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Hold your fur babies close. Love them to the fullest every day.
Never take their presence and their unconditional love for granted.
God needs puppies in Heaven, too.
Rest in Peace - Sophia 'Sophie' 'Soapy' August Barto
8/9/15 - 7/16/16
You mended our hearts after losing Penelope, only to shatter them again 9 months later, but we still love you. XoXo
Give 'em hell up there! Take it easy on Nell.
She's not a brat like you, Miss Pissypants.
<3 <3 <3
Had a friend from class meet with me after work to work on a different class project. After that we just went around taking photos. My idea was to have a well dressed woman, sort of like a Disney Princess, look lost of love, heartbroken, etc. Hopefully I conveyed this well. Also tried to make it look like she was a puppet with her strings cut. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
Original art by Lisa Betournay. #fineart #painting #skeleton #skeletonart #darkart #heartbroken #skeletonpainting #acrylic #acrylicpainting #surrealism #brokenheartpainting #sadskeleton
The Montreal Museum of Fine Arts is the permanent home of Dale Chihuly’s iconic artwork “The Sun” thanks to generous donations of Montrealers.
The Sun stands 5.5 metres tall, is made up 1,573 individual hand blown glass pieces and weighs 2,000 Kilos.
The sun was first unveiled at the New York Botanical Garden in 2006. Then it spent some time at the Salk Institute for Biological Studies in 2010. And it eventually made its way to the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts in 2013 where it remained until 2014 when it was displayed in London’s Berkeley Square.
When the sun left, Montrealers were heartbroken, so the Museum of Fine Arts started the fund raising campaign to bring the sun back permanently.
A 2014 personal donation of $500,000 by the Montreal investment manager Sebastian Van Berkom enabled the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts to permanently acquire the dramatic blown-glass sculpture that patrons and passersby had warmed to since it first arrived here for a 2013 exhibition.
The sun returned 05 May 2016 and the Museum of Fine Arts organised a special "Welcome Back" event in its honour.
CHIHULY:
Born in Tacoma, Washington in 1941, Chihuly is regarded as the "Tiffany" of our day and has been exploring the plastic potential of blown glass for over fifty years. With fire, gravity, breath and centrifugal force, this accomplished master plays with colours, reflections and organic forms, using repetition, accumulation and layering arrangements of modular and singular elements to create unparalleled rhythms and visual effects.
The Chihuly Controversy:
From the NY Times - 21 Aug 2017.
Mr. Chihuly was never the lonely artist toiling in his garret. Making art in a crowd, with a crowd, was the Chihuly way, according to people who have known and worked with him over the decades. The pattern only deepened with time and success, as he gained global recognition for the prolific output of expressive glass works, sculptures and paintings that bear his name and can sell into the millions of dollars.
“The more I worked, the more I sold work, the more people I could hire,” Mr. Chihuly said in an interview in his 34,000-square-foot studio complex here in Seattle, near where he was born and raised.
But now, at 75, with mental health issues and old physical injuries that have forced a retreat from hands-on work, Mr. Chihuly is facing a hard-edge court battle — and a potential cloud over his life and art — around the question of what those teams do. A former contractor has sued him and his wife, Leslie, who is the president and chief executive of Chihuly Studio, seeking compensation for millions of dollars of paintings that the contractor says he created or inspired, but for which he said he was never properly credited or compensated.
These are painful days for Dale Chihuly, as he winds down a long career facing a challenge that stabs at the heart of any artist: his originality. Mr. Chihuly emblazoned his signature on the world by working and rethinking the vocabulary of glass as art. Physical challenges and scars compounded the difficulty of that path. He lost vision in an eye in a 1976 car crash that also permanently injured an ankle and a foot. A shoulder injury from a bodysurfing accident made glass blowing, with its heavy weights of pipes and glass, impossible to do. He suffers from bipolar disorder, marked by sweeping swings of elation and depression. And with greater dependence on others, he said, has come greater vulnerability to claims that his work is not his own.
“Yeah, I would say it probably made it easier to attack me,” he said. “I absolutely need my teams.”
The Chihulys, in their own countersuit in Federal District Court in Seattle, have dismissed the claim by the former vendor, Michael Moi, as an act of greed and jealousy. They said that Mr. Chihuly’s vision still defines and shapes all art that leaves his studio.
“He was a handyman,” Ms. Chihuly said of Mr. Moi’s role in the company, which employs about 100 people in several locations in the Seattle area.
