View allAll Photos Tagged Calloused
@TMD
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/TMD/144/114/21
Fantastically calloused eye Iris textures.
Gives one an otheworldly, been through rough times vibe.
[Addon for Glimmer Eyes].
You can choose whether to apply to the texture, material, or both.
The man who betrays Him day after day, drunk with vanity, resentment, or reckless ambition, lives in a ghostly mist of mis-givings. Having ruined love with greed, he is still wondering about the lack of tenderness in his own life. His soul contains a hiding-place for an escaping conscience. He has torn his ties to God into shreds of shrieking dread, and his mind remains dull and callous. Spoiler of his own lot, he walks the earth a skeleton of a soul, raving about missed delight.
--Abraham Joshua Heschel, Man’s Quest for God: Studies in Prayer and Symbolism
狐仙开大会
Maoer
▪Hair：VCO ~ Dan / 003 . RARE - Mainstore
▪Top：toksik - Valiance Top - TWS
▪Bandage：toksik - Valiance Bandage - TWS
▪Pants：toksik - Valiance Pants - TWS
▪Shoes：toksik - Valiance Shoes - TWS
▪Cat Ear：[JIUJIANWU&.SAN3.]Cat ear FATPACK - Mainstore
▪Earring：YaYa*Panda earring - Mainstore
▪Pipe：*:..Silvery K..:*Japanese pipe(Lotus Gold)
▪Tail：+ Nekomata + {egosumaii}
Me
▪Hair：ZAO Callous Hair - Mainstore
▪Top：toksik - Valiance Top - TWS
▪Bandage：toksik - Valiance Bandage - TWS
▪Pants：toksik - Valiance Pants - TWS
▪Shoes：toksik - Valiance Shoes - TWS
▪Fox Ear：Happy Paw - Fox Ears Bento
▪Earring：YaYa*Panda earring - Mainstore
▪Pipe：!R! Kiseru of the Kitsune - Mainstore
❤❤Thank all the authors❤❤
And in the midst of the battle, she realized, just before her death, that she was always fighting alone, and how strong and brave she never thought to be, when she tought was all army back her, then callous surprised by that strong blow that finally ended her life , sHe died peacefully because she always gave the best ever
THE FANTASY GACHA IS OPEN :)
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Fathom/122/128/35
credits in a few minutes
{moss&mink} Faunication - Faun legs black @TFG
{moss&mink} Faunication - Cincher @TFG
{moss&mink} Faunication - Corset blush @TFG
{moss&mink} Faunication - Faun staff RARE @TFG
{moss&mink} Faunication - Potion vial belt blush @TFG
{moss&mink} Faunication - Shoulders blush @TFG
!Musa! Artifact Staff 07 @TFG
*LE* Elvish Necklace 1 Onyx @TFG
+ Kali Extra Arms V2 + {aii}
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Devils%20Tail/126/110/67
[ MIKO ] Dark circles ~ 2 ~ Blood drop CURELESS+WEDNESDAY STORES
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Fruitcake/193/94/17
CURELESS [+] Carved Cherry Blooms / LIGHT
CURELESS [+] Cutie Coven Eyes / PURE / LIGHT (R)
CURELESS+WEDNESDAY STORES
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Fruitcake/193/94/17
HAIR
Love [Siren's Call] Bangs + Resizer
Love [Siren's Call] Fitted Mesh Hair
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Black%20Frost/225/225/1001
*katat0nik* (white/left) Maiu Bracelet - ORIGAMI prize
Rhombus
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Blog !279!
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Birth
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-Birth- 'Slits' Pupil Textures for Glimmer Eyes
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@ Fantasy Faire
April 22 - May 9
Taxi: Fantasy Faire
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Much requested for fantasy avatars - slit eyes to look animal that just like any pupils
on Glimmer eyes, will randomly dilate or are adjustable in size.
(Pair with Iris textures without pupils).
4 textures, in sharp and blurred versions.
Can customize their size and even have them animating with the pupil-dilation
features within the main Glimmer Eyes Hud.
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*Birth* 'Scar' Eye Textures
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@TMD
May 5th open
Taxi: TMD
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Fantastically calloused eye Iris textures. Gives one an otheworldly, been through rough times vibe. [Addon for Glimmer Eyes]. You can choose whether to apply to the texture,
material, or both.
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-Birth- 'Blaze' Skin for Lelutka
Applier & BOM
Shape included
8 Beards in Tintable White
4 Eyebrow Colours.
Browless Option.
Black, Blonde, Brown, Red Hairbase Colours.
Tintable White Hairbase.
'Off' Buttons for Hairbase and Beards.
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Stuff:
((Mister Razzor)) Rony HD Brow
-TIVOLI - SLYTHERIN SHAPE LELUTKA SKYLER 2.5
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Birth Men's BOM Body Appliers
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Full appliers come with various body hair options
No Hair, 6 chest hair and 4 leg hair styles.
9 Tones in Fatpacks (Full Range).
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LeiMotiv
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~[LeiMotiv] Rhombus Earrings
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Hud driven fatpack
Materials enabled
Unrigged w/ resizer
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Details & Eye Colors on our Blog>>>
In its heyday, this gigantic barn must have been magnificent but now its grandeur can only be imagined. My farming father was a strong man, developed through years of hard, physical labor. He could lift machinery as though it were a child's toy. Nearing death and frail in body, rough callouses on his hands were only faint reminders of what he once was.
Chartreuse blossoms of the maple tree and mint green of honeysuckle brush being blended with the calloused limbs of the black walnut.
Uyuni
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Overland%20Hills/143/201/22
Knew trouble too well,
Calloused heart, still love prevails,
A paradox lives.
©Harris Brown-ALL rights reserved. This image may not be used for ANY purpose without written permission.
Thanks to all who take the time to view, comment on and favor my images. It is very much appreciated.
Stone Harbor Point, New Jersey, USA.
This handsome fella was all decked out in his finest full breeding plumage attire, hoping to snag one of those pretty ladies. Probably the most common sandpiper on the east coast, they are highly entertaining yet a challenge to photograph as they are always on the move chasing the waves.
Nikon D500 camera with Nikon 500mm f4 G VR lens with 1.4 converter.
1/2500 f6.3 ISO 640
Though the arrogant have smeared me with lies,
I keep your precepts with all my heart.
Their hearts are callous and unfeeling,
but I delight in your law.
It was good for me to be afflicted
so that I might learn your decrees.
The law from your mouth is more precious to me
than thousands of pieces of silver and gold.
Psalm 119:69-72
Can you see the years?
There are fifty of them in this face. Some hard ones, and some not quite so bad. Some fat ones, and a lot of lean ones, barely scraping by. But they are all here on this face, every single one of them. They appear in many places.
Can you see the years in every wrinkle on my face? Each wrinkle comes from a worry, a tough lesson, a lost love, a heartache or a heartbreak. There are many of them, but each one was a building block of character in whom I would eventually become. Each crease a reminder of the things I have done, or the things I have left undone. Each line a visible mark of the consequence of my choices.
Can you see the years in each grey hair upon my face? They did not just magically appear overnight. They come with the hurt of losing a friend, the sadness of being misunderstood, the longing for love that will never be. They come with each and every hardening of my heart, a stone laid in place to close off the outside world from reaching the wounded heart inside me.
