. They all do at that level, the lowest rung, and until they make it. Normal people don’t go zero dollars (or in the red) to billionaires. People who are willing to throw away everything in their lives do.
Nobody out there wants to become a billionaire. Or yes, they do — in theory — but it’s in theory. And it’s misguided.
He’s a billionaire, and he’s surrounded family and friends and utterly miserable. And the people around him — his wife and friends — are literally scary. They are not someone you see at a party and say I wanna be that man or that woman.
Mmm no you jl pop package deliveries online payments, but customer data was not impacted at a pair. Post Office employees turned away frustrated customers trying to send a retreat packages. Customers of the bank postal were blocked from using the application to approve payments or conduct other banking services, the bank redirected approval to text messages that teams are working to resolve the situation quickly. A car bomb has killed a Russian in general, the third such killing of a senior military officer and just more than a year investigators say Ukraine may be behind the attack since Moscow sent troops into Ukraine nearly 4 years ago Russian officials have blamed Ukraine for several assassinations of military officers in public figures in Russia claimed responsibility for some of them we had breaking news off the top of the show from North Wichita one person in critical condition following a shooting Wichita police talking about this situation. It’s near 25th in our Kansas. Let’s go live and listen.
Give you details in reference to a shooting occurred shortly after 316 this afternoon in the 2600 block of therapy so around 316 this afternoon Office responded to the 2600 block Fairview, where to shooting location. They located a 14 year old male with a gunshot to the upper Wichita Police Officers ems Life measures that Mail was transported to hospital for critical condition at this time. At this time. This is still ongoing investigation. We’re still trying to learn the details and facts of what occurred what I can tell you also that Mail found three other males as well, so this is preliminary investigation where we don’t have a bunch of details it’s unfortunate that we’re standing here again with another juvenile but right now we wanted to give you the information in the details we had so right now I’ll step.
It’s so sad that our own governments are now selling HOPE to its poorest citizens… but the odds are so incredibly small it’s ridiculous, the sad part is that they cling on to any hope they can🤬and there’s the trap…