Copy and Paste is so much fun ;)

 

Techno Girl [CUSTOM] [TEST PRINT RELEASE 1]

UPDATE: Test Print Release 1

 

• Here she is folks! Hot off the presses, first test prints are back!

 

• We are very happy with the final product and I'm sure our buyers will be as well.

 

• A few housekeeping notes:

 

• We were not 100% satisfied with some of the printing on all of the legs we ordered (specifically alignment of the side legs on some of the prints) -- those are going back to be reprinted

 

• We have enough cleanly printed figs to begin shipping out shortly

 

• Shipments will be made strictly on a "FIFO" first paid, first sent basis for all shipments -- no exceptions.

 

• We expect all re-printed parts to be back and all figs to be sent to all buyers of the initial run to be completed within the next 2 weeks.

 

• Lastly, thank you for your patronage and support!!

 

• We've got a very small run coming up on a simpler design, but I think you guys will like this one as well -- keep posted!

 

This was our spot for the Halloween parade at the Magic Kingdom. Right at the middle of Town Square, right on the curb, facing down Main Street U.S.A. I couldn't have planned it better myself. I took this before anything had started, after the spots were staked out and we were all just waiting. The color that bathed Main Street during Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party were absolutely awesome. I was really pleased with how cleanly this turned out. I thought it might be more annoying to process with all the varying colors. Please let me know what you all think as any suggestion is welcomed and appreciated. Enjoy!

Sunsets are always tough to filter well, here I just waited and shot cleanly without. The Humber Estuary, near Paull. 1/8 sec, f/11, ISO 100 with a polariser

I noticed a cleanly severed crow's head on a well trafficked sidewalk. No one else was noticing it. There was no sign of the rest of the bird. There was only a little blood on the feathers. A mystery.

Back to Crankworx for another Dual Slalom shot. Over the first water feature cleanly here.

 

The course was almost a mini speed and style course, which was great for spectators - but divisive for the riders. Almost needs to be a separate race. (the younger and older categories raced the more traditional course)

Just got a brand spankin' new iMac, and Aperture 3!

   

Had to re-post a photo, processed this time, sorry for the lack of originality

 

Cleanly rolled

www.matrobinsonphoto.co.uk

 

www.facebook.com/matrobinsonphoto

 

www.twitter.com/matrobinson88

 

Of the many times I've shot the waterfalls, I hardly ever do it from anywhere else but right up in front of them - so it was interesting on this occasion to see what could be done from further back. I must have looked crazy to those stood with me, moving left 2 inches, back 1 inch, straighten it by 2 degrees, down half an inch... etc... but when shooting at such distances, with so many potential foreground distractions, these changes make big differences to their relative placement.

 

In the end I was happy that I cut out the vast majority of the rock clutter - only retaining this one focal point toward the front and cleanly cutting off the rocks at the top left (no straddling the side of the frame).

 

I felt that it needed this slightly more pronounced processing than usual to really bring the blacks down and bring out the colours in the peat stained water and fresh, late spring trees.

Interesting building at Hammarby Sjöstad. A bit tricky to photograph cleanly because of the trees left and right.

The EC135 is a multi-purpose light twin-engine helicopter produced by Eurocopter (later Airbus Helicopters) from 1996 onwards. It is used worldwide for transport, rescue and police missions, as well as for military roles.

In France, it is used by the Gendarmerie mainly for rescue and surveillance missions.

 

The model I've made here is the last MOC of my Gendarmerie series! It has all the features you'd expect: the rotor turns, there's room up front for two pilots and in the rear for a passenger with the doors open. The side doors open cleanly, as do the cab doors. The fuselage roof can be removed for access to the interior.

 

I hope you've enjoyed this little series on the gendarmerie forces, there may be other models of this type in the future, but on a sporadic basis.

 

Scale: 1/35

 

Instructions for this helicopter are available on my Rebrickable page: rebrickable.com/users/Spartane/mocs/

 

///

 

Eurocopter EC135 Gendarmerie

 

L'EC135 est un hélicoptère biturbine léger polyvalent produit par Eurocopter (puis Airbus Helicopters) à partir de 1996. Il est mondialement utilisé pour des missions de transport, de secours ou de police mais également pour des rôles militaires.

En France il sert notamment au sein de la Gendarmerie principalement pour des missions de sauvetage ou de surveillance.

 

le modèle que j'ai ici fait est le dernier MOC de ma série sur la gendarmerie ! Il présente toutes les fonctionnalités attendues, le rotor tourne, il y a de la place à l'avant pour deux pilotes et à l'arrière pour un passager portes ouvertes. Les portes latérales s'ouvrent proprement, celles de la cabine également. le toit du fuselage peut être retiré pour accéder à l'intérieur.

 

J'espère que cette petite série sur les forces de gendarmerie vous aura plu, il y aura peut être à l'avenir d'autre modèle de cette force mais de manière sporadique.

 

Echelle : 1/35

 

Les plans pour cet hélicoptère sont disponibles sur ma page rebrickable: rebrickable.com/users/Spartane/mocs/

Unusual growth pattern in dry conditions early in the season. The base is unusually swollen and the cap has a cylindrical shape. There appeared to be a skirt under the cap next morning (see below) but I believe it was formed by a failure of the partial veil to break cleanly. A more typical growth pattern of subsequent mushrooms growing occasionally in the same spot over three months is in the comment below.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,

And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,

Life would be delight,—

But things couldn't go right

For in such a sad plight

I wouldn't be i.

 

If earth was heaven, and now was hence,

And past was present, and false was true,

There might be some sense

But I'd be in suspense

For on such a pretense

You wouldn't be you.

 

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,

And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee

Things would seem fair,—

Yet they'd all despair,

For if here was there

We wouldn't be we.

 

e.e. cummings

Here's a going-away look at Norfolk & Western J-Class Locomotive #611 as she comes off Long Curve and heads upgrade toward Carpenter's on Pennsylvania's Strasburg Rail Road (SRC), during a November, 2022 photo shoot organized by the SRC and the Virginia Museum of Transportation. The morning chill provided a nice, steamy plume, allowing the crew to fire their locomotive cleanly and still put on a show for the photographers. The low-angle sunlight shows off the superb styling of the locomotive and its massive tender, as well as the classy Tuscan Red and Gold paint job that was applied to the J's. It also displays the meticulous manner in which this, sole-surviving J is being maintained. One non-standard feature that is also more prominent in this angle is the application of narrow, steel coal boards at the top of the fuel bunker, which were added to give this locomotive a bit more range on main line excursions, given that the infrastructure for coaling steam engines no longer exists on Class 1 railroads.

LOVETONES are created by Rocco Liang in Taiwan. His “Autumn Winter 2017 Collection”, Trendsetter Lena and Trendsetter Roxy, is available since the end of 2017. Limited edition size is 100 each. The doll costs $210 USD plus shipping. There are still some for sale (at least they were, last time I checked).

 

My Trendsetter Roxy came with a “Baby Pink Ruffle High-Low Dress”, an “Oversized Black Leather Biker Jacket”, “White Lace Sock High Heels”, and a “Black Glove Clutch”. Her second outfit is lingerie, “Pink Bustier and Panties”. Her accessories are a pair of “Matte Black Square Earrings”. The last items in her box were a metal doll stand ('waist hugger') and a Certificate of Authenticity (CoA). Names were taken from the www.lovetonesdoll.com website.

 

Lena's hair color is “Dark Chocolate (Duo-Tone Hair Mix)”. She is the first LOVETONES with duo-tone hair (as is Trendsetter Lena). Her hair is a bit more unruly than I was used from the previous dolls. She has the usual body, comparable to Integrity Toys' Nu.Face, with a much smaller head. She has the fierce look I expect from a LOVETONES doll.

 

The item you notice first about her outfit is the oversized, black leather biker jacket. The main zipper is actually working! The three other, smaller zippers are decorative and do not work. The jacket is very detailed and awesome. It is the first reason I decided to order Roxy and not Lena.

 

Roxy's dress is beautiful too and looks gorgeous worn under the leather jacket. On its own it's still beautiful, maybe a little too sweet for me. There are two long ribbons to fasten the dress over each of her shoulders with a tiny bow. I guess the too long ends are supposed to be cut off after the bows are tied. I was reluctant to do that, so I hid the ends behind her back. That may look a little strange in the picture above. While this dress doesn't hit the spot for me, the craftmanship displayed is impressive.

 

Her shoes are unique. Only the soles and heels are solid, the rest are really white lace socks. The shoes are easy to put on (carefully, or the toes will poke through the lace), though only after a few changes the lace at the top tends to fray. Like her dress her shoes made me think that the doll is supposed to be dressed and displayed, and never changed again. Because I like to have the option to redress my dolls, that does not impress me much.

 

Trendsetter Roxy's second outfit is lingerie. That hers is a soft pink and not simply black, is the second reason I preferred this Roxy to Lena. Her bustier is not easy to tie tightly and the laces are very long again, making me think once more about the display idea. Her lingerie is simple, sweet and sexy, so it's fine. I like it.

 

I don't use the earrings, but I checked: Roxy's ears are cleanly pierced, so her earrings should be easy to put on (in).

 

Since the last edition, Under Runway, LOVETONES dolls come in a slightly larger, elegant black box with two compartments beside each other to pull out at the sides. One holds the nude doll in foam, the other holds all the other stuff in resealable plastic bags, with the exception of the doll stand.

 

When I pulled out Roxy for the first time, she wore a hairnet and her torso was covered in plastic wrap. Her legs were not wrapped and there were black stains from the box cover on her upper thighs and slight stains on her knees. I got rid of all stains with warm water, soap, and a lot of hard scrubbing. No real damage, but annoying, because it lessened my joy of deboxing the doll for the first time. After I informed Rocco Liang about that, he apologized and told me they might change the box design for the next edition.

 

Bottom Line

“Trendsetter” is the fifth edition of LOVETONES since 2015. To me this Roxy is one of the best so far. (Timeless Show Roxy is still the best for me, even though Trendsetter Roxy contested her title on behalf of the amazing leather jacket and her more colorful outfit.) I have a few very minor complaints, aside from the removable stains. Maybe I've become more discerning as a collector. Anyway, this Roxy is a gorgeous additon to any fashion doll collection, and I recommend her. I remain a LOVETONES fan and I look forward to the next edition.

 

9.7 of 10 points

 

These are my personal impressions and thoughts, so feel free to disagree.

The only mod was a tiny bit of cleanup due to a little bit of extra light sneaking in below the red. Otherwise, SOOC.

 

How I made it: Originally I was going to just take a pic of the red heart by itself. It is a lighted fixture attached to our kitchen window, on the inside. I played around with static shots, then moved to trying shots zooming on it. While interesting, it wasn't what I was looking for. I then changed to shutter priority mode and experimented with some side-to-side motion. I also set the metering mode to partial, because I only wanted to pick up the red light. Once I did that, I could see that the red was cleanly visible with mostly a black background. I settled on the 1.6 second longer exposure for the final shot, placed the heart in the upper left part of the frame. Once the exposure was started, I briefly left the camera there (all of this hand-held) to make the heart a bit brighter than the rest, and then made motions to the left to get the trails. I went faster at the end to make it seem as though the speed of the light changed.

 

Explore #118.

 

Also won the weekly theme here. The winner's thread.

“We don’t always have a choice how we get to know one another. Sometimes, people fall into our lives cleanly—as if out of the sky, or as if there were a direct flight from Heaven to Earth—the same sudden way we lose people, who once seemed they would always be part of our lives.”