Can you see the years in my eyes? Behind the blue eyes lie the sorrows of my past. Failed friendships and marriages that haunt me constantly. The failures in past ventures and efforts, making me more calloused against the world, cynical by nature, reserved in sharing my true self with anyone.
Then came you. Your passion, your compassion, your kindness. These things have somehow vanquished the years from my face. Each line washed away like the footprints in the sand are washed away by the ocean's tide. Each grey hair restored to a brilliance like the sun breaking from behind the stormy clouds. Each sorrow and sadness washed away like rain, streaming like tears down my face. You have erased the years, and given me purpose and meaning - a reason for existence. You have broken down the stone walls around me given me room to run and grow. You have given me hope at the chance for love once again.
Can you see the years.....disappear?
~Dwayne
To lift the lock down tedium.....
End of the Road for this theme from me ( promise )
I have a callous on my left and right index fingers, from all the pressing and sliding etc ...
(SERIES BELOW)
I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.
Lyrics by Holly Dunn and Dolly Parton
What Do You Call An Old Wizard Who Walks Everywhere In Bare Feet, Has Osteoporosis, And Really Bad Breath?
A Super Calloused Fragile Mystic Hexed By Halitosis!
Arr Arr...ahem...Hey, You Were Warned In The Title.
"Well this macro image says it all" for my 'Macro Monday' entry this week 24/02/2020" .... The topic is .... "Sweet or Savoury"
Fairy cake icing man loves sweet treats as can be seen from the image.
Come to think of it so do I, well all his mates went down so well with a nice cuppa .... 😂🍰
The title is a famous quote from Marie-Antonette the Queen of France to her staving subjects who had no bread, she said,
""Well let them eat cake"" this callous and hurtful remark started a revolution in 1789.
"Rich posh upper class bloaters" .... well I wouldn't of expected anything else, it's roughly the same today 2020, things don't change much through the centuries do they ?
Love & Peace everyone! Thank you everyone who views, comments or favs my macro images .... it's very much appreciated .... Cheers!
💖😻💕
My favourite city walk, the green tunnel that follows the chalk stream, which is a conduit for so much wildlife. Sometimes you won't see any animals, but other times you can see kingfishers, little egrets, water rails, grass snakes, water voles, muntjac deer, foxes and many other species. We are very lucky to have it, and take part in the regular clear-ups of the rubbish that either blows in or gets callously dumped there. This threat is dwarfed however by the existential one posed by over abstraction of water from the springs that supply it; our water supply must be managed for people and environment first, and private profit second.
This weathered dairy barn, with its handsome brickwork and distinctive gambrel roof, stands as a century-old survivor from the early 1900s, when similar architectural combinations defined rural America. The gambrel design itself traces back to Dutch settlers who brought this practical roof style to America in the 1600s.
On the modest family farms of that era, a substantial barn like this served as the farming operation's heartbeat. From their initial construction until the widespread decline of Minnesota small dairies in the 1970s and 80s, these barns witnessed generations of farmers housing their cattle and storing tons of hay in the loft above. The upper level sometimes held grain bins for winter feeding, making the barn a complete storehouse.
That cupola crowning the roof wasn't a mere decoration as it provided essential ventilation to prevent hay from spoiling and kept air circulating throughout the structure, protecting both feed and livestock.
Around the time this barn was built, St. Cloud served as a Minnesota brick manufacturing center, with the industry established in Stearns County during the Civil War era. While smaller brick yards operated closer to this barn's location in Kennebec County, practical considerations likely meant these bricks arrived by rail from St. Cloud's larger, more established kilns.
The farm children who grew up around barns like this remember them as centers of endless daily labor, but also a place where they learned lessons about life's fragility through caring for animals from birth to death.
Those same youngsters, many of them now elderly, carry vivid memories of Saturday morning conversations with fathers long gone, shared while mucking stalls and the infectious laughter of siblings goofing around at milking time, their voices still echoing despite needing hearing aids now to catch them.
Most of those once-young farmer boys have aged beyond heavy labor, but their hands remain calloused from decades of pitchfork handles, five-gallon feed pails, and the cool feel of snapping metal stanchions together before milking the trapped cows.
So forgive us old-timers for our wistfulness when we see an empty barn standing silent on a farm place. For during very formative years of our lives, structures like this one were at the heart of everything we knew, even if that heartbeat has now slowed down and grown faint.
(Photographed in Kennebec County, MN)
"Where the river becomes the sea and the mist rises, the birds guard the gate to the swamp."
At the entrance to the marsh, where the great river widens so much that it could be mistaken for an inland sea, stands a wooden cabin. Simple, sturdy, and unadorned, it has remained standing despite the wind, the rain, and the passing of time. It belongs to the fishermen who continue to moor their boats there, spread their nets, and share the silence. The wood bears the imprint of their calloused hands and patient footsteps, and the walls, though worn, still breathe the presence of men ...
👉 Read the rest of the chapter here: lostswampsl.wixsite.com/blog-lost-swamp/blog
👉 Visit us on sl here: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Glimpse%20of%20Eternity/23...
I admit I have to many camera’s, more importantly to many systems, but lets just call it the philandering whims of an old man. Up until 2017 I had only one, Canon. Then with more time on my hands I had multiple short term flings with Olympus seduced by those sexy computational features going for one model then another. Then Fujifilm turned my head and at a whim I callously ditched Olympus, all that time Canon stays faithful. So Fujifilm becomes the other camera in my life and my relationships move into calmer waters, each camera knowing there place. Then pimped by another, Olympus calls its self OM and has more to offer to entice this sad old man and I’m suckered in again. Canon and Fujifulm wait in the wings while I go on another whirlwind romance. Eventually my head catches up to my fluttering heart to tell me I can’t support this trilogy and one must go. I haven’t taken Canon out for a while but surly I’m not thinking of getting rid of my old faithful. I take canon on a two day trip and go on a serious morning catchup together. The conditions are not what was expected and the date has no atmosphere, I even forget how to handle Canon’s finer features, I’m falling out of love. The last morning and the last try, even though OM is in the car I reluctantly take Canon again and Fujifilm tags along sporting a long lens, just in case. I have no guilt leaving OM as we’d just had a wild night together under the stars. I get to the lake shore and this morning the atmosphere is better than previously, I go through the motions of setting up Canon and then I look through the viewfinder and the magic reappears and I take this image.
She leaves behind
The ashes of destruction
The pain of callousness
Rising to find
The love of true friends
And the gift of life
www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuJufGeOjuc
Photo taken in Lost Unicorn.
Credits in the other photo, The Phoenix' New Song.
Look in to my eyes.. tell me what you see?
a dream? a desire? a hope?
tell me what you see.. I m waiting...
aspirations? stars?
look in to my eyes..
tell me.. I am wanting..
tell me.. I am waiting...
This dear cute prince, who reigns in the princely state of dreamsville.. is Fahad. I love his eyes and smile.. don't you agree?
About the pic :
Okay guys this here pic, as far as post processing is concerned, though I wanted to keep it original, yet I have added text and softened the image a bit, to enhance the vivid nature of the image since it wasn't the best of mpix cam, and yep.. the framing too.
As far as the description is concerned, I really was about to write a pretty lengthy but kinda romanticised poem here, but I curbed my aesthetics.. as I felt it won't fit the subject, so I hope that I feel like that again soon.. and would be able to write something cool to present, till then, I hope you guys like it.
Have great start to your week, all smiles.
Awaiting your comments and critique.