Mr. Moi’s lawsuit says that exploitation and uncredited work were built into the Chihuly team system, and that the mental swings of working under a bipolar artist — manic bouts of energy followed by crashes of depression and paranoia — were part of the unpredictable dynamic of how and when work got done, and who did it. Mr. Moi, through his lawyer, declined a request for an interview.
“Up-and-down manic cycles were a constant,” the suit says.
Certainly, workshops for art, overseen by an artist with a famous name, are nothing new. Painters from Peter Paul Rubens to Rembrandt created elaborate systems of production, as have modern artists like Jeff Koons and Andy Warhol, who famously declared his art to be a factory-produced commodity.
And legal experts said that claims of inadequate credit by an underling generally have faced a tough road because courts require proof that the person who filed for a work’s copyright, Mr. Chihuly in this case, intended to share credit of authorship.
“I think no one would have even assumed that Chihuly did all his own work, first of all, because there’s too much of it,” said Christine Steiner, a lawyer in Los Angeles who represents galleries, artists and museums, but does no work for Chihuly.
In both law and art value assessment, she said, works that go out the door of an artist’s studio, however they are produced, are generally deemed to be a product of that artist’s vision. Because of that, she said she sees little effect on Chihuly art-market values no matter what happens in the case.
But the Chihuly case also opens up what many artists say is an uncomfortable and complicated debate about age, infirmity and the foibles of human nature where one person is in control, egos are large, and vast fortunes are being made.
“Any artist is going to suck up all the energy in the room,” said Toots Zynsky, a glass artist who studied with Mr. Chihuly in the 1970s and remains friends with him. “So the more you admire someone, the less you should work for them.”
Ms. Zynsky trained at the Rhode Island School of Design in the early ’70s, as did Mr. Beers, the architect, when Mr. Chihuly was teaching in the school’s famous glass program. She said she decided early in her career that assistants should never become long-term employees — three years and out became her rule — because she feared she might stunt their style and growth or take too much from them in creating her own art.
Another artist who has known Mr. Chihuly for many years said he believes Mr. Chihuly is still making “Chihuly art,” even if others are constructing and finishing it.
“As long as Dale can put it down on paper, right to the very end I think he’ll be able to keep going,” said Benjamin Moore, a glass artist in Seattle. But Mr. Moore said he has also been saddened by the attacks on his friend, and the decline in Mr. Chihuly’s vitality over the last decade.
“He was such a whirlwind of energy and excitement and enthusiasm, he was like a magnet, drawing the most talented young people around him just to be in his presence to learn,” Mr. Moore said. “But he’s a shell of the man that he was — it breaks my heart.”
In the lawsuit, where pretrial motions are underway, Mr. Moi said the level of Mr. Chihuly’s disabilities were never disclosed to art buyers or the public and that Chihuly Studio often intimated that Mr. Chihuly’s paintings were entirely by his own hand. Other legal cases in recent years involving Mr. Chihuly and his former employees — him suing them or vice versa — were settled out of court, but those disputes could be dredged up again in depositions or testimony as the case goes forward.
“For years Leslie Chihuly and Chihuly Studio have undertaken efforts to hide Dale’s struggles with mental health and his inability to work on a daily basis, not to protect him, but to ensure that the cash cow known as ‘Chihuly’ continued to moo,” Mr. Moi’s suit says.
Mr. Chihuly, who said he now rarely paints for more than an hour or two at a time, perhaps three days a week, was working on a recent morning, surrounded by four assistants. One handed him a brush, then held the paint container at his elbow as he stood over a horizontal glass sheet, partly painted already with specially formulated enamel, composed of ground glass suspended in liquid.
“Do you want one over the other, or do you want it side by side?” Mr. Chihuly turned to ask an assistant, Jodie Nelson, referring to the blotched paint dobs that he was about to apply.
Ms. Nelson’s response was immediate: “I want what you want.”
Mr. Chihuly then proceeded to paint, in sweeping, fast brush strokes as a Bob Dylan song played in the background. The goal, he said, was to approximate, but not fully duplicate, two other glass painted images that would then be put together, fired and then lit for display, creating an illusion of three dimensions, called “Glass on Glass.” The design is still new — only displayed for the first time recently at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas. During a pause, he gestured to one of the glass layer paintings hanging on back wall. “I rejected that one this morning,” he said. “I don’t like the way it looks.”
There’s no question Mr. Chihuly has become an institution and created a bridge between decorative and fine arts that some art scholars have compared to Louis Comfort Tiffany. Chihuly Studio creates some 30 site-specific pieces a year, ranging in price from $200,000 to millions of dollars, and has done commissions for collectors like Bill Gates and Bill Clinton. Mr. Chihuly’s show at the New York Botanical Garden, through Oct. 29, has drawn more than 484,000 visitors since April, making it one of most attended exhibitions in the garden’s history.