~John Irving

Though the head isn't very cleanly folded I decided to upload it anyway once I believe this model isn't available in the web in this pose. To refold :)

 

Diagram is in Robert Harbin’s book “Secrets Of Origami”

explored august 20th, 250!

 

All my flickr contacts inspire me so much! my wall of inspiration is coming soon!! (:

 

tag yourselves ! i put photos over other photos after it became clear that i wasnt going to set up this shot cleanly. these arent all the photos i had.

 

for my collage! (coming soon!)

 

thanks to everyone who did print exchanges with me!!

  

/// my 365 project /// my 500px: photo outtakes ///

From end-of-track, in a position directly below the Devil's Gate High Bridge, the Engineer on Georgetown Loop Locomotive #111 opens the throttle on his engine to begin the 3.1 mile, 630 ft. vertical climb to Silver Plume. Starting a 9-car train on a significant grade, this is a hard start for sure. Steam oozes from the cylinder cocks and the fire flashes to life in the oil pan as the Fireman follows the Engineer's throttle movements with his firing lever. In seconds, with virtually no wheel-slip, the train is moving, beginning the the run through the loop that gives this railroad its name. This is difficult, mountain railroading, but these folks know what they are doing. I have seen them make this start cleanly, even during rain storms. In just a few minutes, the train will be high overhead.

I can’t stand Versas, their destination displays are horrid things to get to show up cleanly in photos…

 

In a recent operational change, a number of routes across the Stevenage, Ware and Harlow depots of Arriva have been switched.

 

Formerly operated by Harlow depot, Route 511 in Bishops Stortford now falls under the banner of Ware depot, with it providing an alternative slate of vehicles into the town.

 

On the first day of the revised operation, Optare Versa V1110 KX62JWA (4194) heads along Hadham Road in Bishops Stortford working a mid-morning Route 511 duty for St James’ Park 02/06/25

The personal unit of the Varangian Guard's commander Dvorn Tyrson, always upgrading his Paladin with the latest and greatest tech Valhallan Industries has to offer. His most recent and long standing additions include; A new armored subflight vernier array which negates the need for the standard jump jet packs. The "Ayjersrond", a high density coolent dispersal shield. The "Ragnarok", a bazooka capable of delivering a variety of ballistic payloads causing catastrophic levels of damage. So much so that the shield is sometimes required to protect the unit and it's systems from any backlash the bazooka may cause. Finally, the "Tyrfing", the same weapon utilized by the transformable Throne frames, simply a condensed beam of photon particles capable of slicing cleanly through most solid materials.

 

Dvorn is not commonly seen on the battlefield due to his leadership role on the Arcadian war front. He does, however, quickly change the tide of battle when his personal unit, dubbed the "Tyrant" by his allies, enters the foray. Either supporting from afar with the Ragnarok bazooka or tearing the front lines apart with his own Tyrfing sword.

The town’s name was Penance. A truly pitiful thing, strewn across the most desolate region of what had come to be called the Red Desert, in the land not yet the state of Wyoming. An unusual place. Unforgiving like you could not fathom, though tranquil, at times, to such a degree that even the most sorrowful being should forget all else that this country had endured. I know as much.

 

It was explained to me, during my sojourn therein, that ownership of all twelve buildings had exchanged hands as many times as months had gone by since its completion. No one wanted it. Penance was no destination, merely a place to rest one’s head on the way to one. So, in truth, everyone was a stranger in Penance. The strangest of them, in this humble narrator’s opinion, was to arrive the final day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1871.

 

He was astride a grey horse. He wore a grey coat—yes, that grey coat—over his shoulders in such a way, it seemed the weight of gold. His grey hat, as incriminating as the coat, did not hide his face as well as, I suspect, any soul would have preferred it to.

 

Leaving his mare on the stoop without a rope to hold her, he wordlessly joined our congregation in Penance’s saloon. Before his boots passed the swinging doors, we each of us had seen only the beast on which our new companion rode. The second, that being a grey wolf, with a head as large as a cauldron, plodded along at the man’s spurs. It sank mildly to its belly at the threshold, still managing to give us all a good fright. Eli gripped my hand where it lay on the table.

 

And yes, as this type of story goes, the drab outsider walked to the unoccupied bar, nary a glance at a single one of us to repay our gawking. Better that way, as I do believe a child or another woman would have fainted to be caught by his right eye, yellowed and lidless as it was. A gruesome window in the cheek of the same side displayed his teeth. His worn cuffs rested upon the counter, ever so lightly. Penance’s temporary bartender was no braver than any one of us, but he approached the patron anyway.

 

The bartender extended an ordinary “friend” to the disfigured man, where the word may have easily been taken for a question rather than a greeting. The stranger’s response was no less ambiguous, as the slight tip of his hat looked to be indicative of the man’s goodwill, as much as it did his weariness. Whatever the case, I could sense the room had thankfully begun to breathe again.

 

“I hope that you, sir, can sympathize- that is, understand our situation here, and that I can afford you only one drink,” our bartender decreed, in a tone delicate like cobwebs.

 

“I’ll thank you kindly for water. Any that ain’t bein’ drunk.”

 

The bartender was unsettled by this. “Pardon me for saying, but a man who found his way here with not but a horse and the… clothes on his back, might could do with something stronger.”

 

“Water,” the man reassured him, “will be jist dandy.”

 

He was given his request by a shaky hand not a minute later. Us gathered folks were back to finding it a genuine task to draw air. The man sipped from the glass with his neck crooked so that he did not lose any through his wound. It was then that he did at last acknowledge the rest of our being there. As I had worried, one of our women gasped and indeed fell on her husband’s shoulder when she met the horrible gaze. Our tormentor cleared his throat.

 

“I was thinkin’ to myself, how nice it was to ride into a town without the starin’. I see now that was on account of all the prairie dogs hunkerin’ down in their hole.”

 

The young cowboy, with which Eli and I had shared a stagecoach to this point, was none too pleased by the teasing. A guardian angel must have stayed his hand from reaching his gun, though the boiling emotions on his face were left unchecked. A number of our men had guns, but were not so keen nor impatient to employ them.

 

The stranger troubled the bartender once more. “’TIS a mite crowded in here, wouldn’t you reckon?”

 

“Yes sir?”

 

“Well now it ain’t picnic weather out, but I also ain’t seen so many bodies lookin’ to be under one roof, less’n there was a storm comin’, or festivities. Well… I behold a clear sky and long faces.”

 

Another group’s coachman—an older but not yet frail man—spoke for us. “We’re ALL in here; every one of us, in Penance. Seven days here, it’s been, for my party.”

 

“What keeps you, the lively atmosphere?” the stranger mocked, propping himself up with his elbows on the bar.

 

“It’s like this,” the coachman informed gravely. “There is presence, a… manifestation, on the range that leads westward away from here, and it has allowed no man or woman safe passage.”

 

“Them first words sound to me like fancy oratin’ for ‘ghost.’”

 

The man’s insinuation elicited a harsh murmur that washed over our assemblage. It was not a thought that had escaped us, but the actual vocalization of such a notion was all the more taboo. Eli rose from his chair, still clutching my hand.

 

“We are not simple, sir. These here folks know what they saw,” he berated the man, who just glared. I stood with Eli, now with both hands on his. He never did have tolerance for being made smaller. I would like to think I was good for him in that way, guiding him away from intemperate actions. I had lived with the denigration a greater deal of time than he, and despite it all, learned to keep living.

 

“Three groups have made for the ridge,” the coachman continued. “My own, and the second, we lost one of our number each before we turned back. The last that tried… lost all except one.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of the boy sat beside him: no more than fourteen years old, wheat-colored hair and, as I understood the world, faces only ever got to be so pale if they had been within an arm’s length of Death.

 

“We’ve stopped everyone else who’s come along,” the coachman concluded.

 

“It were me younger brother it took!” a middle-aged woman with red hair wailed, her husband and children huddled close.

 

“My littlest one. My only girl,” a father whispered from the other end of the room. For the three days Eli and I had been here, he had confided in no one and no thing, save for his glass.

 

“It had wings. Like a raven’s, but bigger. Didn’t it, boys?” said a rancher, who had ridden with the childless father. His partners concurred with somber mumbling.

 

“It had lots of voices,” was what the Irish woman’s girl had to contribute, before being shushed.

 

“The wind up and quits blowin’ when it’s near, that’s how you kin tell w-“

 

“You weren’t one of the ones what went there Zed, shut yer mouth!”

 

“So,” the stranger finally cut in, having not let up for a moment with watching my Eli. “You ain’t been there for yourself.”

 

“These people have no cause to lie,” Eli rationalized sternly. “No grounds to embellish such awful loss! Shame on you, insinuating they’re spreading falsehoods about the departed!”

 

I could have struck him for his rashness, but against all expectations, the stranger did not appear to take offense.

 

“Jist gittin’ the facts, son. I believe in ghosts myself. My issue was with givin’ it some highfalutin name that don’t do ‘em justice,” he clarified, prompting the coachman to furrow his brow and look down at his table. The man pushed off from the counter, glass in hand, of which he had drank very little.

 

“I aim to see to my horse. Then I aim to be crossin’ that mountain pass by sundown. Anyone who rides with me will have my protection, I can guarantee.”

 

Dead silence was the travelers’ answer to him. Without so much as a nod, he started for the door. It was I who let my voice be heard next.

 

“We two,” I announced, Eli at my side. “We will join you.”

 

“Don’t go with him!”

 

With his outburst, the young cowboy Eli and I had kept company with immediately stole away the critical eyes (the stranger’s included) that had shifted to me when I spoke.

 

“Don’t go with him,” the lad again advised. “I know him. I… I know you, mister. Now I was raised to let every man say his piece, but your word is not to be trusted.”

 

When the stranger remained quiet, the cowboy yelled for all the town to hear. “If that there uniform didn’t already suade all you’uns, maybe knowin’ him by his name will! This man is Jonah Hex.”

 

The title was of no significance to me, but a few of us (chiefly the men of Jonah Hex’s own age) looked, all at once, a sight more vengeful. I could tell then that Eli was making to move between me and the brewing contention, so I held him firmly in place.

 

“I never socialized with you,” Hex calmly asserted to the incendiary.

 

“I know you, even so. I heard you done plenty of killin’ for the rebels,” the cowboy accused. His thumb fidgeted at the hem of his coat.

 

“You keep that hand off’n your belt, friend,” Hex warned.

 

“I heard you defected, soon as you knew the rebels was losin’, just so you could do more killin’ for the other side.”

 

“Y’don’t hear so good then. I ain’t stirrin’ up any hostilities, now or later.”

 

The cowboy briefly regarded Eli and me out the corner of his eye. There was a fire within it. He returned his attention to Hex.

 

“… You sometimes forget what color you’re wearin’, mister?”

 

“No. I do not.”

 

“Smug bastard,” the cowboy fumed. “Smug son of-“

 

The grey wolf was suddenly there in our midst, having been acutely aware of the mounting tension. It had clamped its fangs onto the young firebrand’s right wrist before the hand there attached could fully draw and aim its weapon. By some miracle, the pistol did not discharge in the process of clattering across the floorboards, at my shoes. Hex observed peaceably the great creature’s escorting of the cowboy in a complete circle with short, violent yanks. Every other person was still as a stone. When the cowboy attempted to box the wolf in the ear, it let go of the one arm in exchange for the left, and the lad took to hollering something terrible.

 

“Hex!” was the only whole, intelligible word I could tell you was uttered.

 

The grin Hex gave the cowboy was somehow more fiendish than the wolf’s own. “I can’t rightly guess what you’d appreciate me doin’.”

 

“Call off the dog, for… GAH! In the name of God!”