I hope this world doesn't leave you callous.
I hope your eyes are always brave enough to stay open.
That they are honest enough to reflect the pain.
I hope you realize that life is all about the connections.
That the grass, and the trees, and the creatures all have names.
I hope you learn that you aren't above or below anyone.
That even the things you hate, have a place.
I hope you experience all this world has to offer.
The joy, the devastation, the wonder,
And the ache.
-L.E. Bowman
Taken at Whimberly in SL
This is not my best one, but I got 1 opportunity for a shot, then he was gone with his prew.
Adult Dragonflies are born rulers of their domain and they prove it to just about every insect that thinks it can pull a fast one on this killing machine. The adult dragonfly uses the basket formed by its legs to catch insects while flying. The adult dragonfly likes to eat gnats, mayflies, flies, mosquitoes and other small flying insects. They sometimes eat butterflies, moths and bees too.
From bees to mosquitoes, dragonflies make a meal out of what they please and can hunt down insects on a whim, callously plucking them out of thin air after out-flying outmaneuvering and them in the chase that does not normally last very long.
To give you a little insight, the dragonfly that is many times the size of a mosquito or a housefly needs to flap its wings a mere 30 times a minute when compared to a mosquito’s 600 times a minute and the housefly’s 1000 flaps a minute requirement to keep them flying and in peak maneuverability. Such is the power that the dragonfly is equipped with and given its low-energy speed capability, very, very few insects can escape its basket shaped grabbing limbs that it uses to clutch on to its prey before crushing the critter into a gooey mass, with its powerful mandibles and swallowing it.
Better Large-A re-cut of a previous picture that needed to be brought up to date. Driving through the US, I could stop and take pictures everyday, summer, winter, spring, and fall. Personally, I try to take pictures that represent a particular area. The northern Midwestern states bloom in the summer with the wheat fields! 0030
FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...
Every Season Has Its Own Glory (JHWatkins)
Every season has its own glory,
Every purpose has its own time,
Every moment has its own story,
Every story has its own line.
I have walked deep into cities,
Shining brightly never to fail,
Listened to heart cries,
Lost in the morning,
Standing on corners
Stagnant and stale.
Where is the hope
That brought forth the laughter?
Where is the song?
The music unveiled?
Why are the choices so
Wasted and bitter?
Gathered in hatred,
Broken and pale.
I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,
Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-
Free on the framework
Of perfect perspective,
Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.
Come now and sing of mists in the forest,
Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-
Come and behold the delicate balance
Of seasons and reasons and rhythms
And birth.
There are the voices lost in confusion,
Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-
Calloused and cold the circling conveyance,
Crippled emotion commotion prevails.
Beacons in quiet of last true performance,
Heralded nature in singular cause-
Perfect and pure
Though wasted and slandered.
Washed by confession
In smoldering awe.
Severed connections, squandered projections-
Revered reflections of stammering tongues-
Coined by controlling contriving convections,
In different directions now written in stone.
Now is the time to look to the heavens,
Now is the moment to take up the cause,
Now is the voice of blazing amazement,
Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.
Listen to stream, listen to forest,
Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-
Listen to voices rolling like thunder,
Come drink of the waters
And dance with the dawn.
Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,
Facing the force of the burgeoning call-
Strong in the seasons of life and creation,
Firm on foundations that never will fall.
James Watkins 09-01-08
Colombo, Sri Lanka
Many of the trishaw drivers are visibly handicapped ex-servicemen from Sri Lanka's Tamil Tiger war.
After three decades of conflict, Sri Lanka’s government defeated the ethnic separatist insurgent group Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, popularly known as the Tamil Tigers, in May 2009.
The violence and brutality employed by both sides in the final years of the conflict horrified the global community, especially when Sri Lanka credited its callousness to civilian casualties as a key to its success.
One of my favorite slogans is the “never again” of the Jewish people. It is a cry of freedom and self-determination. It represents a clenched fist against the historic suffering of their nation and those who would find any kind of pretext to reenact it. It is a clear message to current and upcoming tyrants: The Jews will not forget the lessons of the holocaust and the grievous pain and humiliation endured by their ancestors, from Babylon to Auschwitz.
This has to be, however, the moment in history when it is the hardest to recite that beautifully rebellious slogan with any proud defiance. It so happens that the zealot whose political platform is all about keeping the people of Israel safe has miserably failed to deliver on that promise and is now at large trying to save face by bombing civilian households and condemning another nation to deprivation and famine.
Oh how difficult it is to say “never again” as the bombs fall and Palestine suffers. Oh how callous does that beautiful utterance sound when the people who know firsthand what it is to be deprived and brutalized stay so quiet while their home-made tyrants deprive and brutalize the tribe next door. Oh how dirty does it feel to recite those two words when the zeitgeist seems to show that all the pain and deprivation endured by the Jewish nation across history has not resulted in the right amount of compassion for the other Semites across that ever expanding imaginary border. #ceasefirenow #gaza
In its heyday, this gigantic barn must have been magnificent but now its grandeur can only be imagined. My farming father was a strong man, developed through years of hard, physical labor. He could lift machinery as though it were a child's toy. Nearing death and frail in body, rough callouses on his hands were only faint reminders of what he once was.
Getting old is a new experience for me. As a farm lad raised with a good work ethic, most tasks I faced throughout life seemed easier than using a pitchfork to transport the products of untrained livestock. My hands still bear callouses from hours of embracing the handle of a fork or scoop shovel.
Thus it was with some consternation that a few years ago I began to concede parts of life's battle to complaining muscles, loss of a lot of my hearing and a growing inability to think quickly or communicate fast enough to keep the interest of my grandchildren. I do strange things now like holding on to the rails of my treadmill when exercising or using a flashlight at night when I come to bed so I don't trip over one of my wife's shoes.
But one of the compensations of the dimming of life is appreciation of natural things I once took for granted. In my sunset years each sunrise is a blessing as it signals the start of another day made for rejoicing and reminiscing over the many privileges I have enjoyed on this planet. No sunrise is blase to me any more and ones as in this photo are now savored like the first well flavored morning cup of coffee in the early hours.
During March each year, I am on the look out for nuptial flight and mating frenzy of our large, formidable native bull dog ants.
The frenzy and speed of movement within these mating masses is quite incredible and very exciting to observe - and they are over after a short while.
Then the frenzy breaks up and I see what I assume to be winged males all around the site, struggling and in their death throes, their duty done.
And this time I observed an additional occurrence when small black ants began attacking the much larger winged bull dog ants and literally ripping them apart.
I thought right there, how brutal and callous the natural world can be, all loyalty lost between ant brethren at this moment.
But in the natural world, a death can provide life for another and this is the harsh reality we must accept.
Bull dog ant around 4 cm body length. Genus Myrmecia, perhaps brevinoda.
Link to mating frenzy image: www.flickr.com/photos/112623317@N03/41178445302/in/photol...
© All rights reserved.
One of my female friends... I've managed to use the perfect sunlight
and captured this shot of her amazing soles while extensive shoeplay.
Wooden slides are the best...
"I seem to grow more acutely conscious of the swift passage of time as I grow older. When I was small, days and hours were long and spacious, and there was play and acres of leisure, and many children's books to read. I remember that as I was writing a poem on 'Snow' when I was eight. I said aloud, 'I wish I could have the ability to write down the feelings I have now while I'm still little, because when I grow up I will know how to write, but I will have forgotten what being little feels like.' And so it is that childlike sensitivity to new experiences and sensations seems to diminish in an inverse proportion to growth of technical ability. As we become polished, so do we become hardened and guilty of accepting eating, sleeping, seeing, and hearing too easily and lazily, without question. We become blunt and callous and blissfully passive as each day adds another drop to the stagnant well of our years."