At Chihuly Studio on a recent afternoon, workers were assembling a huge glass chandelier for a university, tinkering with a sculpture scheduled for installation in Union Square Park in New York, and painting flower images on glass in three big warehouselike buildings in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood.
Seattle became an art-glass capital largely because of Mr. Chihuly, through the Pilchuck Glass School, a nonprofit academy north of the city that he helped found in 1971, and the two museums built around his work or glass art in general. Chihuly Garden and Glass, which opened in Seattle in 2012 next to the Space Needle, is the city’s top-ranked tourist attraction on TripAdvisor, and has become a cash cow of its own. Admission costs $29, and the gift shops sells everything from Chihuly umbrellas ($36), to blankets ($500), to numbered prints of Chihuly paintings (about $3,000).
“Second on my list of things to see, after the Space Needle,” said Alison Yeardley, a fourth-grade teacher from Boston, who was spending three days of her vacation in Seattle and had just left the Chihuly Garden and Museum on a recent morning.
Mr. Chihuly said that in looking back over the long arc of his career, he can pretty much pinpoint where his mental state was, in the cycles of up or down. In the mid ’90s, for example, he remembers working for weeks with little sleep on a project to build and hang chandeliers over the canals of Venice. But then a couple of months later, working at Waterford Crystal in Ireland, he said, the cycle turned. “I was depressed, but yet I had my team with me and I could continue to work,” he said.
“I like my work when I’m up,” he added. “Van Gogh, you know, he worked when he was depressed as well as when he was up, and I’ve never been able to figure it out.”
Mr. Beers, the former student, said he looks back on those early mornings in the glass shop in Rhode Island partly as a response to the practical realities of working in front of a furnace, seizing time before the heat of the day, but also for the quiet sense of calm that seemed part of the experience for Mr. Chihuly and his students.
“It was a more peaceful sort of Zen time, that early in the morning,” Mr. Beers said. “Or maybe he just couldn’t sleep, and it was time to get to work.”
I was heartbroken to hear that our friend Horst passed away. His comments were always thoughtful and generous, and I cherish each and every one.
He was a brilliant photographer. His photos are full of color, joy and happiness; they never fail to brighten my day. I love his sense of humor in his Woody Set, and the beautiful colors in his On Blue Set, but my absolute favorite was his SKYplay Set.
Horst, you will be missed, but I will think of you often when I look to the sky.
Hey guys this is my bunny Bloomer, he died yesterday while I was at winterlude and I'm heartbroken. He lived a good long life, he was 7 years and 359 days old, he almost made it to 8. I wish I could type more but I've cried enough today and this isn't helping. I'll love him and miss him forever, he was my baby boy. Every night I would bring him in bed with me and snuggle him. And he followed me everwhere he could. He was the sweetest thing ever, he never bit me in his life or anyone else for that matter, but he loved to give kisses. I kinda thought the was invincible considering he's gotten into bubblegum multiple times and jellybeans also and had two near death experiences besides those. But I guess he wasn't. I'll miss him forever, but I know that in a way he will always be with me. Rest in peace Bloomer, I love you.
more in comments
June 3, 2008 - January 31, 2019
My house burned January 31 while I was at work, and sadly, the firefighters couldn't save Enzo. I am heartbroken.
I lost my best friend and wife Diane. She was/is the whole world to me. I miss her every second of every day.
Narcissus or Narkissos (Greek: Νάρκισσος), possibly derived from ναρκη (narke) meaning "sleep, numbness," in Greek mythology was a hunter from the territory of Thespiae in Boeotia who was renowned for his beauty. He was the son of a river god named Cephissus and a nymph named Liriope.
Many versions of this myth have survived from ancient sources. The classic version is by Ovid, found in book 3 of his Metamorphoses (completed 8 AD): the story of Narcissus and Echo. Narcissus was walking in the woods when Echo, an Oread (mountain nymph) saw him, fell deeply in love, and followed him. Narcissus sensed he was being followed and shouted "Who's there?". Echo repeated "Who's there?". She eventually revealed her identity and attempted to embrace him. He stepped away and told her to leave him alone. She was heartbroken and spent the rest of her life in lonely glens until nothing but an echo sound remained of her. Nemesis, one of the Three Moirai, learned of this story and decided to punish Narcissus. She lured him to a pool where he saw his own reflection. He didn't realize it was only an image and fell in love with it. He eventually realised that his love could not be addressed and died.