 

“Fool thing jist follows me around. I ain’t very well taught it to ‘drop’.”

 

The cowboy’s whimpering had become difficult to stomach. “Then… then leave, please! Make it follow you!”

 

Hex did not directly oblige. He ambled up to Eli and me, picking up the gun that had been cast aside. To say the least, it took me by surprise when the intimidating man, still facing us, holstered the weapon safely back into the boy’s belt. Hex growled (in a tribal language I did not know) what was presumably a command for the wolf. It’s eyes and jowls slackened, but it did not budge. Hex repeated the phrase more coarsely, and the beast unhooked itself from the cowboy’s poor arm right away, bounding back out the saloon, all aggression purged from its behavior.

 

Hex then tendered what was barely discernible as an apology to the cowboy. “He weren’t so interested in listenin’. He don’t take to bein’ called ‘dog.’”

 

The cowboy shook, in his ignominy, and in noting the wolf’s response. “Lyin’… you lyin’ snake-“

 

“Clean them bites. I ain’t had him looked at by one of them… veteran-Aryans, they call ‘em.”

 

My laugh at Hex’s unknowing was rude, I knew, but it could not have been helped. He peered at me, and I composed myself; a gesture born of respect, mind you, not fear. I was certain of that then. I thought Eli too, in that instance, had begun to reevaluate just who this man was.

 

“You say you two are goin’ over that ridge with me…”

 

It was the faintest I had heard him speak. His question—the one yet unsaid—hung in the air as plainly as if he had finished; the question of why I, of all the people in Penance, was accepting of his offer. I replied with no insincerity.

 

“I should not be glad to see you go alone.”

 

I must have confused him immensely. He did not call me a fool, nor feel the need to remind Eli of his woman’s rightful place. It was but the most minute bow I earned, as the bartender had received earlier.

 

Just then the posse of ranchers was collecting their belongings and heading out to their coach. The one who had previously chipped in now addressed Hex.

 

“We’ll be going too. We won’t be having that thing take any more of us,” he affirmed.

 

A stout yet meek-looking man seated by a window got up, hat in hand. “They sent word from Oregon that my mother is ill. I… I can’t wait here, not another day.”

 

The pale boy that had been orphaned not a week prior ran to where Hex was standing, abandoning the elderly coachman that had taken the child under his wing. The driver pleaded for him, to no avail.

 

“I won’t stay!” the boy shouted defiantly. “My father was Brom Cavender, and he was not a coward or a nobody! I am Hadley Cavender, and neither shall I be a coward or a nobody!”

 

The coachman’s defeat was in his eyes when he, next, reasoned with Hex. “He came back from the mountain by himself. All covered in blood he was. The boy has no more family he knows of, anywhere, and you see, I… have a duty to stay with the family I set out with. … See to it that Hadley settles in a decent town, where he will be cared for.”

 

“That I will,” was Hex’s pledge.

 

All appeared to be resolved with the details of our venture, and so Eli and I were prepared to make our way to our coach, with or without our cowboy associate who now carried a considerable grudge. Jonah Hex impeded us, however, with a gently raised glove and an astonishingly penitent expression.

 

“Seems as though I won’t be a’tall lonesome. Aught to set yourselves down here, see if some soldiers don’t pass through and hep you better’n I can.”

 

“No,” Eli cleared up with haste. “We’ll go, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

“Well then,” Hex muttered quite vacuously, apparently unaccustomed to denial delivered in such a non-confrontational manner. Likewise, contrasting his bullying of the cowboy, he sounded apologetic, properly so; on what basis, I could only speculate. I did not think the courtesy towards me necessary.

 

A sporting lady (perhaps the only one living and working in Penance at the time) emerged from the back of the room, draped herself about a post supporting the ceiling and sang after Hex, who was no nearer to exiting, past all the delays.

 

“There’s no sense in rushin’ off just yet,” she beamed. “Why not leave in the morning?”

 

“Can’t, missy. I already have a lady to attend,” Hex dismissed, waving his water beyond the saloon’s entrance, suggesting he had some intention to quench his horse straight from the glass itself. “I wouldn’t be unfaithful. She’s a woman I know I can lean on. ‘sides that, she has a finer rump than you.”

 

As I said, he was undoubtedly the strangest stranger that ever there was.

  

***

  

True to our words, those of us claiming the audacity to weather whatever devilry had beset the westward hills did just that. We withdrew from Penance as the sky grew tired and Mr. Hex grew more surly, suffering the impediments of some of us reviewing our luggage twice, or bidding the town a farewell lengthier than a blink.

 

Twenty minutes on, from the start of our excursion, left Penance nothing but a candlelight in the sea of sand and grass at our backs. The ridge there that our sights were set on taunted us for every step our horses took. I conjured, that night, the irrational belief that the ever-growing mountain was, in no uncertain terms, eager to blot out what precious sunlight we had remaining; it is a conviction I hold to this day, for no scripture or trust in a Savior has since quelled the concern in me that the earth, on that particular evening, in that particular place, was itself evil.

 

We had, as our convoy, fewer than a dozen ranchers; some, atop their own steeds, and others at the reins of the three stagecoaches. Eli and I rode in a fourth. Our young cowboy had elected to stay behind, with his pride so bruised, even when Eli had promised to him that there would be no incentive to answer to Mr. Hex, in any capacity, for the journey’s duration. Thusly, the lead rancher (whose named we learned was Amos) was our new courier. Same as the two other couples on this trip, Eli and I were instructed not to leave our compartment for any occasion, as we were perceived to be most ill-equipped for the dangers the hardened riders knew to be lying ahead. I alone knew Eli owned a firearm, and could cleanly hit his mark from a respectable distance.

 

Hadley, the boy, shared our cab. He did not fill the air with endearing contemplations that I might have assumed all children his age had in abundance. Neither did he show overt grief, in returning to the site of his family’s tragic and senseless murder. Instead he was intensely fixated on Hex’s revolvers, swinging at the veteran’s hips as his horse kept pace with us. Hex caught wind of the goggling shortly thereafter, and cast a scowl at the boy.

 

“My father could shoot,” was Hadley’s defense.

 

“Hell of a lot of men could. That’s why so damn many of ‘em ain’t around to shoot,” Hex droned, unimpressed.

 

By this time, the mere hours in which I had had dealings with Jonah Hex told me there was no requisite of inuring myself to him. Elsewhere, the entirety of my life, there had been in effect an ordinance for me to hold my tongue.

 

“You need not be crass with him.”

 

Upon reproving Hex’s methods, the most unreservedly gratifying thing occurred: A man, older and more seasoned than I, listened to my words.

 

That Southern cavalryman, with his burns and cuts, looking as mean as a cornered bear, simply surveyed for several moments the last sliver of sun which shone over the crags and drifts of our mountainous obstruction. He had an air of rumination about him, and took a long breath before responding.

 

“The way I seen it, boys grow up to die young, if’n y’don’t teach ‘em how things are.”

 

Eli tugged at my sleeve discreetly, wanting no trouble to arise.

 

“There is a time for compassion, also, Mr. Hex. When a boy could benefit from a little understanding, rather than further indelicacy. Both are rudimentary to a child’s upbringing,” I declared.

 

Hadley and Eli were silent. Hex wrung the leather reins in his hands and squinted (more than he did by nature), but eventually relaxed in his saddle; a concession of having been bested.

 

“You speak real finely, miss.”

 

“And you do not, sir.”

 

Mr. Hex let out an amused grunt.

 

“What do I call you other’n ‘miss’ then?” he inquired, misconstruing my objections to his conduct.

 

I smiled. “‘Euryale’ is my name.”

 

Hex tried unsuccessfully to interpret the pronunciation. “… ‘My eye’s a’ what, now?”

 

“‘Eu-rya-le’,” Eli annunciated, fondly. “It means she will ‘roam far.’”

 

“Strange,” decided Hex, hardly the one to comment on such things.

 

I expounded. “Its origins lie in a very old story; a Greek narrative, that my father came across, and passed on to me.”

 

“And your father, he could read,” Hex inferred. He said it cautiously, not disbelieving-like.

 

“My father was smarter than most cared to notice. Yes, he did read. Texts and poems, journals… anything that he knew the master of our plantation would not recognize as being misplaced, in the time we required to finish them.”

 

Eli seized my hand again, when realizing the memories had upset me. I found inside myself the will to disclose, “He only took the stories for my siblings and me. We begged for them, not knowing what he risked.”

 

“Your master let you keep that name?” Hadley redirected, skeptical.

 

He was so very young, and I could not be cross with him. “The plantation’s owner and his family had their own name for me, but it was not mine. … Would you like to hear the story that my name comes from?”

 

Hadley seemed invested.

 

“Euryale was not the hero of the tale, nor the focus, for that matter. Her sister, Medusa, was wronged by a being she could never hope to have authority over. The story says that he was a deity, but he was wicked, instead of benevolent like our God. For the infraction she did not commit, Medusa was blamed by others of the false idol’s kind. A sorceress among them cursed Medusa to be a loathsome monster, never to have another commiserate her; to but look at her face, then, would turn one to stone.”

 

There, I paused, to enjoy Hadley’s rapture, Eli’s warmth… Hex, even, leaned suspiciously on his mount, intrigued. His wolf, trotting dutifully near his stirrup for the past hour, stared at him with its giant orange eyes. And while it was a simple animal, Hex became ill at ease, conscious of himself, and he sneered at the creature.

 

“As fate would have it, Medusa would find consolation in her sisters: Stheno and Euryale. Though they were gifted with remarkable longevity, and though they were free of the guilt that the corrupt rulers had ascribed to Medusa, the sisters chose to stand with her, and bear the same undue punishment. … And so, you see, there is dignity to be found in those demonized by history. I cherish my name, for this reason.”

 

Hadley frowned at the conclusion. “But… no one saved them? What did the monsters look like?”

 

“You’ve neglected what younger ears gather from stories,” Eli chaffed quietly.

 

“Boys’ ears, perhaps,” I retorted, turning my nose up at him.

 

It had all been in good humor. Eli smirked and apprised Hadley. “Listen here then, Hadley. These sisters grew tusks, like those elephants you may’ve seen at the circus have. And their hair, it was replaced by snakes, bigger than rattlers…”

 

I adored Eli so, for his gift of preoccupying small ones; Hadley was soon lost in his regaling of heroes and quests from across oceans, and I, paying no mind to the menace of hills before us, discovered there was solace to be had. I composed a silent prayer for those safeguarding our expedition, as well as those of us being transported with bated breath and far less steely resolve.

 

Jonah Hex watched me do so. He had adopted a curiously approving countenance.

 

“It’s a fittin’ name… miss.”

  

***

  

Palpable, suffocating darkness was now the usher of our caravan. No more was Penance a beacon to us. With our riders’ torches revealing the primitive trail only a yard or so around us, and the discontinuity of stars alone defining land from sky, it was hard to guess the span of wilderness that we had yet to brave, if we were to reach the ridge’s summit.

 

Our climb was steady. Hadley had fallen asleep between Eli and me, exhausted by stories and the monotonous trek. Some ranchers endeavored to establish if we had already passed the rise on which they had, a week ago, faced their malicious spirit; the fretting and deliberating proved to excite the husband and wife riding in the coach behind us, and it necessitated a scolding from Amos for them all to keep their heads. He then called to us from his perch in the driver’s box; he did so in a gravelly timbre, so as to not again ignite any alarm.

 

“We’re twenty minutes from the peak, y’hear? … You both seem sensible, so I should tell you, this is about where my company saw… it, when first we rode. But, you rest easy now; we heard weird things then, long before it finally took the Rainer girl. This time, I haven’t seen OR heard anything.”