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
For more Protest Sign ideas, see my Protest (Signs) GALLERY @:
www.flickr.com/photos/130881643@N04/galleries/72157723630...
For more reasons to join the rallies, see my POLITICO Gallery @:
www.flickr.com/photos/130881643@N04/galleries/72157718275...
________________________________________
HANDS OFF 2025: Saturday, April 5
Find Event • Social Toolkit • Signs
“A core principle behind Hands Off! is a commitment to NON-violent action. We expect all participants to seek to de-escalate any potential confrontation with those who disagree with our values.”
BRUNO: "Why?"
INNER DOG: "YOU are so callous. Think about it for a moment"
BRUNO: "You're wrong, I share my food with everyone except sea monsters."
INNER DOG: "Farewell, you fool!"
Self-portrait
Echoes of who I used to be. Artifacts left behind. Pieces of me scattered by those who stole a part and callously discarded it. Who will ever put me back together again?
All rights reserved: Spoken in Red/ Jennifer Rhoades Photography
Cut off from the sea by the suspicious port authorities in Shanghai it seemed that the only way I was going to get out of China was overland. This was my ticket.
In Shanghai I had inquired of every traveler I met about the path ahead of me. I had heard tales of this magnificent and exotic railway adventure before... they called it the greatest railway journey on earth. The longest stretch of steel rail ever layed.
An Australian traveller named Mark told me that he had heard that there was a guy in Beijing who could get me a ticket.
I asked Mark how I could find this guy in Beijing. He said just go there and ask for 'The Crocodile.' Just go to a city of some ten million souls and ask for 'The Crocodile'? It sounded almost insane to me.
Ditching Mark after he made moves on my Chinese girlfriend and ditching my Chinese girlfriend after she got all worked up when a soldier who was following me took a picture of us together on the riverfront... I understood her fear in that time of Tienenmen Square and I knew it was time once again to get moving. It was time to move north to Beijing... the city they once called Peking.
Tsu Tsu Mei was a nice girl. She had told me to call her Eleanor... because that was what she called her 'American name.' I couldn't do it because she just didn't look like an Eleanor to me... I always called her Tsu Tsu Mei. And I think that she really liked that I did... it would have been easier to call her Eleanor I'm sure... but each time I called her 'Tsu Tsu Mei' she gave me this look... it started with a big warm vulnerable smile that made it seem to me that she was melting inside with warm thoughts and shaking knees.
That look always made me want to scoop her up in my arms and give her the same feelings right back. Whenever I said her name and got that look... it just kind of summed everything up right there in that moment. I really liked that. Sometimes I wished that it had gone farther but the way it ended is why I have the memories I do... and I hope she does too... we never hurt each other... never not once... it was the hard and cold government of an opressive authoritarian regime that broke both of our hearts there in Shanghai. It wasn't either of us... it wasn't our fault.
I was with Mark the Australian when I met Tsu Tsu Mei... we were tooling around Shanghai and we had just gotten on the bus after a tour of the Shanghai Waterpipe Factory Number Seven where I had just purchased a fine example of a brass opium waterpipe. We had seen the place while riding the bus and jumped off... the factory was really happy to have foreigners tour the place. I couldn't believe that there were at least six other water bong factories in Shanghai. Somehow we had found the seventh.
As foreigners we were pretty much used to talking in english right in front of people knowing full well that they couldn't follow our conversation... especially the slang riddled prose we frequently used. When Tsu Tsu Mei got on the bus and stood next to me I turned to Mark and said "man she is the most beautiful Chinese woman I have ever seen."
Before Mark could agree... Tsu Tsu Mei let me know that she appreciated the compliment... she smiled and said "thank you" in perfect english.
Shocked that my subterfuge was exposed at first I was a little embarassed... until Mark took that half of a second to start in on her. No way I thought... I was the one who paid the compliment... I was going to be putting the moves on Tsu Tsu Mei. I'm not sure Australian guys understand the concept of a good 'wing man' but Mark sure had some learnin' to do. He needed to watch the movie 'Top Gun' and take some notes.
Tsu Tsu Mei and I arranged to meet later that night in downtown Shanghai and proceeded to become great friends. She even took me to meet her parents... Norman Tsu... the first deaf technical drafting instructor in all of China and his 'deaf wife Janie.'
Tsu Tsu Mei's father Norman was sent to the United States to study technical drafting in the fifties. He went to Gaudellet University and he confided in me that he really liked it... that he didn't want to come back to China... he stopped writing home and corresponding with the government... he wanted to drift away... but they corralled his mother who was a widow by this time... and they made her write Norman a letter that made it really clear that it was in her best interests that Norman return to China. That's how China got its first deaf technical drafting instructor. Or how they got him back.
Norman always referred to his wife as 'My deaf wife.' Both of them were deaf and we passed notes to each other over a marvellous dinner... while Tsu tsu Mei just kept smiling at me and at her parents... unbelievable food Normans deaf wife cooked. It was a feast... and not the Chinese food I was used to... this was exotic and unknown to me. The Tsu's really went out and they've been in my thoughts many times since then.
The Tsu family was really good to me and things were moving right along with Tsu Tsu Mei too until that soldier decided that he'd turn our little hand holding session on the Shanghai riverfrint into a Kodak moment. I had seen that guy following me before... he was the tallest Chinaman I'd ever seen... a full head above the rest of the general population. I found great amusement in shagging him... going into a store and going out the back door. It was really like a game. Still... he always found me... he was on me for days there in Shanghai. And after he took that picture I realized that my company with Tsu Tsu Mei wasn't looked upon favorably by the authorities. She was terrified of the repurcussions. I knew that was it... I wasn't going to get her or her family inot any trouble. I was going to get out of Shanghai.
I purchased a train ticket on a sleeper train for the seventeen hour ride from Shanghai to Beijing. How was it that I could go to a city the size of Beijing almost a thousand miles to the north and find this man called 'The Crocodile' simply by asking? It seemed completely insane... but such was the world I found myself in this year... for me, 1990 was the year of living insanely.
After seventeen hours of watching China slide by through the window accompanied by the soundtrack of nonstop kung fu videos on the train's television sets, I stepped off the carriage in Beijing, China's capital city. Which was a godsend because I could not have taken one more of those videos. The Chinese truly love them... they must be a part of their national identity... the way that the Japanese love Godzilla. Godzilla was a mechanism that helped the Japanese to cope with their loss of World War Two and the painful shock of getting Nuked twice. Even though Godzilla always stomps their cities to pieces they always triumph. It's like a morality tale with them.
When I was living in Osaka someone who worked in the studio that made the Godzilla movies decided to borrow the costume and wear it to a party where he caused it to be damaged to the tune of a hundred and seventy five thousand dollars. I wish I was at that party. Hanging out with the Nigerians. That would have been epic.
The first european looking guy I saw in Beijing... I stopped him as was my custom in the orient and inquired of the conditions and opportunities there in this new city. Blonde hair in China or Japan had always meant 'help desk' to me. We vagabonds and adventurers always stuck together and usually became instant friends as long as there wasn't a woman involved.