Our handsome, sweet, fantastic, loving Jynx passed away suddenly. Our hearts are broken. We miss him so much.
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I am heartbroken.
UPDATE:
It is with heavy hearts that we share this update. The lack of improvement in Valor’s neurologic symptoms after a week of aggressive supportive care led us to the decision to humanely end Valor’s suffering before his condition deteriorated further. We learned yesterday afternoon that Valor had tested positive for West Nile virus; we had suspected that this was the cause of his symptoms. Infection with this virus is not always fatal in birds; however, after seven days of intensive supportive care, Valor remained slow to respond to stimuli and displayed no signs of improvement. He had to be force-fed as he showed no appetite and refused to hand-feed or self-feed. Valor was extremely lethargic and had head and body tremors—signs of advancing West Nile disease. Our professional assessment was that it was extremely unlikely that he would recover, even for placement at an educational facility. Subjecting him to further treatment, handling, and captivity and prolonging his suffering would have been inhumane and contrary to our principles as wildlife rehabilitators. A necropsy will be performed at another facility.
In the past five years, we’ve treated 300 Bald Eagles along with over 10,000 other wild birds that have relied on us for care. As professionals, we do our very best for each and every single patient, as we always have and will continue to do, and this includes Valor. We share the deep sorrow you feel for his loss and hope you know that your passion for native wildlife matters. It is so inspiring to see the community rally behind a wild animal in need; thank you to everyone who showed support for Valor and Tri-State. While this outcome was not what we wanted, there are thousands of success stories of animals receiving a second chance at life in the wild at our center and wildlife rehabilitation centers around the world—this is what motivates our staff and volunteers to continue caring for wildlife in need every day. To understand more about West Nile Virus please go to: www.raptor.umn.edu/our-research/west-nile
Bad stuff going on with hubby's work and it is just stressing and draining us both. Praying for a positive change.
October 10
I was met with seven-year-old Mohammed Shoaib in Chittagong, the commercial capital of the country, in April 2016. His heartbroken look still seems to be still.
Creed trudges through the dense forest north of Central City. He'd been able to keep standing before, but the adrenaline had long worn off. Every part of him aches. If it weren't for Heatmonger and his fire, he doesn't think he'd have lasted against Flash. He makes a mental note to thank the pyro, if he isn't being dragged back to Iron Heights at this very moment.
Creed would break him out, of course, but he'd really rather not go through the trouble.
Pushing aside lush greenery, he finally comes to a stop at his destination. In front of him stands a small, run down church. Its walls are covered in moss, and the roof is barely visible with the foliage. Grabbing onto the handle, he pulls the tall wooden door open and slips inside. The interior doesn't fare much better than outside. Windows are broken and the ground is overgrown. There are six rows of pews on either side of the singular aisle, all leading to the altar, where an old, bald man sits. He reads scripture aloud to the few people seated.
"Eradicator," the gruff, but charming voice of the bald man calls out upon noticing Creed, closing the book in his hands. "Welcome back."
"Monger come back?" Creed is quick to ask, signing in relief at the nod he receives.
"Just a little while ago, in fact," the bald man confirms, stepping down from the altar. "He didn't stay long, however. He said he needed some time to himself. Did something happen?"
"He… burned down his old cell block… with everyone in it," Creed says, pulling off his cloak and laying it over one of the pews. "At the time I didn't think anything of it, but I was wrong."
"You should've seen him," a voice from the pews calls, more chipper and youthful than the bald man. "His whole 'nothing bothers me!' attitude was completely gone. Totally flipped script."
"Spencer," the old man sighs, shaking his head. "Please, be considerate of your comrades feelings. Both Eradicator and Heatmonger took a giant leap for us all, and it will soon pay off."
"Sorry, sorry," he quickly apologizes.
"Did he debrief with you about the… change?"
"Heatmonger informed me of your communion, yes," he says, placing a hand atop Creed's shoulder. "I am glad you followed through with his will. Heatmonger may be anxious, but his heart is in the right place."
"Yeah… I know it is."
"Anyhow, you deserve proper rest," he says, leading Creed towards the back of the church. "Doctor Rosso will be here in the morning to check up on your wounds. I'll also make the call to get you a new costume."
"Thank you, Cicada," Creed says, nodding.
"Do not thank me, thank Raijin."
-^-
Barry stands at the front of the room, back turned to Joe's closed casket. He scans the room, spotting a multitude of friends and family, heartbroken expressions on their faces. Eddie sits with Jay and Joan near the door, Wally and Rudy are seated beside Ira, while across from them are Daniel and Iris. His eyes lock onto the seat beside Daniel, empty.