 

“Neither’ve I,” came Hex’s drawl, his mare’s gait matching Amos’ position. “But it don’t make me ‘rest easy.’ There ain’t no critters anywhere in these hills, ‘part from us.”

 

Amos tossed the reins and jutted his chin out at the animals there harnessed. “Horses look at peace. No better judges of surroundings than them, I’ve learned.”

 

“I think,” Eli proposed, “… we would feel it also, if something unholy walked this region, this day. Our souls, not our worldly perceptions, would warn us.”

 

I drew Eli’s eyes to mine. “You say you do NOT feel anything now? Then I envy you, and pray my own intuitions are misguided.”

 

Eli pondered this. I hugged Hadley’s bobbing head to my dress’ collar. “… I pray there are better lives waiting for us all, past this mountain.”

 

“What got you both hightailin’ west, trouble? You findin’ one of your families?” Hex pressed.

 

“We heard tell of the river,” Eli shared. “A grand one, just over this range. You’re right, sir; we are seeking Euryale’s family. They may be there.”

 

“They surely may be,” mused Hex. “Railroad made it to that town some years back, can’t recall how many. Good a place as any to settle, when you’re fixin’ to git hitched-“

 

“Mr. Hex!” Eli and I drowned him out in unison; we were boisterous enough to rouse poor Hadley. Hex’s forthright ways could fluster most anyone, and I do not mind saying that I, who welcomed his candor in many aspects, was no exception.

 

Unsure of who else had been attentive to Hex’s maundering, namely Amos, Eli readied to mend the conversation. “… You know same as all of us, Mr. Hex, a boy and a girl like us wouldn’t… even if there weren’t laws, it would not be correct for-“

 

“Why in tarnation not? What laws?!” Hex’s puzzlement was earnest.

 

I grabbed the coach’s door and pulled my head outside. “Mr. Hex, PLEASE. This is not to be discussed at these volumes.”

 

This conciliated Hex, though he was still none the wiser to the realities that Eli and I withstood regularly.

 

“I’d like it not to be left open-ended; Euryale and myself wouldn’t dream of carrying out an ambition so… outlandish,” Eli fibbed. It was intended to appease Amos, should he have been attuned to the subject.

 

The rancher’s acknowledgement drifted in our cab’s window with plumes of dust being kicked up by the horses. “Needn’t be afraid of what I think. I’m a simple farmhand, born and raised. Never had big ideas, like them congressmen, ‘bout what men can and can’t do.”

 

Amos freed a hand from his steering and patted our roof comfortingly. “I’ll keep your secret. But tell me, son.. you really couldn’t find a filly more like you?”

 

Our driver cackled at his own joke, unaware Eli felt equally insulted as I.

 

“I shouldn’t need find a woman more like me,” Eli maintained, reaching over Hadley and brushing a lock of hair from my temple. “I’d just a’soon find the one I love.”

 

Hadley wrinkled his nose, swiftly coaxing us away from our seriousness. Hex bent in alongside the coach, grimly preparing his next words.

 

“You don’t have kin in Green River, then.”

 

“She has no kin to speak of, now,” Eli confessed. “Mine… I disowned. Being that they couldn’t see the war was over. Or that a war was had at all.”

 

As Eli had come to my aid many a time when I evoked my past, so did I come to his. I knew he must have been remembering his brother, when his blood ran cold in my grip on his arm. He swallowed, then faced Hex, who waited patiently.

 

“Euryale and I, we crossed paths a year after the fighting. And maybe it won’t be in Green River, but we’re going to make a home for ourselves, in one town or the next,” Eli vowed with determination.

 

“See that you don’t run outta country,” Hex bade us heavily.

 

“HOLD! WHOA, WHOA!”

 

At the foremost rider’s cry, our progress was halted. Hex jolted out of his repose, startling me with just how quickly the enmity and dogged constitution could return to him. From my seat, I saw our scout wrestling with his horse, which stamped nervously to and fro, bellowing, and frothing through its halter bit. The man swung her about, and jerked towards two other ranchers. Their rallying devolved into frenzied hisses and jeers, keeping us others in suspense.

 

“What is it?” Amos barked.

 

“Euryale?”

 

Hadley stammered my name, pawing at my arm. “I won’t tell anyone you want to marry Eli.”

 

“Thank you Hadley, that is kind,” I validated, hoping he would be heartened. He jumped from our seat and joined Eli by the right-side door. They craned their necks to deduce the hinderance ahead.

 

Amos’ already fragile tact was waning. “Well?! What’d he see?”

 

“He says, ‘a man!’” one rifleman reported.

 

Hex’s wolf sniffed the night breeze; docile, though alert. Its owner noticed I had become chilled, and, remiss in his deed, Hex began to offer me his coat.

 

I eyed the article, unable to gracefully put into words his oversight. My speechlessness led Hex to comprehending just as well.

 

He donned the coat, frustrated. “I weren’t thinkin’.”

 

“No, please,” I interrupted, “ … I cannot accept the thought of wearing those colors, but know that I do not think of you, and their connotations, as inseparable.”

 

Hex emoted not at all.

 

“You do not… represent that side of history,” I rephrased.

 

Amos continuously interrogated his fellow ranchers; the account, growing no more coherent.

 

“You say the man didn’t walk, now how is it that he’s in a different place than where you spotted him?”

 

“It… DIDn’t walk, it moved without walkin’, I try to tell yeh!”

 

I looked at Hex ardently. “You do not wear them because you are proud; you wear them because you are not.”

 

…

 

“I think it is a merciless thing, what retribution you have placed upon yourself.”

 

“Do you now?”

 

“Do you not imagine your judgement should be left to more righteous hands?” I implored further.

 

“No ma’am.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“God weren’t there… that day.”

 

I was to unearth no more of Hex’s background, for at that moment, an unannounced, malign rush of dread overcame us all. It was not at all comparable to wind, no; the air was venomous. I saw that the sensation was not all my own when Eli took on a pallor so chalky that it could have been distinguished with or without the assistance of a lamp. From behind and beyond our cab, disturbed yelps from men and women alike rang out. Hex’s horse reared, and his wolf skulked at the coach’s wheel, no longer the formidable predator we beheld in Penance.

 

A shot punctuated the tumult, and then more followed. I hauled Hadley to the floor instinctively.

 

“In the brush! Kill it!”

 

“Where?!”

 

“Hold your fire!”

 

“It’s circlin’ behind us!”

 

Eli had not drawn his gun. “Mr. Hex! Can you see it?”

 

I lay prone. Shielding Hadley’s face, I tipped the nearest door slightly ajar. Hex had momentarily restrained his frantic mare by grasping her bridle itself and running a hand down her cheek. Had he been a second faster, he may have evaded another horse—this one, having succeeded in throwing its rider—which bucked madly and collided with the pair. Hex’s leg was pinned by the beasts’ flanks, while the bronco viciously bit his mare’s shoulder. She shrieked in an appallingly human way, and all three thrashed on the ground.

 

The righthand window of our coach was splintered by an unseen force. Eli thrust Hadley and I out of the transport as we were showered in debris. Impacting the cool dirt blurred my vision, but, for the rest of my days I shall remember, with absolute lucidity, the sight of our horses engulfed in a fire that burst forth from below their hooves, and the coach upending; hurled, like a toy. Amos was propelled along with it.

 

Hadley was not in my arms. I crawled through the billowing haze, and spied Hex wrenching his heel from the saddle cinch as his mare righted herself, and galloped away, utterly crazed. She corrected her flight too late, tumbling over a fatally-steep slope. There was distant whinnying, and then nothing at all. The abstruse battle had dissolved.

 

I now ask of all those immersed in this tale to grant their credence generously. For the gossiping and prating surrounding this mountain range, and that which had circulated Penance, was far from unfounded. It was our luckless host’s lot to encounter, on that thirty-first day of October, the horror that Hadley, Amos and the other men had once survived, and all that remains to be read, here, is a documentation of stark savagery, and of woe.

 

Over the crest of the ridge stood what one might have mistook for a man. I should say, moreover, one might have mistook it for standing. It in fact was not.

 

It was faintly silhouetted against the inky sky, but my eyes were acclimated well enough to the environment by that time that I may now soundly state that a body, brittle and decaying, hung there by a noose lashed around its throat. Light zephyrs traversing the hills made the cadaver oscillate, and the toes of its boots traced the sand lazily. Its twisting rope stretched on and on into the cavernous black above, as though it were puppeteered by some cruel divinity.

 

Eli, Hex and all the rest were forgotten for an instant. I could not move of my own volition. The aura of our enemy was crushing, relentless, nearly insurmountable. In our company was some unearthly thing not accounted for by the confines of sanity, and only by the grace of God was I able to bring myself to renounce the consuming void.

 

Our coach, and one other, were irreparable, scorched masses, scattered like seeds. A third, I saw speeding down the mountain, with those left behind given up for dead. The fourth was overturned, and I recognized, scrambling out of it, the man who sought to reach Oregon. He sobbed and held a palm out at the phantom; it had neared, without my realizing it.

 

Tears streamed from underneath the stout man’s spectacles. “Please Ma… I’m coming home now. I know I was away, but I-I… there was the war. We stopped the rebs. I’m coming home now. You can’t go. You ain’t s-seen the medal your son got yet.”

 

Like a diseased marionette, the apparition dangled a shadowed arm out to the man at its feet. The son, and former soldier, was reduced to a tortured child before my eyes. His audible anguish stabbed at the still of the night.

 

“Back, devil!”

 

Recovered from his ridicule, and with bandaged forearms, it was our young cowboy: racing up the path on horseback, taking aim at the foul wraith. Two bullets were fired; one buried itself in the soil, while the other punched neatly through the desired target’s lapel. It absorbed the projectile like the lifeless husk it was.

 

The cowboy was forty yards off and closing in, lining up his third shot. A gleam was visible in his eyes, even from this distance. “Fire and brimstone unto you, you-“

 

Flame from the nearby wreckage swelled, licking the cowboy’s face; it had done so with undeniably hostile intent directing it, shifting not as a natural blaze should. The lad writhed and slipped off his mount, brutally coming to rest in a shallow ditch.

 

I screamed for Mr. Hex. He had been dragged so carelessly by his mare that he was recuperating with great toil. He coughed, and laboriously rolled onto his stomach. I knew there would be no time for Hex to intervene.

 

The cowboy pointed his gun, using his one intact arm, and he drew a bead on his foe, using his one unimpaired eye. The hanged thing performed a stiff, swiping motion, and the nails, harnesses and varied metal objects littering the ground rose as one, contorting and melting into one another to form a long, pitted stave. It leveled with the cowboy’s skull. He cocked his pistol’s hammer.

 

The spear darted at its victim, but I watched as Hex’s wolf, battered and singed, leapt into view and foiled the lethal blow, which glanced off the canine’s haunch. A howl died in the animal’s lungs, and it crashed to the earth at the cowboy’s side. The cowboy’s chest heaved, then the beast’s. They were alive.

 

Our attacker made no effort to try again. It lingered in subdued obstinacy; swaying, and crackling with rot all the while.

 

The ashes and planks of our coach buckled, and Eli appeared beneath them, partially pulling himself loose. Relief flooded my soul. He choked my name, but neither he nor I dared to run to the other to embrace; the ghost had glided, on its macabre leash, squarely between us. It then spun in my direction.

 

“No! Euryale!” Eli rummaged for his weapon, but his hip and holster were still trapped under much of the coach’s remnants.

 

I waved him off, recalling the cowboy. “Don’t shoot at it!”