Then I asked him if he had ever heard of 'The Crocodile.'
He said that he would take me to see him right now. Right then. Right there. Unbelievable. I'm not kidding. No shit. I couldn't believe it either.
I had found 'The Crocodile.'
The man walked me to a hotel a few blocks away from the railroad station. It was an old building that looked straight out of the 1920's, like just about every other building in Beijing. You could see that it was really beautiful at one time... maybe even opulent or exclusive... but it, like anything else that was once beautiful or opulent, it seemed to fall into despair and decay under the custodianship of the communists. That was the way pretty much all of Beijing looked. With brown air and trees and bushes that were different from all those I had even known. I always notice the trees and bushes in a new city. Here on the other side of the world the plant life and the vegetation was odd to me... just unusual enough to stick out in my mind.
The man knocked on the door and we were answered by a nice looking blonde woman on her early twenties. She looked kind of pissed off but invited us in still. My guide just turned around and left with little more than a gesture to the woman. I followed her into the room.
It had become a bit of a self entertainment for me to wonder why the man I was seeking should be called "The Crocodile." It intrigued me from the moment I had heard it and in my mind I came up with all sorts of reasons for the nickname. None of them pleasant.
The room was an illustration in contrasts... inside "The Crocodile" had rented two rooms... he knocked down the wall that had seperated them and completely remolded it. This guy was livin' cush. He sat on the edge of his bed playing with the tv remote control as if it had befuddled him... I could tell from body language that his girlfriend and he had just been fighting.
"The Crocodile" stood up and turned around to face me... the guy must have been six and a half feet tall... and immediately I could see why they called him "The Crocodile."
He wore these braces on his teeth... the largest mass of metal I've ever seen in a persons mouth. Communist braces aren't very pretty... but these... "The Crocodiles" mouth looked like it had been installed by a blacksmith... an angry, drunken blacksmith. Like hammered bars of hot metal hand forged around each of his teeth.
I had to make myself stop staring as he got right down to business. Croc asked me when I wanted to leave... he said he had one ticket and he wanted a hundred and ten bucks American for it. There'd be no negotiating I could tell that right away. I had a feeling that if I tried that he'd have just relieved me of all my dough right there. Probably my gear too.
We were in a bit of a funny situation for a couple of reasons... I thought the ticket looked fake... it looked worse than some of the permits and passes I'd forged in school. I didn't have a visa to enter Russia... and I didn't carry that kind of currency in US dollars. I wasn't too sure that the Russians would actually be too excited about me coming to their country either. When I expressed this to "The Crocodile" he laughed a powerful and boisterous laugh and told me not to worry about it... he'd just gimme the ticket on good faith... so I could try and get a visa and cash a travellers check or something to come up with the Dollars he wanted. Besides he said "I know where your seat is and when you'll be leaving and if you fuck me I'll kill you" after which he laughed another deep laugh and gave me a half hug. "I want my money by next week he said." and walked me to the door where he said goodbye and his girlfriend gave me another dirty look.
That was it. Absolutely fucking unbelievable. I'm in Beijing less than two hours and I found my guy and I got my ticket. Now I just needed a visa from the Soviet Consulate. He'd also tell me there if the ticket was real I figured.
But right now I needed a place to stay. That would have to be my first order of business. The Croc's hotel seemed a little too luxurious for my budget... I needed something 'dumpier.' Something where my kind'd fit in you know?
I walked out of the hotel and on to the street... pausing for a moment to take a breath of the sulfery yellow tinged air and feel the pulse of the street there...a moment to let the vibe of it all sink in. I could have gone left or I could have gone right but it really didn't matter because I had no idea where I was going anyway. It's like a rule with me... like walking on the upwind side of the street because that's where all the paper money blows. Go left.
My friend Joel... the guy who'd saved my ass from the knife weilding Yakuza that pressed certain death into my throat in that bar in Osaka... he told me that he went insane and that he would hear these voices in his head that always said the same thing... "look to the left Joel." If he wasn't crazy already he said that those voices would do it... he never understood the meaning of it. Stupid voices in your head... they never tell you anything good... like "stay away from that one... she's trouble." They're always all cryptic. You gotta try to figure them out and break the code. Joel said the lithium they gave him pretty much shut the voices down. I never had heard voices though. It would probably be fun for a day or two... just to see what they would say. I think if I had voices they would sound like Vincent Price on LSD.
So I went left after I walked out of the Crocodile's hotel. I usually always go left when I got no idea but this time I was especially glad I did.
I get about a block and right there smack dab... badda bing... I run into this guy I lived with in Osaka Japan... Mike Levine... a Jewish guy from Jersey. He had let me borrow a pair of his shoes because I could find any in my size in Japan. Mike's got this big smile on his face as he sees me... we hug and slap each others backs and talk about the fight that got me thrown out of the university in Japan that we both went to.
Mike gave me directions to a suitably dumpy hotel and we parted ways.
Walking down the street I saw a couple of American girls... who turned out to be two really granola looking lesbian backpackers from Nebraska.
I stopped them there and asked them where they were staying... they said they had no idea... I invited them to share a hotel room with me if we could find one... plus the thought of girl on girl action sounded like really good fun to me. I felt like I was really going to like Beijing. It seemed like an easy city. Things were looking good.
Was this my lucky day or what?
Shit, I been here for like two hours... I already met the guy I came to meet, had a ticket for the Trans Siberian, hooked up with two lesbians and there we found a three dollar a night hotel. Six yuan a night for each of us. What more greatness could god bestow on me? Another lesbian? A blind supermodel? That would just be asking too much I thought. Lady Luck, I've always said, she was indeed a friend of mine.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth they say... so I unpacked my gear in the hotel room... every bit of it... and spread it all around. I always unpack fully so if I get robbed they can't just take one bag and split... they gotta work for it... then I unscrew all the lightbulbs in the room so they gotta have a flashlight to do it well... and then I make some loud noise making booby trap... like a pyramid of empty beer cans behind the door... then they gotta have nerves of steel to finish the job. Never got robbed once. Never. I have come home more than a few times affected by some intoxicant or another and fallen vicim to my own booby traps though. It always scared the beejesus out of me.
The Nebraska lesbians unpacked too.
Time to get out of here... It was time to go have a look at Beijing.
I left the hotel in a hurry and jumped on the first bus I saw... it didn't matter where the bus was going...I didn't care... I was sure that I hadn't been there anyway. That's the great thing about exploring like that. A new city... just go anywhere. It's all new.
Sitting on the bus I was of course the only westerner riding it. The Chinese weren't as polite as the Japanese and they would just stare at you forever... sometimes with mouth agape even... and I found myself very much the center of attention... the center of attention was something I really didn't want to be. I kinda wanted to blend in really. That was going to be tough.
I started having what could only be described as auditory hallucinations on that bus... that happened alot to me in China... but right there it was bad... the cacaphony of Chinese voices started to filter itself out in my hyperactive mind and become english... I could understand things sometimes... I was certain that people were commenting on how intoxicated I was... they all knew it... they were all talking about me... looking at me... 'Is that American guy drunk out of his gourd or what?' I had to get off that bus. The sweat was pouring from my pores. It was getting to be more than uncomfortable... it was unbearable.
The next stop was my stop no matter where it might be... soon as it stopped I jumped off that bus so fast... I didn't even have a clue as to where I was... and I didn't care. Away from that hash house hotel and off of that bus...I just wanted my own little piece of contraband free real estate where I could sit and watch China go by and make amusing comments in my head to entertain myself.