"The lightning that struck him… it's unlike anything we've ever seen."
Barry stands outside the hospital room, Daniel by his side. Inside said room lies August, body riddled with dark burns, ones the doctors can't tell the origin of.
"I'm terribly sorry about this streak of bad luck, Mr. Allen," the doctor says, "and I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. West."
Barry nods at the man, mouthing a thank you before he departs. Barry stares through the window, biting his inner lip at the sight of his best friend.
"Twice…" Daniel mumbles, clenching his fist tight. Barry turns to him, frowning. "Twice he chose to save me over them… what makes me so special? Why were they forfeit over me?"
"Daniel…" Barry sighs.
"They've saved so many lives, they've brought so many bad people down," he says, slamming his fist against the wall. "What good am I!? What did I do to deserve being alive!?"
"You don't have to 'do' anything, Daniel," Barry says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I can't say for certain what went on… but I know Joe and August, and neither of them would want you to be like this… putting blame on yourself."
"I don't care what they'd want," Daniel mumbles, shrugging Barry's hand off. "I just want them standing here, with you."
Barry takes a deep breath. "I would like to thank you all for being here and showing your love and support in these… these difficult times. These last couple weeks have been… tough, to say the least, so I really do mean it, thank you all for being here.
Barry clears his throat. "Joe wa-" he pauses, head turning to the portrait sitting beside the casket. "My father… was a hero. Whether he had his badge and hat on, or a pair of flannel pajamas, he never stopped being an inspiration to me. He took me in when I was all alone; a time where I was angry at the world and afraid of what more it could take. He saved me. He helped me on the path to recovery and helped me feel whole again after losing everything. He helped make me who I am today; my morals, my ideals, and my drive to help everyone I can." Barry exhales a deep breath. "A thousand reasons," Barry begins, smiling as a tear rolls down his face. "That's a-uh, a lullaby of sorts that my father, Henry, used to sing to me and my brother whenever we couldn't sleep. It was simple, and I think my dad was making it up as he went along," Barry chuckles, earning a few laughs in response, "but even still, 'there are a thousand reasons to wake up tomorrow.' It stuck with me, ever since I was little. I've seen a lot of things and lost a lot of people I hold dear… but I know tomorrow is waiting for us, and there are a thousand reasons we should see it, and one of them is to honor the memory of Joe West; husband, father, and hero."
Barry thumbs away the tear as he steps away from the casket, returning to his seat beside Daniel and Iris. He feels the sorrow radiating from Daniel's body; the mournful frown, the puffy red eyes… he's in so much pain, but Barry doesn't know what to do, what to say. He knows pain, losing his mom and Malcolm, Francine and Joe… but never has been chosen to live, and forced to watch someone he loves die.
His head turns to the left as an arm wraps around him. Iris smiles at him softly, a sad but sincere smile. That smile makes him feel okay, but only for a second before he frowns, turning away from her. He knows. He knows it wasn't his fault, and that no matter what he did, he could have prevented what happened.
His gaze shifts between the casket and the empty chair beside Daniel. He can't change the past… but if they never knew, if his identity was still a secret…
Maybe they'd still be here.
-^-
Creed steps out onto the cliffside about a mile out from the church, basking in the gentle spring breeze. He used to come here often, the rushing flow of the waterfall putting his mind at ease. He hadn't come in a while, however. They were too close for distractions. He figures he's earned it now, however, especially after his fight with Flash.
As he approaches the edge of the cliff, his eyebrow raises. Sat along the edge, one leg dangling over the drop, is Heatmonger. The man wears the white hoodie he's seen in whenever at the church, as well as dark jeans. Creed watches as the man stares at the birds flying around the waterfall's peak.
"It's impolite to stare," Heatmonger calls out, eyes never leaving the birds.
Creed walks up to the edge, taking a seat beside his partner. "When Cicada said you needed time for yourself, I didn't think he meant here," Creed says, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. "Didn't think anyone else knew about this spot."
Heatmonger is silent for a moment before nodding. "Saw you make your way here back when I first joined up with you guys," he explains, taking in a breath of his own. "It's… nice. Free."
Creed lets the silence sink in. It's hard to tell by the black reflective sunglasses he has on, but Creed is sure Heatmonger's gaze has yet to leave the birds. Nearly five years the two have been partners, but he's never seen Heatmonger like this. No quippy sarcasm, no brash confidence… but a quiet embrace of his surroundings.
"The birds… why're you so interested in them?" he asks, looking over at the man.