 

I was prepared to die, but not ready to. The dark shape was two body’s lengths away, obscuring Eli. I kept my head high; were this the Devil, it would be in his nature to savor one’s groveling, and I would permit him no such satisfaction. By now, I was hearing its “breathing,” were that the unbroken, low whistle issuing from behind its drooping brim. This was when Hadley stepped out of the clouds of smoke corralling the scene of our impasse. The boy was, with hands atremble, wielding one of Hex’s revolvers, which had been mislaid during the horses’ skirmish.

 

“Don’t, Hadley! Get away from it!” Eli exhorted.

 

I tried to be resilient, for Hadley; he was disconcerted enough as he was. “Go to Eli!”

 

Hex was on one knee, rasping, clenching his ribs like they might fall away without his care. His eyes widened, once seeing Hadley and his objective, and the man opened his mouth to prevent the impending threat; a deep, thick red spilled out instead.

 

Three of Hadley’s fingers encircled the trigger. “I can kill it…” the boy grimaced.

 

“Hadley, stop!”

 

The ghost’s knotted neck rotated to where the child had boldly planted himself. Hadley seized up, and all the world hesitated with him. The flames may have frozen, too; I could not be sure. Quaking, Hadley slowly repositioned his shot.

 

The barrel was trained on me.

 

Hex staggered upright.

 

Eli panicked. “EURYALE!”

 

“What’re you doin’, son…” said Hex, hauntingly.

 

Hadley’s lip quivered. “It’s them.”

 

“Speak up,” Hex told him sharply.

 

“My father w-wasn’t a liar.”

 

“… We ain’t of any such opinion-”

 

“It’s them,” Hadley seethed, in a voice that both was and was not his own. His hold on his weapon tightened. “They betrayed us, our good work and our food. They left with the Yankees. And the land came to death. They ruined us.”

 

“You’re not shootin’ my gun. You hearin’ me?”

 

“DAMN THIS-“ Eli failed again to lever the boards from his back. “EURYALE!”

 

“Let Hadley go,” I demanded of the suspended body. It creaked and danced, in an abrupt gale that ate through to my core. The thing tricked no one, playing dead.

 

Hadley straightened with a shudder. “They have no right. No rights.”

 

“NO!” Eli roared.

 

Hex had been thirty paces from Hadley, but had crept up to twenty. The man’s good eye narrowed. “Ain’t none of us have a right to be here. We jist are.”

 

“My father didn’t lie to me.”

 

“SHOOT IT, HEX!”

 

“I forgive him, Lord,” I whispered. “It is not his doing.”

 

Something akin to words seeped out of the ghost:

 

“indulge me…

indulge in me”

 

This was heeded not by Hex. “Put my gun down.”

 

“They’re not human.”

 

“You’re not shootin’ anybody.”

 

“My father doesn’t have a coward for a son.”

 

The muzzle of Hadley’s gun twitched. Its mechanism ticked.

 

There was a pop.

 

Hex had drawn.

 

Hadley was sprawled in the dirt.

 

I forgot any need to be wary in the presence of the hanging reaper; caring little if I were snatched up by its malevolent thrall, I threw myself to Hadley. I desperately checked his heartbeat. My despair was like no other I have harbored in my lifetime; a maroon badge pooled on his breast.

 

Hex dropped his revolver. Eli was unresponsive, gazing at our dismal spectacle.

 

I cradled Hadley, staining my clothes. “What have you done, Jonah Hex?”

 

“Hey you,” the gunslinger rumbled.

 

I was shaken to see him studying me, and my mournful burden. Hate was etched into him, every inch. I understood, though, that it was not a hatred for us; perhaps, not even for the entity taunting Hex from over his shoulder. Not all of it, anyhow.

 

Hex turned to the dormant oblivion. His bearing was soft; pacifying, even. It made his acid tone considerably more disquieting.

 

“I’m supposin’, if I were to shoot you, you wouldn’t be so accommodatin’ as to die.”

 

The morbid pendulum rocked a stride closer.

 

“’t’sa shame. That arrangement sounds mighty agreeable to me.”

 

Amos stumbled forward, dazed, and coated in soot. One proper look at our spectral nemesis coerced the rancher into groping for his gun, but I, supporting Hadley, mouthed “no” and shook my head vehemently. Amos reluctantly eased, gave a melancholic glance to the body I carried, and then proceeded to Eli to release him from his prison; beyond their chore, they were transfixed, as I was, by Hex advancing on the anomalous evil.

 

“See, you jist killed my horse, and you made me shoot a boy who weren’t responsible for hisself. And I’m findin’ no excuses whatsoever not to take you by that big fuckin’ necktie of yours and haul your chickenshit hide back to hell. Not-a-one.”

 

A dull groan escaped his opponent.

 

“Real ornery feller. But you’re a small feller also, ain’t you?”

 

The ghost’s rope strained, deafeningly so. I gathered Hex had infuriated whatever sinister will manipulated it. The space between the two of them wavered, rippling like a pond. The effect swept over Hex, but no unfavorable consequences came of this; he continued his serene walk.

 

“Filth,” Hex spat. “What you think you can show me I don’t already see every day?”

 

The air stirred a second time.

 

“Jeb don’t blame me for Fort Charlotte. He’s wrong not to, but he don’t blame me.”

 

A third time, the villain unleashed its witchcraft, whose impurity found its way to me as it did Hex. Flashes of my family invaded my mind. They never experienced a life outside of the plantation.

I fled without them.

left them to die…

No.

I did.

I did not.

 

“White Fawn done what she done. I couldn’ta stopped her. She were too free a spirit,” snarled Hex. “You’re nothin’. You have nothin’. I know what you really are.”

 

Eli was at last freed, and he hastened to me, aware of my disorientation. I saw truth and decency again when he enfolded me. We held Hadley, together.

 

Jonah Hex was a single step from it, now. Another jet of fire, wreathing with sentience, erupted from the earth and almost slashed through his torso, but it fell short. Hex deliberately plunged his arm into it, as a demonstration of contempt. He sustained sparse injuries, for the flame recoiled at his touch.

 

“It’s not a war when it’s one side that’s fightin’.”

 

The corpse’s dried bones clacked beneath its garb, and it crooned to Hex in a horrid, pealing chant, not unlike it was spoken from inside a hollowed-out tree:

 

“it comes ever naturally to your ilk…

your trivial desires…

your infantile bickering, clawing…

you and all my cousins’ bastard creations, affronts…

you will always be so good at it…

for me”

 

Its withered fingers extended, but Hex nabbed the wrists, forcing them apart. I could swear to you now, even by the paltry light of Amos’ lantern and what little help the moon was providing through the canopy of fog, that the figure wore the Union Army’s blue on one sleeve, and grey on the other, like Hex himself bore. The cavalryman pulled the hanging atrocity toe-to-toe with himself.

 

“Best be gittin’, now. It’s the dead stayin’ dead, what scares me.”

 

Thunderous percussions—similar to those of drums, and not of a storm—sounded over the land. The sky bowed and fluctuated about the astral tether belonging to Hex’s captive, and, as equivocally as it had surfaced, the blight then receded into thin air. The man who had vanquished it was left there: fists empty, panting, with twice as many lesions and contusions as he had before sunset.

 

I wish I could tell you there was an ambiance of resolution to accompany the victory, but this was not so. Embers, and the fetor of burnt horses’ flesh, stung our senses. The night was dense. A downcast Amos relieved me of Hadley, after trying and failing to express his condolences. I initially resisted surrendering my charge, until Eli persuaded me to with a shivering hand cupped on mine. The stout man had collected himself, and gotten our cowboy to his unsteady feet; over and over (but expecting no reply), they both questioned in manic tones what we had all witnessed still living, lurking, feeding, here in the vast frontier of America.

 

Jonah Hex trod to the cliff where his mare had met her end; on his way, he stooped but once to retrieve the weapon he had used that evening. Eli and I trailed him.

 

“Mr. Hex…” Eli disturbed his grieving. “We’d like you to know… we know what you done for us, and I thank-“

 

Hex’s revolver snapped to Eli’s brow. We were in shock; immobilized, and struck dumb by the act.

 

“You ever ended a life, son?”

 

Eli was unflinching. “No sir, I haven’t.”

 

Hex moved close to Eli’s face. Marring the man’s features, in addition to those terrible abrasions, was the same outrage he had fostered before. His triumph over the demon had not soothed his conscience in the least.

 

“Don’t you thank me for what I done. Don’t you ever thank a man for killin’ for you. You can’t know what they gave up.”

 

He was broken, a thousand times over. I was sorry for him, truly; therefore I was taken aback by my own immodesty, which ensued once Hex lowered his gun. My memory of this night is vague only here, and though I know I am accountable, I wish it were true that I was scarcely in control of the regrettable words that passed my lips.

 

“I would not thank you,” I swore fiercely. “Not in all the years I have left will I thank you, for choosing my life over another. He was a boy, Jonah Hex!”

 

I refused Eli’s arm shepherding me away, pushing it aside.

 

“My life was payed for by the blood of One other… and you have made it so my life has been payed for by the blood of two. I would have died in Hadley’s stead, but you are selfish, and arrogant and you dispense death on a whim. No, you will not have my gratitude or forgiveness.”

 

I fear I must have hit him, or chastised him with more profane language than I can admit to using, myself. Hex justified himself in no way, standing as a statue would.

 

Amos had rounded up a spooked horse and mounted, with Hadley enclosed securely in front of him.

 

“I’ll ride back to Penance, and tell everyone… tell everyone the way is clear.”

 

“And we’ll stay here. If that monster shows itself again, we know how to fight it,” the stout man ensured. The young cowboy nodded.

 

Hex’s wolf limped to him. He stroked its ear, then worked up the nerve to look at Eli and me.

 

“I’ll be takin’ you to Green River,” he croaked.

 

And so he did.

  

***

  

We did not speak to our scarred stranger for all the remainder of the journey. He led our horses to town. Without us asking, he gruffly convinced the local hostelry to provide Eli and me with rooms. Then he rode west; a wolf in tow, and a heavy coat on his back.

 

Eli and I would find lasting sanctuary in a mission, in the heart of Arizona territory. It was 1882 by then. Our son Hadley would come to us in the summertime of 1883.

 

I pray as I have prayed in these many years since, that Mr. Jonah Hex did cease to be that man all in grey, that never did let another tend to his wounds.

Lucy loves to chase a tennis ball but when its thrown in the air she has never managed to catch it cleanly. Ever.

It normally bounces of her nose or teeth. But does that stop her trying?

Nope.

I guess there's a lesson in there somewhere.....like, never give up.

 

So I'm trying to emulate Lucy's attitude to catching tennis balls........but although I've tried and tried and tried, I still don't understand why Mrs Z. need so many bloody handbags and shoes.

 

I give up.

This is my concept for a printed 2x3 pentagon tile with the Decepticon emblem. The idea for this project came from when I was designing Devastator's chest plate on which I used the 2x3 pentagon piece to resemble the Decepticon emblem.

 

The emblem itself had to be changed slightly so it would fit cleanly inside the space of the tile. I think these pieces could really work well for some bigger transformers like Megatron, Devastator, Starscream or Jetfire.

Full circuit. The resistor values are 100 k (x2), and a 1 uF Nilla wafer ceramic cap. The LED load resistor is 330 ohms. (orange-orage-black-gold) The wires that are used here are the berry Twizzler strips. Note how cleanly they can be spliced by cutting them at 45 degrees and sticking them together!

  

Part of the circuitry snacks project: Edible models of functioning electronic circuits. Designed for fun, for geeks, for kids, and for teaching and learning electronics.