This was my stop.
Before me was layed an enormous plaza... I had never seen such a large paved public space. It was gigantic enough it looked like you could lay down and land a 747 in it if you went from one corner to the next. It was so big and vast that the smog of Beijing obscured the other side of it from me. I didn't know what this place was, but it made me feel realy small... insignificant actually... which was precisely how I wanted to feel.
I stood at Tienenmen Square.
This was the old Beijing... the one that used to be before the extremely systematic exploitation of cheap labor turned the place into a giant pachinko parlor... this was the dirty, dusty and gritty beijing where products were pulled around on wagons by teams of horses who shit big piles in the streets that you'd go straight over the handlebars of your bicycle if you didn't look where you were going. I'd seen it.
This was the Beijing where the streets seemed impossibly large considering no one really owned a car... the Beijing where the old people all wore those navy blue or black or gray kung fu outfits and walked around stooping with their hands clasped behind their backs as if some ultimate power had ordered them to for all time.
This was the square in Beijing where less than a year had passed since thousands of students took a chance to try and change their world... this was the Beijing where tanks had rolled over them without mercy and their bodies were torn apart by the callousness of lead flying around at ballisticly high speeds and cruel random trajectories. This was the Beijing where their blood ran like rivers down the curbs and into the sewers where like the extinguishing of their tender lives for naught all was soon forgotten by a world more infatuated with its demand for cheap consumer electronics in attractive clamshell packaging.
The one year anniversary of the slaughter was approaching and here as if by accident I find myself in the place where history was made and so conveniently forgotten.
Here and there I could still see bullet scars, burns and other marks that told the tale of a failed movement killed in a single night of murderous debauchery.
It was eerie in Beijing. I couldn't put my finger on it. Was it just the intoxicant's influence? I couldn't place it until I found a nice grassy place to sit down and let everything stabilize. Let my altered mind stop spinning.
The young people were all gone.
The government had sent what looked like the entire youth of the capitol city to 'summer camp,' where they'd sing patriotic songs and watch lots of motivational films and learn the error of their ways. It was re-education for the entire young population... there was almost no one walking around that city bettween the age of fourteen and twenty one. It was spooky... strange mojo in a strange land. Like some kind of Twilight Zone episode.
Everybody's seen the picture of 'Tank Man,' that guy whose name the world doesn't know... the one who was walking home from the grocery store with a couple of plastic bags in his hands... the guy who became a lonely human roadblock for a column of tanks... I know I could never forget that guy... he had balls the size of watermelons that one. I woudda love to have bought that guy a drink or eight.
I was walking down that street and a momentary sense of deja vu made me stop... It felt like I'd been there before... it didn't take too long for the reality to hit me... I was standing in that spot. In the Tank Man's spot. The premonition came from looking at that photograph.
There was a pay phone there... on the side of the street... you can see it in the Tank Man picture... I thought my parents might like to know where in the world I was so I tried to call them from it without luck. Maybe they'd think it was cool that I was calling them from there I thought.
I wanted to feel the scene out... I wanted to let it all sink in a little bit so I sat down and I had a look around. It all began to unfold in my mind... the direction the tanks came from... the sounds they'd make... their squeaking tracks rolling on the asphalt echoing in the canyon of concrete buildings... I could see the crosswalk he was walking across when it happened.
I stood up, still painting the scene on the canvas of my mind with the brushes of my imagination and I walked towards the crosswalk... just as he did that remarkable day.
Man... sometimes even I have a hard time putting things into words... sometimes feelings, emotions and perceptions are just too powerful and swift to get a grasp on.
Surveying the scene where this historic collision happened from the street... it was so much different than the picture we all know... that was shot from high above... it's got a whole different tone than the lonliness and isolation that the street level offered. Just like in the square where I had felt so small... even the street there was massive in width... one of those subcompact cars flying through the smog could have crushed me like a bug. The thought of standing my ground in front of a column of many ton armored tanks with their diesel engines shaking and belching thick black smoke and rumbling in anger... I'll tell you this... with the greatest respect that I can muster... that guy... at that moment... he took on the entire world. He was a bad ass motherfucker who said 'hey... I don't like what's going down here.' and he backed it up with his hundred and fifty pound body alone in the streets. He never even put those grocery bags down. But for a moment, that man stopped the world. He stood his ground. He stood our ground. He stood for everyman that day.
I didn't.
I didn't even chance stopping where he did. I didn't want to stop a bus.
When I got across the street I walked back towards Tienenmen Square wondering what happened to the guy.
These thoughts were crisply punctuated when I found the remains of a completely flattened bicycle. It had been run over by something pretty heavy because it was as flat as a bicycle could conceivably become. It even had a curve to it... a lot of parts were gone but the frame, the handlebars, even the rims were crushed flat. I picked it up, still thinking about Tank Man and I realized what it meant.
Something inside me wanted to take it home... to show my people... people born and raised with a freedom fought for by others... I wanted to show them what we pretty much let happen here... the great crime that we ignored. It was a strong symbol to me at least of an oppresive government that lost it's temper on it's own people.
I'd never get that flattened bicycle home, but I carried stashed inside the tubes of my backpack messages that people had asked me to carry out of the country to a place where mistakenly so they thought good and decent people might give two shits about the treachery bestowed upon them in their quest for what we have but could really care less about. A freedom so strong... a freedom so deep that it was a part of me wether I was conscious about it or not... a freedom that formed the person I was and carried me on a long and mostly accidental journey to a place where youth was cut short for having the audacity and lack of patience to demand a more tolerant society where people would count for just a little more than cheap labor.
I promised myself I'd remember what happened to them. I promised myself that on June 4th, 1990 that I'd say a prayer there in Tienenmen Square. I'd recognize their martyrdom to the cause of freedom and I'd pay my respects on the anniversary of the barbarism of their all powerful and vicious central authority.
When that morning came with its sultry brownish orange sunrise, three hundred and sixty five days after the blood letting, when the flag of a nation was raised over it's most proud square... I was the only person that wasn't Chinese standing there as a witness to at least offer the the quiet contempt of my heart and the objection of my soul as a counterbalance to the disgrace of the murder of these children.
There were no television cameras or satellite trucks... no journalists fixing their hair or taking notes on those long pads that they carry. Nothing.
I carried no sign or banner... I spoke no message of objection. I sought to instigate nothing.
I stood there in Tienenmen Square as a witness.
A witness to what the rest of the free world was so selfishly quick to forget.
Two days later I'd board a train that I'd get off of in another world... where a wall that represented hate and anger and mistrust would be falling, hacked to pieces bit by bit by a people celebrating a new freedom and unity.
国风小狐狸！❤❤❤
ME
Hair：VCO ~ Dan / 003 . RARE - Mainstore
Top：toksik - Valiance Top - TWS
Bandage：toksik - Valiance Bandage - TWS
Pants：toksik - Valiance Pants - TWS
Shoes：toksik - Valiance Shoes - TWS
Cat Ear：[JIUJIANWU&.SAN3.]Cat ear FATPACK - Mainstore
Earring：YaYa*Panda earring - Mainstore
Pipe：*:..Silvery K..:*Japanese pipe(Lotus Gold)
Tail：+ Nekomata + {egosumaii}
Mika:
Hair：ZAO Callous Hair - Mainstore
Top：toksik - Valiance Top - TWS
Bandage：toksik - Valiance Bandage - TWS
Pants：toksik - Valiance Pants - TWS
Shoes：toksik - Valiance Shoes - TWS
Fox Ear：Happy Paw - Fox Ears Bento
Earring：YaYa*Panda earring - Mainstore
Pipe：!R! Kiseru of the Kitsune - Mainstore
Thank all the authors
DAY NINE Todays picture was taken recently on a day trip to Whitstable on the north Kent coast.