Heatmonger frowns, the new scar running along his cheek and lip contorting and leaking blood past the stitching. "It's nothing special, really," he says, wiping the blood off his cheek, staining his sleeve crimson. "Birds are free… nothing can hold them back."
Creed nods, again letting the silence take over. He too watches one of the birds as it lands atop its nest, beginning to feed its young. He doesn't need to look to see the tear running down his partner's face.
"You keep to yourself," Creed says, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Everything I know about you has been learned in the present. I don't know what happened to you those years you were locked away…" he looks back at the hatchlings in the nest, "or what happened to the people you cared for… but you're my partner. I'm here if you need me."
-^-
"I didn't know what to do…" Wally mumbles, head lowered. "The storm was raging on, August was hit… and you were out cold. I dragged you all out into the mountains away from the plant, but by the time the storm ended, Heatmonger was gone, the pylons were completely liquified."
"Wally, you did the right thing," Barry says with a soft smile. "Saving people? It's always our first priority."
"Yeah but… I feel like I could've done more."
"You shouldn't have had to be up there in the first place," Eddie says, entering the room and taking a seat in the booth. "I'm still not even sure what happened."
"We're only working off theories right now," Barry says, passing the man an energy bar. "All I know is the lightning that was surrounding me was the same I saw Raijin use. I think he might have attacked us from within the Speed Force."
"And we think that same attack somehow jump-started my Speed Force connection," Jay explains, leaning against a table. "Either way, it still doesn't explain why the attack didn't affect Wally."
"I don't really get it either," Wally sighs. "One minute Mr. Jones is about to run into battle, and the next he's on the ground covered in that lightning."
"You said you were able to move him, right?" Barry asks, earning a nod from the boy. "Joe couldn't even touch me, it was like an electrical field around my body."
"What if it's his connection to the Speed Force that stopped it from reaching him?" Eddie asks, turning to look at Wally. "We know Wally's connection is stronger than any of ours, what if acted as an immunity to the attack?"
"That could be it… but that isn't good," Jay says with a frown. "If Raijin can take any of us down for his cronies to finish us off…"
"Then it's all on me…" Wally mumbles, eyes widening.
"I won't let it come to that," Barry says, determined. "I was able to push back against it, even if it was only a little. I'll keep getting stronger… I won't leave Wally to do this, not alone."
"Good, that's what I was hoping you'd say," Jay says as he steps away from the table. "We all have part to play right now, mine… just won't be here."
"What do you mean?" Wally asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Lucious, Heatmonger, he's my enemy… if he's a part of this… cult," Jay explains, pulling his jacket on, "he's my responsibility."
"Heatmonger killed a dozen inmates… people who were serving their time, putting in the effort to be better!" Barry protests, standing up from the booth. He clenches his fist, "He put my dad in a coma… You passed the torch to me when you accepted me as your successor. This isn't your responsibility, not anymore."
"You being my successor is exactly why it's still my responsibility," Jay chuckles, making Barry frown. "Listen, I have some old contacts from my JSA days; Informants, colleagues, even a few villains living the big life in retirement homes. I'll see what I can dig up about him, maybe even the others involved with Raijin. I'll make sure to be careful, but I urge you three to do the same."
"I don't like you going alone," Barry mumbles.
"These days you're never alone, not when I can pull a little dohickey out of my pocket and tell my wife goodnight," Jay says just as Barry's phone begins to buzz. "Speak of the devil."
"Wait, why is Joan texting him?" Wally asks, earning an exhausted sigh from Eddie. "What?!"
"I… I'm scared," Barry mumbles, staring down at the message. "Joe found out… and not even a month later he was… and August, he's in the hospital with no guarantee he'll ever wake up."
"What if telling her puts her in harm's way," Eddie cuts in, arms crossed. "That's what you were gonna say right? It probably will, especially knowing that woman. I'll bet you she's knocking on Captain Cold's door the next time he gives you the sniffles… but this ain't some highschool romance like lover boy over there. This is the woman you love, your future… you really okay lying to her? Keeping a part of yourself hidden deep inside? What happens when you drive her away? When all the lies and secrets build up until it's too much for either of you to handle.
"Take it from someone who knows," he says, mouth curving into a frown, "there's nothing worse than having no one when you're at your lowest."
Barry nods, his mouth a thin line as he stares at Eddie's solemn expression. His eyes peer down to his phone, staring at the wallpaper of himself and Iris as he contemplates what to do.
----------------------------
NEXT TIME: Revelations, New Faces, and More!
My heart is broken.....Brutus went peacefully this morning.....may he run and play like a puppy at Rainbow Bridge!