The Liberation of DC, in 2036, was the largest USDF operation to date. It had over 10 companies participating, including The Screamin' Psychos. The ops initial idea was to roll in with as much mechanized infantry and vehicles as possible, securing keypoints cleanly and quickly. However, as Bravo squad in particular promptly found out, the Urags had excellent defenses and weaponry set-up. Many of the convoys of vehicles entering the city were decimated by Urag Anti-vehicle weaponry, and battlesuits. As of quoting Lt.James "Hound" Brixton, "The contrast between the white marble of the goverment buildings, the burning of vehicles, and the shot-up eco-program buildings was stark and terrifying."

 

The Liberation lasted over the course of a month before the city was secured.

OMFG, its finished! /Time to scrap....

Also please ignore the shoddy photo-editing.....

 

The plan was to split the Phicen/ER Sheena head and the Red Sonja head and swap faceplates. What I assumed would be a 10-minute job ended up taking half a day because Phicen seems to have upgraded the glues they use to hold the two pieces of the head together. I have split heads in half before with just a bit of gentle pressure and patience, but this time I needed the use of the sharp little probe to get the faceplates loose.

 

The plastics for the head and neck peg are also much softer than the plastics used for the face plate, and the neck peg is glued into the hairpiece and the face plate as well. Sonja split apart relatively cleanly, but I really mangled Sheena getting her hairpiece off. Several times, I was genuinely concerned I'd end up destroying the Sheena hairpiece. You can see the ragged edge I left.

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French Journal Day 12 (Travel Diary Day 92)

 

(travel blog - strange-lands.com/daily/2012/10/14/duras-chateau/)

 

Rachel’s been tired today. She got up early yesterday to bring me breakfast in bed.

 

She went for a nap this afternnon, and when she returned she said “I feel so much better. It was so quiet.”

 

I said “Yeah, the dogs can be a bit tiring, can’t they?”

 

She replied with ‘Not the dogs, you!”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah”, she said, “the singing, dancing, squawking was all getting too much”.

 

Sometimes I get hyper, especially after drinking a sensual cup of coffee, or just any old coffee.

 

Today I was singing ‘I’m in the mood for dancing’. I have an amazing voice – my mother told me so. On this occasion I was squawking the song because it felt amazing to do it like that.

 

When I hit an energy peak, I start squawking. I didn’t used to. In the past I would have to run around, or do something physical, like pick Rachel up and throw her about. At first she thought it was funny. It soon got old.

 

I needed a different outlet for my energy. That’s when I came across the weird noises Ricky Gervais makes. When I started copying him it was such a relief.

 

I don’t know why people don’t use these noises all of the time.

 

Here is a video of Ricky doing the noises -

www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWKi0QVlu_o&feature=player_em...

 

There were two main problems for Rachel today. Firstly, we’re so isolated no one can hear me squawk. I really go for it. It feels amazing. Secondly, I only know two lines to that song. I just repeated those two lines for an unknown period of time. I can see how that would be annoying.

 

This morning Bijou, being a husky, was on the steps howling like a wolf at the constant gunshots emanating from the surrounding forests. I sat down next to her and joined in. The more I howled, the more she howled. We bonded, I think, and it felt good to make that noise too.

 

Some people might think that I’m bi-polar. I’m not. I don’t really feel sad, I just get too much energy sometimes and it needs to go somewhere.

 

On another note, the car is a bit broken again. The brake calipers are seized on two of the wheels. I didn’t figure this out myself, of course.

 

I have to take it to the garage tomorrow where no one speaks English. That’ll be interesting.

 

Today’s Photo – Duras Chateau

 

When I’m the mood that I described above, editing photos is difficult. I can’t focus as well as I’d like to.

 

About 6 months ago I made a commitment to myself to start concentrating on pixels, and not just the image as a whole. I always enjoyed the saying, ‘Take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves’. I think this is true to some degree in photography, but not entirely.

 

Since I made that commitment, as much as I have the chance, I sit and examine all areas of my photos at between 150%-200% in photoshop, in search of any fuzzy edges, HDR artefacts, CA, halos.

 

At first, it was a struggle sitting still for so long, but soon it became a form of meditation for me. I zone out. As I edit, I constantly zoom in and out of the image.

 

While a pixel-perfect image doesn’t make a great image, it certainly makes a cleanly edited one. That’s why it’s important to constantly check the image in its entirety in order to work on the balance of light and shadow, cropping etc. But sharpening, noise removal, and anything else, in my mind, is better done at pixel level.

 

This is another manually blended HDR. I wasn’t happy with the fuzzy pixels I was left with after processing in Photomatix. I still have NIK HDR Efex and Oloneo software to try. Maybe they’ll offer sharper image quality.

 

This is a château in the small village of Duras that Rachel and I had coffee in yesterday.

The finer details of my recent medieval tower, which includes a variety of different techniques & textures I’ve been wanting to test out. Got some knight elements in some time that I wanted to utilise, as well as some older elements like the feather for the main body of the bird.

 

Meanwhile the tower with eleven sides proved difficult at first, mainly because of the floor built up on top. Filling these gaps was solved however with wedge plates and sandwich tiles. Cleanly finished with some crates and other accessories. Overall pleased with the outcome of the layout.

 

Follow my plastic adventures here or on these platforms.

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—Izaak Walton, The Compleat Angler (1653-55)

SET 5 – Oxford Kroger, 2020 Remodel/Expansion

 

Moving along to the back of the store now, here’s a shot of the new meat and seafood service counter located near – but not at! – the back right corner of the interior. Interestingly for a Kroger, the way this store is set up, there’s a quick access path straight to the rear of the store directly from the front entrance: this is because said pathway cleanly divides produce (on the right) from the beer cooler (on the left). More typically, what you’d find is that produce (on the right) is joined just by regular grocery aisles (on the left), such that traffic would be forced to funnel through the grand aisle with the bakery and deli departments on the right-hand perimeter wall. I suppose none of that is very easily visible from any of the pics I’ve uploaded so far, but it’s just something I thought would be worth pointing out.

 

(c) 2022 Retail Retell

These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)

 

BOX DATE: 1984

MANUFACTURER: Mattel

VARIATIONS: Blonde; African American

BODY TYPE: 1966; Twist 'n Turn waist; bent arms; ring hole; bend & snap knees; some dolls have small defined toes

HEAD MOLD: 1976 "Superstar"; pierced ears

 

PERSONAL FUN FACT: For the longest time, I was under the false impression that my Day-to-Night doll, named Sheryll, was a Peaches 'n Cream Barbie. I guess I perhaps forced this identity on her, as part of me really wanted to own a Peaches 'n Cream doll. I was in love with her orange and cream colored gown, and she just seemed so darn iconic. In 2012, I got my actual first Peaches 'n Cream Barbie--the second lady in this photo. She was in a small basket of dolls at my local flea market, which contained my second California Midge and Sunsational Malibu P.J. I can't quite remember who I thought she was at the time...back then I was really confused about 80s Barbie doll identities. I may have thought she was Day-to-Night! Of all my Peaches 'n Cream Barbies, I think I find her to be the most attractive. She has a very strong, prominent facial screening with very sharp, defined brows. Her face just pops whenever I look at her.

 

When I acquired my second lady, on the far left, that's when I finally put the "Day-to-Night/Peaches 'n Cream confusion" to rest. There was no denying that her not so subtle, screaming purple eye shadow, and goofy looking eyes belonged to Peaches 'n Cream Barbie. She came from a small box of dolls that I found my third Day-to-Night Barbie, one of my Teen Dance Jazzie dolls, a Jasmine body donor, and my second Ice Capades Barbie in (I might be forgetting someone else). By getting both a Peaches 'n Cream and a Day-to-Night doll at the same time, I was forced to confront their blatant differences. I'm really glad that this was the case, because I'd feel really silly if it had taken me any longer to piece together their proper identities! I can pick this girl out in a lineup, even though that's not for flattering reasons. As much as I love her, my sister and I always refer to her as the "ugly Peaches 'n Cream Barbie." Yep, that's her title...she's not too happy about it.

 

My third doll I acquired in July 2014 at a charity store. She was on the wrong body, which also happened to be broken. I remember when Colleen and I were at the register paying for Barbie and the few other (mostly duplicated) 80s dolls, her head cleanly rolled off and the cashier had a good laugh. She was a tragic mess when I brought her home, and very much decapitated. I found her a proper 80s body in my "morgue," which is perfect other than the fact that it is the wrong country make for her head (one day, if I find the right make, I'll correct this minor issue). She was really stinky, and in dire need of a body and some clothes. She's my favorite Peaches 'n Cream of the quad. I spent a lot of time with her, picking her out the best body I had in storage, and struggling with her hair to make it luscious again. I'm incredibly fond of all four of my Peaches 'n Cream ladies, but knowing that this doll may have ended up in the trash without me, makes me feel extra protective and warm towards her.

 

I'd have to say that sentimentally, my fourth lady might be my second favorite (aesthetically though, my first Peaches 'n Cream doll wins). She was inside a metal, pink trunk that I purchased at my local flea market in 2016. When I first spotted the trunk on the ground, I was very much distracted by the 80s Barbie case placed in front of it. My "doll radar" was singing inside my head...I knew that something wonderful was lurking nearby. But the Barbie case turned out to be empty...then it occurred to me to check the trunk. Lo and behold, inside were a handful of wondrous 80s Barbies. The seller wanted a bit too much money for the dolls, considering I owned all of them already, except one, and considering that many of them had really awful haircuts. The entire time we walked around the flea market, those 80s Barbies weighed on my mind. Even after scoring the infamous "Teresa lot" minutes later, I was still consumed by lust and greed for those 80s Barbies. So once we were done, we returned to the seller, in hopes he'd take $12 for the case. Instead, he bartered himself down to $10! I ended up with six lovely 80s Barbies that day, including this magnificent Peaches 'n Cream Barbie. Her greatest feature was also almost her demise. Barbie's previous owner enjoyed hair cuts...and three of the dolls were so brutally destroyed, that they became body donors. But I took a good look at Peaches 'n Cream Barbie's hair cut, and assessed that it was livable with (I always keep dolls with hair cuts if they can be fixed up unless I'm super hard up for that particular body). Barbie almost had bangs cut into her hair, which frame her face nicely when they don't spring up (thus why she's wearing a clip). After a bath, her once greasy face looked much fresher, and I could really appreciate her wonderful face paint. Her hair also cleaned up beautifully after a boil wash. Her hair looks like brand new...I think of all my 80s Barbies (yes even the formerly boxed gals), this Peaches 'n Cream Barbie has the best hair! It's ironic really, considering that her hair was also cut, and that very well could have been the end of her. I truly love this Barbie, and she makes me feel nothing but warm and fuzzy inside when I gaze into her goofy eyes!

 

My fifth, and currently newest Peaches 'n Cream Barbie has a similar story to my third girl's. She too was just a lone head when I rescued her from my local flea market in 2018. It was opening day that year, when Colleen and I spotted a mangy vintage Barbie case on one of the seller's tables. As we approached, we were eager to open the case up, since we could see clothes blatantly hanging out. For $8, we snatched up the case loaded with clothes, and Peaches 'n Cream Barbie's decapitated head. She was from the same seller who we purchased our "Teresa lot," "Fountain Mermaid lot," and "Liv Clothing lot" from. I didn't have high expectations for this doll initially. Her hair was intertwined with loads of rubber bands that had dry rotted into her tresses. Her face was coated in a layer of grime, and I wasn't sure if I'd have a body for her at home that was decent. When I checked my body morgue, I found this perfect body for her--down to the country make. I recalled that I had found a Peaches 'n Cream Barbie at Saver's a few months prior, who had a pixie hair do and was not salvageable. Even though it was painful to toss her head out, she ended up providing this gal with a perfect body. And it turns out that her hair was like BRAND new after a boil wash. It would have been such a shame if this doll had been thrown out, or if she sat around without a body for any more time. I love her deeply, and even though she was my fifth Peaches 'n Cream Barbie, I am so grateful she's part of my collection. I finally ended up finding her an outfit in 2025! A newer Fashionistas Barbie was wearing it at the local flea market, when my sister spotted the familiar gown. For just $1 it was too good a deal to resist, and the Fashionistas gal found a new home too!