Woke around 2am by a restful Carys again, we slept most of the rest of the night together on the couch in the nursery, she woke at 5.20am and played quietly with her Friesian cow which she has grown quite attached too and she keeps pushing it into my face to share the experience with me, what a good sharer. Today she suckles at from Sarah at 6am.
6.20 I attempt a quick nap, but I’m called to get Carys again, no luck there, I’ll be fully awake at 9am and then it’ll be too late for a nap, but I’ll feel tired after lunch, just when Carys is high as a kite.
6.25am Find Carys in her nursery quietly entertaining herself with “Drawer Emptying”, a solo pastime which involves throwing all her neatly folded (not ironed) clothes onto the floor, sometimes she may put a few back into the drawer, but this is only when she is running out of things to empty, it’s just to replenish her own fun really.
6.30 Carys is banging her new £12-Reduced-From-£18 shoes violently (she does everything heavy handed) on the floor.
6.45am I prepare double pear and weetabix for Carys’ brekky, but Carys has disappeared, she’s not anywhere in the kitchen or lounge, nor even her nursery, I look at the open door that leads to upstairs, oh dear I bet she’s up there – she is, half way up standing up on a stair grinning, chuffed with her mischief making. What if she fell, on my head it would be, what responsibility? And they’d put it in the Evening Standard – “BABY KILLER!, Man in £300,000 yuppie flat lets baby fall down stairs, callous Labour voter Steffan MacMillan tortured his baby repeatedly over… ” and on it would go and then I’d go to jail for it and they’d probably put me on the Child Abuser wing in a cell with someone called Bummerdog or somebody like that…
7am Sarah spoon feeds brekky to Carys from a metal teaspoon, which is devoured quickly, her arms resting at her side, her only body movement being her mouth opening like a fish. It can’t be too long until she makes the step up to 1.5 weetabii can it?
7.20am Carys plays ‘Emptying Nappy Sacks’ out of the scented nappy sack container, I constantly have to keep an eye on her, this incapacitates me from doing my chores, such as washing dishes or wiping the floor. This is quickly followed by rounds of ‘Emptying Wet Wipes’, and ‘Climbing Up Green Leatherette Armchair”, all fun for her, but would get me in the Evening Standard at worst or stop me from choring at best.
It seems Carys may be left handed, she uses her right hand to grip onto an edge, and uses the left to discard whatever she can grab, what would have happened to her in the Evil Soviet Union of Baddies? Would they have taken her away from us and‘train’ her to be right handed with electro shock treatment? How will she ever use a camera properly, they’re all designed for right-handers, we’ll have to go to special ‘Left Hander’ shops, it’ll be like being blind, will they give us a special dog? Oh god please let her be right handed, oh the shame on the family! What will they say back in Wales! we’ll just make sure she keeps her hands in her pockets every time we go visiting.
7.50am Sarah tries Carys’ new shoes on again, as she is in a good mood she may forget that she’s wearing the - nope she cries, she tries to scrape them off. Is this another monumental waste of money along with the playpen, swimming lessons and the Mothercare ‘black out’ blind? Can she go shoeless all her life like they do in Fiji?
8.15am Sarah departs for work, and leaves me with a shopping list (washing up liquid, bleach, toilet roll, fruit and vegetables), a cheque for all the mortgage and a list of playgroups we can go to today, I am revved up and ready to tackle the Peckham Librarty playgroup at 10 am-12 noon.
I don’t know what to do about my voicebox having a split personality, when in the house when with Carys it seems to jump an octave higher and my Welsh Valleys accent becomes a lot stronger, it resembles that female character in the Rentaghost TV show from 20 something years ago. But in public voicebox becomes himself again, deeper with a more clipped generic Welsh accent. It seems I have no control over this toing and froing, what if my Rentaghost accent takes over and becomes the norm? This split personality must confuse Carys, what will she think? That it’s normal to for your voice to behave in two different ways depending on what room you’re in? This is no good for no one.
8.30am I put Carys to nap, quite easily today not like yesterdays episode.
8.40am I do a spot of re-touching on the actress lady, and now all three shots should be given the big thumbs up.
10.06am Carys wakes from her nap, I know this from listening to her on the intercom fridge sounding device from Tomy, I go down and she is there standing up in her cot waiting to be retrieved, she has a big smile on her face when I enter the nursery, this warms my heart.
10.40am We head out for Peckham Library playgroup, I get there and am the only man in a large group of mums and babies, I feel out of place, they’re all singing, I join in with my groaning murmer. The playgroup leader races through all the songs, I slowly edge out of the circle so I don’t have to shout ‘snake’ or anything daft like that. After about 15 minutes another bloke comes in, thank god for that, he even sits next to me, suddenly I feel my groaning becoming melodic and my back straightens, are the wonderful bosom of manhood, we even have eye-to-eye-contact, albeit one of those accidental fleeting ones, the type of glance that sometimes happen on the tube. Carys is shy and she keeps hugging me close. The singing ends at 11.33am and the leader brings out a big box of toys, the kids rush round to it like Ethiopians picking up airdrops, Carys and I depart quietly, can’t be bothered making friends with the people here, as I have to rush back home before Carys gets hungry, I could give her mushy food in public, but where is there nice and clean to sit around this part of Peckham? Probably somewhere, but I don’t know of it, next to Knife Sharpeners or down besides the Pie N Mash shop, or sitting above the Big Girl fashion shop?
11.45am Arrive home for lunch, Carys eats banana, today holding the entire fruit in both hands and eating it like a grown-up, she refuses all different kinds of mush aswell as chipolatas and pear chunks. The banana is polished with a small fromage frais, which she has never refused, it’s a banker. I eat my hastily one handed (Carys is in my left hand) prepared lunch of left over couscous and left over lamb shoulder, gone are the days of my 12 ingredient sandwiches with various side garnishes.
12.30am Carys plays quietly and I wash dishes, kitchen surfaces and some of the floor, this is the best time to do chores as Carys is content to play on her own for about an hour.
1.50pm We go over to Harry Moody for a bit of swing action, I push her quite high and she is in fits of laughter, it’s a lot of fun watching someone else enjoy themselves so much.
2.10pm Thence we depart for Telly Hill park (South) and I put Carys’ new shoes on, she crawls off in them, scuffing the tips all along the floor, she then grabs a baby-walker and walks like I do when wearing ski jumping skis – very awkwardly. She hasn’t worked out how to swivel baby-walker devices to turn and avoid hazards inn her road, she ends up shunting into the side of a car, a two year old boy cannot get out of his car and shouts at Carys ‘go, go, go’ Carys’ face crumples and so I rescue her, she sits on my lap for the next 10 minutes just watching the other kids. I meet an émigré called Felix, from Paris and 26, he’s with his half Congolese daughter, a nice chap, we arrange to ‘see you around’, that’s’ like saying ‘let’s be friends partner’ in 70’s speak. The play leader tells me off for taking the pram onto the playing surface. Everyone is friendly here and I make eye-to-contact with a few more of the parents.