In this pic Brutus is lying in his special place with his paws hanging over the pool!
Rainbow Bridge
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....
Author unknown...
September 11, 2007 - EXPLORE
Met her at the Capricon's skywatch
and fell in love with her! :-)
will never know who she is though!
Bummer
n.b. was using Mahran bhai's camera with a 24-70mm f2.8L USM
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In making this miniature dollhouse scale (1:12) pine hutch, I applied five coats of paint, sanded, brushed, and damp washed each layer before applying the next one. The resultant color is deep green with bits of glitter to signify magical ability.
I make my hutches one at a time… from start to finish. There is no assembly line in my workshop. No elves either. For this reason, this is truly one-of a-kind. I keep no written “recipes” for the color or instructions for the items I create to put into/on my hutches. Pieces on this hutch are from nature or created at the time I was working on it from materials at hand at that time.
A big "FUCK YOU" goes out to my soon-to-be ex-wife.
My ex left me in June of '07 so that she could "find herself".
She dyed her hair bright pink..... Didn't find herself there.
Then she styled it as a big mohawk.... Didn't find herself there either.
Then she got her septum pierced........ Once again, no discovery of who she really is.
She left me, yet I'm the one who has to initiate the whole divorce proceeding. I'm the one who has to fill out the paperwork. I'm the one that has to file the paperwork. I'm the one who's paying for the paperwork to get filed. I guess my official title is "Petitioner". The petitioner is the one who initiates the divorce process. Not necessarily the person who wanted to get the divorce in the first place. As is the case in my situation. I loved this woman with all my heart. But now I am the one who has to do every-fucking-thing under the stupid fucking sun in order to get divorced. All the while, she's out partying and having a good old time. Well, I'm fucking sick of it! I can't take much more of this. I try to set up meetings with her so that she can fill out the information that pertains to her (like medical insurance, 401k, etc.) but she blows me off. Seriously, why is it so difficult for her to step up to the plate and just take care of this shit? She's the one who wanted all this.
News flash bitch:
You're 31 years old! Grow up and take some responsibility for you actions. Don't rely on everyone else to do all the work for you!
I will never get married again.
This issue takes place in between issues #6 and #7 of DCU Starman Vol 1
What have I done. I… I killed him. Using the Cosmic Staff nonetheless. I can’t stay here. I have to go. I can already hear the police sirens. I- I have to go. I just have to go.
It’s been two days since the murder of Kyle Nimbus. Police have been tasked with finding the murderer. That murderer is me. Jack Knight, the third Starman. They know it’s me. The police knew I was headed to Kyle’s whereabouts. Not if the gaping hole in Kyle’s stomach was a big clue or anything. I hold the Cosmic Staff as tight as I can. It still contains traces of blood. Not my blood. I sit in the pouring rain in an alleyway of Opal City. Can’t go to my dorm or the antique shop. That’s the first place they’ll look. What the hell, why am I even concerned about that? I have to turn myself in! I’m a murderer. But… so was Kyle. He attempted to kill my father. He deserved to die. But did he really though… My thoughts are disturbed by the rings of a nearby payphone. I slowly get up and look around me. Nobody else is here. Could that be for me? It has to be some kind of trick. Should I take the call? Without any other options left I make my way to the payphone, still clenching the staff. As I try to stand up the pain in my shoulder increases. The bullet wound hasn’t been properly treated. Probably infected. At this point I realise I really don’t have any options and make my way to the payphone even quicker. I reach it and still hesitate to answer it. Then I realise it’s been ringing for a good two minutes now. It has to be for me. And with that in mind, I answer.
“Hello?”
???: “There is no time. Come to the industrial site just out of Opal City. Meet me at warehouse 40.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
???: “I served with your father. Please, there is no time.”
Again I hesitate. Do I go? Or should I stay away? At that point the increasing pain in his shoulder reminds him he has no options.
“Fine. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
I take a look around me and as I see no one, I hold the staff up and it starts to glow, carrying me into the sky. On my way to the industrial site it gives me time to think about who I might be meeting at the site. Voice was male. Someone who served with dad in Vietnam maybe? But why would he want to help me? It’s not like dad kept in touch with any of his army buddies. Well, not that I know of. He didn’t tell me he was visiting the killer of my mother either. As I set foot on the industrial site I look around me. This is warehouse 40, so where is this mysterious helper in need? I hear footsteps behind me and I aim the staff in the same direction. A man in a blue jacket and with red hair approaches me with his hands in the air. In one of his hands he holds a medkit.
???: “Woah! Easy there kid. I’m here to help you. I was the one who called.”
“Who are you?”