Another photo from my archives, taken on 26 April 2011, at Sikome in Fish Creek Park. I've only been out with my camera about half a dozen times in the past month, and I've taken very few photos, so my archives are being used rather often at the moment.

 

"The larger of two look alikes, the Hairy Woodpecker is a small but powerful bird that forages along trunks and main branches of large trees. It wields a much longer bill than the Downy Woodpecker's almost thornlike bill. Hairy Woodpeckers have a somewhat soldierly look, with their erect, straight-backed posture on tree trunks and their cleanly striped heads. Look for them at backyard suet or sunflower feeders, and listen for them whinnying from woodlots, parks, and forests." From AllAboutBirds.

 

www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Hairy_Woodpecker/id/

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hairy_woodpecker

When I was growing up, my hometown of New Bedford was a mixture of people descended from the early English colonists, French Canadians (Québécois), Portuguese (primarily Azorean), Polish, Cape Verdean, and a smattering of Greek and Irish immigrants. My own ancestry covers the English, Irish, and French Canadian parts of the spectrum, and my wife brings Portuguese and Polish to the table, so my kids are pretty reflective of the local version of the melting pot. In my family, while there were some food traditions, only my French Canadian ancestors were recent enough to really influence what I cooked and ate as a youngun' (meaning tourtière, gorton/cretons, boudin, crêpes, and other treats.)

 

I did have the good fortune to grow up surrounded by Portuguese and Polish neighbors, though, and got to experience their foods as well. In particular, Mrs. Souza next door would often bake massa sovada, or sweet bread, and every Easter we were gifted with a large loaf, usually with hard-boiled eggs, shell and all, baked into it (a traditional Easter modification to the recipe.) It's actually available in other parts of the country, although you might know it as "Hawaiian Bread", since the Portuguese also had a strong presence in the Hawaiian islands and brought it there as well.

 

Sweet bread is still easy to find in the area, as there are still a lot of bakeries that specialize in Portuguese goods, but it's something I've always wanted to be able to make at home. Not having my own family recipe for it, and not having my very own (or even my wife's) vovó to consult on the matter, I've been working on it slowly, one Easter batch at a time, for many years, having started with people's family recipes submitted to local school and church cookbooks. This year, I think I've finally got it. (Admittedly, this would have gone faster had I made more than one batch a year.) At the very least, it's to a point where I feel comfortable sharing.

 

The bread is sweet, but not too sweet, with a moist crumb. It's always reminded me a bit of brioche, although perhaps a hair less rich. When it's as fresh as this was, just sliced with maybe a little butter is perfect, but it's great grilled in butter and transformed into French toast (a popular item on the menus of local breakfast joints.) I usually opt against including hard-boiled eggs in the loaf, since the heat from the oven tends to make them significantly overcooked. The recipe below tastes to me just like what I remember Mrs. Souza's sweet bread tasting like, and it passes muster with my all-Portuguese father-in-law, who took a big chunk home for himself.

 

Photography-wise, I wanted to go with darker lighting than I've been using of late, so this is my Nikon D7000 w/Nikkor 50mm ƒ/1.8 prime, 1/250s @ ƒ/6.7, ISO100. One SB-700 shot through a white umbrella camera right, 85mm zoom, 1/8 power; second SB-700 also shot through a white umbrella camera left, 85mm zoom, 1/20 power, for just a little fill. Color finishing in Adobe Camera RAW and Nik Viveza, although this is pretty close to straight out of camera.

 

If you want to get some idea of the evolution both of this recipe, and of my food photography, have a look at my shot of my Easter loaf from 6 years ago.

 

Ingredients

 

2 lb. all-purpose flour

10 oz. milk

8 oz. unsalted butter, softened

1 c. sugar

1 1/2 tsp. salt

1 pkg active dry yeast

1/4 c. lukewarm water (~100°F)

4 large eggs

1/2 tsp. ground mace

grated zest of 1 lemon (or 1/2 tsp. lemon extract)

grated zest of 1 orange (or 1/2 tsp. orange extract)

  

Directions

 

Sprinkle the yeast over the warm water and set aside to hydrate.

 

Scald the milk. Add 4 oz. of the butter, the sugar, and the salt, and stir until the butter has melted. Add the zest (or extract.)

 

Put the flour in the bowl of a stand mixer. Add the milk and water mixtures. Stir with the dough hook until a single mass forms, then increase the speed and "knead" for 5 minutes. Note that the dough will be very sticky and not pull away from the sides of the bowl cleanly; this is a pretty wet dough, intentionally. Add the remaining softened butter 1 tbl. at a time, letting each addition incorporate before adding the next one. Turn out onto a floured surface, shape into a ball, and put in a large well-oiled bowl. Cover with a bit of cling wrap and a towel, and allow to rise until doubled, 3-4 hours. When doubled, punch down, reshape, and let rise until doubled again (roughly 2 hours).

 

Oil two 8" cake pans (I use 3" high pans). Divide the dough into two equal-sized pieces, shape gently into balls, and place in the cake pans. Cover again, and let rise until the cake pans are filled. I do this overnight in a cool spot.

 

When the dough has risen to fill the pans, preheat your oven to 400°F. Brush the tops of the dough with a little melted butter, and place them in the oven, scattering some ice cubes on the bottom of the oven to add some steam. Bake at 400°F for 10 minutes, then tent each loaf lightly with foil, reduce the heat to 350°F, and continue baking 35-40 minutes until the loaves sound slightly hollow when rapped.

 

Cool 10 minutes in the pan, then remove from the pans and cool to room temperature on wire racks.

The bane of my tries with ceramic explosions is that some break apart with tons of dust and others don't.

 

I have not been able to figure out which objects will look all dusty and which break cleanly.

 

A few times I have tried coating the inside of the figure with varnish, but have not noticed a definite effect.

 

I have also been having problems getting good timing on hard targets lately. I finally have a theory that the light from the explosion is causing triggering issues.

 

I tested that theory on this try and it appears to be good, but I have to try more to be sure.

 

There are so many ways this type of photography can go wrong that it's kind of amazing.

 

One thing for sure, you cannot ever get into any kind of long term groove because things are always jumping track.

 

Cheers.

 

To whom it may concern A Book of High Speed Photography

Designed and folded June 2012. Folded from an octagon cut from a 30cm x 30cm sheet of Nicolas Terry's tissue foil.

 

This is the top view of this model here.

 

For the past few weeks I have been experimenting with various new fractal designs. Originally I was actually going to post a picture of this design, but while trying to reproduce it for the picture, I came up with a completely different idea altogether-- and this is the result!

 

I am really satisfied with the result of this model. As the title indicates, the concentric star design can be repeated forever (or at least until the paper becomes too small to work with). What I like most about this design is how efficiently the paper is used for each stage of stars. Even with a 30cm x 30cm square, I was able to cleanly fold 5 stages. I also find it interesting how the layers separate naturally to make the model 3-dimensional.

 

If there is enough interest in this design, I would certainly consider releasing the CP. For anyone interested who is also attending the upcoming OrigamiUSA Convention, I would be more than happy to teach you how to fold this in person. Please let me know what you think! All comments are greatly appreciated!

Well, Here it is.

 

The biggest difference in this version is that it is closed from below, this keeps the figure tall unlike the previous version. The model also has 10 more legs and slightly different proportions. Originally the section in front of the eyes was folded a bit differently and cleanly, but I could not get the front legs to lower to the ground...

 

Designed by: Shuki Kato

Folded From: one 21" square of O-gami

Size: ~8" from back to front

Time spent folding: ~15 hours + unknown time spent shaping

 

Here is the Agamemnon with stickers applied and micro Starfury fighters flying formation.

 

This micro Starfury design was created by my buddy Dark_Syntax after he found out that I was building the Omega Class Destroyer for SHIPtember. Huge thanks to him for a really cool design that only uses 12 parts! They are scaled just a little too big for the ship, but I still think they look totally awesome!

 

My other buddy ZKaiser helped me out by printing the custom made stickers that I designed. He did a really nice job, especially on getting the perforations on the letter "A" to come out so cleanly. Huge thanks to him as well!

I was a child of the 90s, but I still grew up with 1970s Barbie. Over the years I began to acquire a collection of playsets, fashions, and dolls from the 70s. But ultimately, my passion for Barbies of the 70s was sparked by one beauty. While "treasure hunting" at the flea market sometime in 2003, I spotted a very old, hot pink box with the "fancy" Barbie logo. Inside the box was the original SuperStar Barbie. I had no idea how old she was, but when I looked at the date, I was shocked to see that Barbie was twenty seven years old, more that twice my age. My heart went out to her--I felt like she had been in prison for nearly 30 years.

 

For the next week I went on and on to my dad and sister about SuperStar Barbie. I thought she was magnificently beautiful--I loved how she resembled her cartoon so closely. I also fancied her hot pink dress...I thought it would look incredible on my Sparkling Jasmine. The next weekend Dad took me to the flea market and bought me SuperStar Barbie, who I dubbed "Shayla." Within minutes of being in the car I freed Shayla from her "27 year prison cell." For some reason, I attempted to undress her (perhaps because I wanted to try it on Jasmine who was with me at the time). I came across the horrifying realization that Shayla's dress was fused to her body. Dad, using a pocket knife, surgically separated Shay from her dress while I held my breath in anticipation. Somehow, Dad managed to removed the dress with no damage to it. Shayla had only a few clumps of fabric stuck to her torso, but was otherwise alright. Shayla is the number one reason I forever swore off keeping dolls boxed.

 

Not long after, I stumbled upon an eBay listing for Ballerina Barbie and Cara. I fell in love with Cara--she was a vision of true beauty. Poor Barbie never stood a chance. I begged and pleaded with Dad to buy me the two. When that didn't work, I cried. So Dad bought me the pair even though he had instated a "no more eBay" policy at our house. The night they arrived, my sister and I took them to our camping trailer where we frequently had sleep overs (even though the trailer was parked in our front yard). Within seconds of me opening the shipping box, Cara's two arms fell cleanly off. It's a good thing that she was eventually repaired...even though it took nearly ten years!

 

My sister and I always had luck finding playsets from the 1970s. One of my favorite pieces in my entire collection is the 1973 Beach Bus. The day we bought it, we also got several 80s and 90s patio/beach playsets (I specifically recall that we got two grills). Ever since, Colleen and I always played with the Beach Bus, as well as the other sets (namely the grills). I became madly obsessed with the Malibu dolls that were advertised on the box. I was thrilled when I found a reproduction Malibu Barbie at K.B. Toys sometime later. Then one day, Dad bought me two tattered Barbie cases filled with 80s Barbie dolls at the Salvation Army. Inside one of the cases were TWO Malibu Barbie dolls, who I named Aubrey and Ali. They were technically named when my sister and I secretly played with dolls one time when I was eighteen. Even though I had two "authentic" Malibu Barbie dolls to use in the Beach bus, I still insisted on using it for my "modern" dolls like Jasmine, Mary-Kate and Ashley, my Bratz, and my other favorites. Malibu Barbie is perhaps my favorite Barbie doll ever made. At this time, I have six Malibu Barbie dolls--each I have found a creative excuse for buying. For example, I have used "I need that outfit," "she's only fifty cents," and "the poor girl will rot here," as excuses. I'll be honest, I'm still tempted to buy more every time I cross paths with a Malibu Barbie at the flea market. I always feel a pang of regret when I pass one up.