3.pm Playgroup ends and everyone heads for the small playground next door, it’s all built in chunky wood, to resemble a junior adventure park, perhaps to lull the kids into thinking they’re being adventurous? Shame only two swings here, now I know why the two fat ladies were hanging out by the gate in the playgroup, so they could get to the wings first – bitches. Meet a german dad on the way out, he has a new bike and I complement him on it, I have a long chat with him too, his name is Enkle, from down near the Swiss border, he keeps barking orders in Swiss German to his 2 year old son Anton, we also agree to ‘see you around’, wow two friends in an hour, this is the place to pick up dads indeed. Great to talk to other blokes, didn’t realise how much I missed that interaction this past 10 days.
4pm As we are going home Carys cries, I intuitively know that it must be her shoes that are bugging her, I am right, no tears after they come, off, she then tears her socks off, I wouldn’t have known that just two weeks ago, I would have probably thought her tears were because of half a dozen other things first, like nappy, hunger, chill, bored, uncomfortable etc.
4.03pm Sarah is at home, she takes over Carys while I prepare din dins, carys has avocado, pear and sweet potato mush which is mostly eaten, she discards her chipolata and pear chunks, Sarah and I have fish and vegetables for our din dins, then Carys joins in and tries to eat Sarahs food, but she just wants to chuck it down on the floor too. Carys is very similar to my grandmother’s old dog Llawen, in that he would never eat anything out of his own bowl, but only wanted human food that was tossed to him from the table, the same went for his drinking habits too, Llawen would quite often ignore the drinking water in his private metal drinking bowl and lunge for any cup that placed on the floor, his amazing telescopic tongue would just suck up half a cup of luke warm tea in a split second, then he’d slouch off sometimes with a victory belch on the way.
5.30pm After lifting Carys from her high chair we discover a pile of food that she had hidden beneath her, very crafty way of getting out of eating, I used to think it was just dropped, but the pile is getting bigger and bigger.
Occupy Toronto © Linda Dawn Hammond / IndyFoto.com 2011, protest camp, Canada, November 15, 2011.
Day of visit by renowned folk singer Gordon Lightfoot, whose 17 year old daughter Meredith is among the protesters. He spoke at length with the media in support of the cause. Later, he greeted my sister, who lives nearby in a group home, and shook her hand. After I saw him, I couldn't get the song, 'In the Early morning Rain' out of my mind. My late father had bought me my first album - by Gordon Lightfoot- when I was a bit younger than his Meredith, and that song was on it. It was a day of fathers and daughters, and memories...
I hear too often people saying that the protesters have made their point and now "should get a job', as if that's an easy thing to achieve. Not to mention that when you can find them, most jobs these days are underpaid, part-time positions with no future, benefits or stability. Many of those protesting are either undereducated or overqualified- and all in the same sinking boat, with the exception of crippling debts attached to the latter group. At the camp is a mix of politically motivated people who have chosen to be there, and others who evidently have no where else to go, but have found at the Occupy Camp a renewed sense of purpose, camaraderie and security- food and a safe place to sleep. They stand to lose the most when this is finally over.
People were asked to come by at 11pm that night to show solidarity as the protest had received an eviction notice and the police were expected to break up the camp. Fortunately there was an injunction and the eviction is now expected to take place at a later date- possibly on Saturday.
Most people at the camp reacted positively to the journalists taking photographs. An exception was Lightfoot's daughter, whom it appears didn't want to be identified as such, and another woman from Quebec, who was initially angry that I had been invited by a protester to photograph inside one of the tents, until she understood that I am a freelance photographer and don't work for any particular mainstream newspaper. Though at times I wish I did, as perhaps then I wouldn't be in this dismal, insecure financial situation, something which appears to be a shared concern with many of the protesters.
I just can't win. As i was leaving, I was berated once again for the act of taking photos of Occupy Toronto, but this time by a man waiting at the streetcar stop. He saw my Stop Ford button and my camera. On his way home from "working 7 days a week", he complained to me about his taxes, crowed about the ' warm, 5 bedroom house in High Park" awaiting him which his "hard-earned money had provided" (as he cast a dismissive eye towards the tent city behind him), showed me the callous hands of "a real worker" . He didn't believe that the police would consider using tear gas and tried to suggest it hadn't happened in Quebec City during the Summit protests, which I can verify as I was there. 5,000 canisters- I told him to look it up. His idiotic response was to ask if I work for Pravda (the Russian Communist party run newspaper, defunct since 1991 and now a tabloid)... hmmm... I wasn't actually aware that there was still a Cold War going on in 2011 Canada, but then again, neither is Toronto's Mayor Ford and company, who have been known to refer to some of "his" constituents as left wing, cycling Pinkos... (the people who didn't vote for him) , all of which explains the sprinkling of anti-Ford messages at the Occupy Toronto site. Here I was thinking only the suburbs had voted Ford in- but he has at least 1 supporter in High Park, who surprisingly takes public transit.
The 2005 CoH costume contest was to dress as your character's archvillain, and I chose Avonlea as my hero since I thought dressing up as her nemesis would be a fun counterpoint to the previous year's contest. The rules didn't specify that the costume had to match anything in CoH, so I took that to mean "anything goes." So, the only things I decided right away were:
1. I wanted the costume to be somewhat evocative of Avonlea's costume, and
2. I wanted it to include a CoH-style witch hat. (Several late nights later, I would come to regret that decision.)
After much deliberation (yes, really!), I decided the witch hat best belonged on a witch as opposed to a warlock, so I came up with "Ravenna," Avonlea's seriously driven and misguided sister, playful but self-centered and callous. (As with Avonlea, the name just popped in my head as I was playing with various phonetic variations and I liked the sound of it. Apparently their parents liked naming their daughters after cities, either real or fictitious. Go figure!)
Of course, witch costumes are really common, and I didn't want it to look store-bought. However, I looked at a bunch of them for inspiration, and--of course--I ended up purchasing a store-bought witch costume. (What can I say, I'm weak-willed and lack sewing skills. I needed something to start with!) So on seeing this particular costume, my thoughts were (in order):
- "Yow." (Okay, I'm a guy. Sue me.)
- "Hmm...I could imagine Ravenna wearing something like that. Funny, though, I didn't expect she'd be such a minx. She..."
- "Wait, wait, wait...*I'd* be wearing *that*?!?" (I was tragically born without a sense of shame, but I'm not completely dim.)
It showed much too much skin, was way too short and I didn't have anywhere near the figure for it, but this is where I decided to start. I added the cape I used last year (which covered the short skirt, thank God) and then began a voyage of discovery where I learned that it's apparently really hard to find thigh-high boots that don't have five-inch stiletto heels. (Damned if I was going to make that mistake again!) I also returned to the place where I bought the bustier last year and found the corset to go over the dress....although honestly, the saleswoman there was far more enthusiastic than me. ("And look! It comes with matching stockings!" "Um, yeah, okay, that really won't be necessary....") The wig I got from eBay, and the other accessories from some Halloween stores.
Near the end of my father's life as he lived uncomprehendingly in a rest home, I would often study him when I visited. His large calloused hands, broad shoulders and strong jaw were still remnants of the man who had been spent, his life given for his family and farm. Fortunate is the person who nears the end of their life having lived honorably.