 

Even though 1970s Barbie dolls existed twenty years before I did, they are still a beloved part of my childhood, just as newer Barbie dolls, Bratz, and Disney dolls are. As an adult, some of my earliest finds when I began collecting again were from this decade. I love and cherish every doll, playset, and fashion that I have been lucky enough to incorporate into my collection. I still find 70s Barbie dolls just as magical and exciting as I did the day Dad bought me my Shayla doll. For me, it was SuperStar Barbie, Malibu Barbie, and the Beach Bus who made me fall in love with the 70s...and they are also the reason I became enamored with the American Girl doll Julie Albright!

... with me this piecful sunrise in Sellin on Rügen. Even if it was not spectacular it was beautiful, especially with some of the beach chairs left open so we could just sit down, lean back and listen to the calmness around us while watching the dawn.

 

I also was hopping around through the chairs searching for comps and this is one of the few where I got quite a nice distribution of them through the frame while also leaving space for the viewer to get into the picture. The sky was also harmonizing well here. What do you think?

 

I did DRI here but I think the blend is not noticable. Some slight color enhancements and contrast for the finishing touches!

  

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Photoshop Tip masking:

 

For a photo like this when blending multiple exposures it is very nice to have at least for some objects in the frame a clean selection. For example the main beach chair which extends into the sky. There I wanted a clean selection which let me apply masks in the sky or the foregound while leavin the other alone.

What can you do? Go to your channels pallete and click through the separate channels. often you find one channel which already has a good contrast around the edges (here between sky and chair) . Duplicate this channel, call it selection or something and go to "Image->Image Processing" (I'm not sure how this is called in the english version :-( ) Select blending mode overlay or soft light and the contrast will increased even more.. now got to "Image->Adjustments->Levels" and increase it so you get white on the one part and your object bekomes black. You might need some brush work to clean things up, also use dodge and burn but in the end you should get a quite good selection channel. Ctrl+click will select the while pixels and SHIFT+CTRL+i will invert it.

Then you can go to your initial mask in the layers pallete and while having one part selected cleanly work there while preserving the other part.

 

cheers

I pulled this long-neglected gift from my bookshelf today and attempted to scrape off the ridiculous sticker on the cover, nothing more than a garish advertisement for the product it ruined. As you can see, the sticker wouldn’t come off cleanly. In disgust, I turned to sandpaper. Now, instead of a slimy, slick cover and an advertisement staring me in the face, I can hold something closer to the feel of a canvas with a look that might have been a detail from a painting by Marc Chagall.

 

This, then, would be a good entry for this new commonplace book of mine:

 

“In his 1922 memoir, which covers some of the most vital years represented in this exhibition [Philadelphia Museum of Art], Chagall wrote, ‘No academy could have given me all I discovered by getting my teeth into the exhibitions, the shop windows, and the museums of Paris.’”

 

“Chagall Through the Eyes of Paris,” Phillip Kennicott, March 4, 2011, washingtonpost.com

 

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                      Net (103 pictures)

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I took these pictures a long time ago, but it was a heck of a job to retouch the black background cleanly. It was worth it!

It's so nice to see the body lines and shapes detached from the actual object, represented only by a geometric mesh whose frequency changes with each movement. A bit like a 3D mesh for a rendering. Too bad I had only two pairs of that fishnet tights so I could not cover my head with it too.

 

Hope you like!

  

Stay safe and healthy!

  

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you really should see the bigger image on flickr... and the whole set at my free website! :-) 

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Bookmark the URL to my website: llb1983.bplaced.net

 

All rights reserved!

Do not use or repost my pictures without my written permission! 

 

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Adox HR-50-speed boost @ ISO 50

Rodinal 1+25, 10 minutes at 22 °C

Initial: 30 seconds

1x tilt to the 5th minute

All zones are cleanly where I had calibrated them.

The higher resolution of the film (285 lp/mm) is very noticeable in the shadows.

Great combination.

Equipment: Canon EOS 3, Carl Zeiss Distagon 4 / 18mm, tripod.

11th February 2019:

 

My much needed supplement of Vitamin D. This phial is a 3 monthly dose.

 

When I first came across these glass phials I was terrified that the ends would end up not breaking cleanly and I'd get glass in whatever I was taking; or giving to someone. Especially those that contain pure fruit juice concentrate for babies. They break far more cleanly than you'd think.

 

Better viewed large and thank you for your favourites. :O)

 

www.flickr.com/groups/2019_one_photo_each_day/

Long reed grasses were bunched and tied at one end. The cut tussocks was then splayed over the coil weave hive, protecting its lateral fibres from rain and rot.

 

Wild honey has been collected as part of man's hunter gatherer profile. Vivid and amusing images of honey collection appear in Spanish Levant Mesolithic art. Early 'domestication' started at least from around 9,000 ybp - although as the insect species did not change, 'management' is probably a better word than 'domestication'. Depending upon locality, skill and availability, bee Queens were placed in pots, woven cylinders, baskets (skeps) or hollow trunks. Some of these 'systems' remained on continuums that crossed the dividing line between prehistory and history, and there exist early documentary photographs of hive baskets still in use. I know of one local person who still uses traditional wooden trunks (see below image).

 

These archaic and traditional hives are on display at the Salles la Source Musée du Rouergue - Arts et Métiers. The museum is systematic, vast. and cleanly presented. There are also several archive films of great interest.

Midlands based artist kid30 (smallkid) has been painting graffiti for over two decades. He is well known for his cleanly painted bold characters and his unique and instantly recognisable works are prominent on the streets of the UK. His recent work focuses on mash ups of favourite cartoon characters from his childhood.

This photograph was taken with a Canon EOS R mirrorless camera and a Canon FD 24mm F2.8 S.S.C. lens which was introduced in 1973, it is very well built and a bit hefty at 330g but super sharp.

The Eisbach (German for "ice brook") is a small man-made river, 2 kilometres long, in Munich. It flows through the park known as the Englischer Garten and is a side arm of the Isar River. A manmade wave has been created on one section.

 

Swimming in the Eisbach is not allowed, but the rule is not enforced, and swimmers can be seen especially on warm summer days. At least two people have drowned in the lower part of the Eisbach, a swimmer in 2003 and a non-swimmer, who may have slipped or fallen asleep near the river, in February 2007.

 

Just past a bridge near the Haus der Kunst art museum, the river forms a standing wave about 1 metre high, which is a popular river surfing spot. The water is cold and shallow (sometimes only 40 cm deep), making it suitable only for experienced surfers and playboaters (whitewater kayakers). The wave is predominantly used by surfers, and animosities of surfers towards kayakers have occasionally been reported.

 

The wave has been surfed by river surfers since 1972, and surfing competitions have even been held. Due to the more recent development of playboating, kayakers have only more recently and so far not in great numbers started to surf the wave.

 

Surfing is now (2010) officially allowed. A new sign next to the wave warns that "Due to the forceful current, the wave is suitable for skilled and experienced surfers only". In previous years there have been issues between the authorities, who threatened to demolish the wave, and a group of wave supporters who organized activities and a website to save the wave, including an online petition to leave the wave intact.

 

Being a standing wave it can be surfed for as long as one's balance holds, and in busy times a queue of surfers forms on the bank. In the past surfers tied a leash to the bridge to hold onto, but a sign announces that this is both dangerous and forbidden.

 

The local surfers have forced the wave to break more cleanly, with increased height, by attaching ropes to the bridge which trail submerged planks, creating two large "U"-shapes. Such a shape makes the wave easier to surf for river surfers (playboating makes fewer demands of the wave shape).

 

A better wave for beginners is in Floßlände near the Thalkirchen U-Bahn station. It has also been surfed since 1972, and it is wide enough to take a few surfers at a time. A third standing wave in Munich forms on the Isar itself near the bridge Wittelsbacherbrücke, but only at flood levels of the river. Due to the dirt, manure and objects like tree branches drifting in the flood in the first days, this wave is usually surfed only a few days after the water level has risen.

 

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The first Soviet magazine-fed repeating rifle, the Mosin-Nagant saw extensive service in WW2 and--although now obsolete--is a favorite of shooting enthusiasts due mainly to its ubiquity and low cost.

 

Will has modeled it with a 3.5x PU scope, and thus the bolt is also modeled in the "bent" configuration.

 

The Nugget in the lower right has had the PU scope removed. This can be a little tricky to do cleanly.

I made these three pendants to promote my 'Rubber Band Bead' workshop in Maribor, Slovenia, in March 2015. Featuring my 'Inserts' technique, my original concept was to create a motif of coloured bands like you'd see in a rubber band ball. Ultimately, alternating layers of red, yellow, blue, and green was just a little too complex for the four-hour workshop format. I decided to simplify the design by using only white inserts on a light grey background. Dark grey outlines on the inserts allowed for the appearance of overlapping.

 

I used our Cutting Edge Dies as shape templates to cleanly cut the clay veneers into elegant shapes (Long Cicada, Long Grasshopper, and Long Moth), with bigger same-shaped dies to cut framing background layers. A single piece of silver wire joins the pieces together and serves as the bail on the back and a support rod for the capping ball accenting on the front.

If it isn't already apparent, I really like electric freight locomotives. I don't know why I keep building them, but here's the result.

 

I'm almost done with this one and wanted some feedback on the area next to the coupler. I can't quite come up with a technique to cleanly replicate the angle inward on the front and side. Any ideas?

 

References:

Front view:

kitekinet.jp/pen/mae/EL/EH200-8.jpg

Side view:

kitekinet.jp/pen/EL/EH200-19.jpg

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the Sheikh Lotfallah Mosque. It was started in 1602 by Shah Abbas I, replacing an older mosque, for his father-in-law, and it was thereafter used as the royal mosque until the Masjed-e-Imam was built. Although it lacks the size and grandeur of the latter, it surpasses it in workmanship and design.

Sheikh Lotfallah was born in Mess, which is currently in the Lebanon. Like his family he was a member of the Imami, or Shi'ite sect and was encouraged to take up residence in Iran under the Safavid rulers as part of the policy of promoting Shi'ism in Iran, along with other followers of this tradition from Bahrain. At first he lived in Mashed, where the second holiest of Shi'ite shrines is located, that of Imam Reza, but, partly due to the political instability of the area at the time and partly because of pressure from Shah Abbas, he took refuge first in Qazvin and then in Isfahan, where he seems to have acquired a son-in-law and patron at the same time. It was probably he who introduced the great mathematician, Sheikh Baha Al-Din Mohammed Ameli, otherwise known as Sheikh Bahai, who designed the famous sundial in the Royal Mosque, to Shah Abbas. Sheikh Lotfallah died in 1622.

The galleried colonnade on the Eastern side of the main square is cut cleanly and the main entrance, as can be seen here is set back. The effect is highlighted by the intricacy of the tilework panels on the exterior, and the offsetting of the dome, necessary for the correct orientation of the prayer chamber, also rouses the visitor's curiosity.

 

The mosque is entered through the eivan above the steps. The covered passageway down which you pass then subtly turns you through the 45 degrees or so necessary to bring you into line with Mecca, before entering the sanctuary.

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