???: “My name is Pat Dugan. Believe it or not, but your father sent me here.”
“Dad’s awake?”
Pat: “You didn’t know yet. He awoke just this morning. Detective O’Dare told him what happened, kid. He almost immediately called me so I could help you. He realised you couldn’t go to your apartment or to the antique shop, so he enlisted me into getting you to a safer location.”
“What is this place?”
Pat: “Let me show you.”
I put the staff down and follow Pat to the door of the warehouse. There he removes a brick which reveals a keypad with the initials J.S.A. on it. This is not just a regular warehouse. It’s an old JSA safehouse. Dad never told me one of them was located right out of Opal. We make our way inside and he turns on the lights. The room reveals a small garage with nothing left besides a couple of rusty car parts. As we move through the garage Pat opens another door which reveals a big round table with a sheet over it. We walk past it into a small backroom which contains a medical bay. On the wall is a small logo of a half moon.
Pat: “This is where Doctor Mid-Nite usually hung around when he was here. He was the best doctor you could find. Sadly he passed away two years ago, so I’m the best you got.”
“How the hell did you know the code to this place? How do you know so much about Doctor Mid-Nite? How does my father know you?”
Pat: “Take a seat and I’ll explain.”
I make my way to a chair still clenching my staff and my shoulder. Pat notices and orders me to take off my jacket and lift the sleeve of my shirt. I do as I’m told as I keep looking at him with questioning eyes. He notices that as well.
Pat: “As I said before, I’m Pat Dugan. I used to work alongside your father as the superhero Stripesey. Let me take a look at that shoulder. Gunshot. Bullet went straight through, so that’s something good. It does look infected though, but I can fix that.”
“Dad never told me he had another partner alongside my mother.”
Pat: “When your mother died, your dad was heartbroken. He took reserve status as a JSA member, but he was never the same. At that point our partnership started to crumble. The final straw was when the JSA disbanded five years ago. We still kept in touch on occasion, but our partnership never became the same. I gave up being Stripesey the same year the JSA disbanded. Gave me time to properly raise my son. This can sting a little bit.”
Pat rubs alcohol on my shoulder and I clench the staff even harder.
“It’s fine. I’ve been through worse. You have a son?”
Pat: “Yup. Little Mike. Well, he’s eight now, so not so little anymore.”
“So were you a member of the Justice Society as well?”
Pat: “Well, not really. I helped on missions on occasion, but I was never an official member, no. Just take this really quick.”
“What is it?”
Pat: “Medication against the infection.”
I hesitate to take the pills. What if it’s a drug to knock me out and take me to the police? What if this guy isn’t who he says he is. What if he’s some kind of bounty hunter. Oh god, does that mean there’s a bounty on my head?
Pat: “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“Do you blame me?”
Pat: “I guess I shouldn’t. Let me tell you a story. One time, your father and I were following a lead on a terrorist known as The Infernal Doctor Pip. He was an explosives genius who terrorised Opal City in a bombing campaign. He managed to escape from us once and hired a man named Lucas Ludlow-Dalt to be his bodyguard. The man doesn’t sound like much, but he managed to fight your father in combat and steal the Cosmic Staff. We were trapped by Ludlow-Dalt in a room full of Pip’s explosives, without the Cosmic Staff to get us out. We thought this was it. This was the end for Starman and Stripesy, until it wasn’t. Your mother came blasting through the roof for the very first time in her Stargirl outfit. You should’ve seen your dad’s eyes when she took down Ludlow-Dalt and captured Pip. He was so proud of her. That’s when the infamous duo of Starman and Stargirl was born. Sure, I was there as well, but Starman, Stargirl and Stripesey doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
I look at Pat with tears in my eyes. He was there when my mother first became Stargirl. He was there at the exact moment alongside dad. He notices and puts a hand on my knee. I can see a single tear going down his cheek as well.
Pat: “It’s okay kid. I miss her too.”
I wiped away my tears and I just noticed I put down the Cosmic Staff while listening to the story.
“I trust you.”
Pat: “Thanks kid.”
I take the medication while Pat finishes treating the wound and patching it up.
“So what are we going to do next?”
Pat: “Well, you are going to do nothing. This is the safest place you’ll be where nobody will look. Besides, you can’t go out there with that shoulder. Give it some time to heal. I will check on you from time to time and if there’s anything you need just let me know. There’s a phone in the conference room with a secured connection. My private number is right next to it.”
“I will. Thank you Pat. For everything. And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you immediately.”
Pat: “It’s okay. It’s understandable. Just keep laying low. I’ll tell your father that you’re in the safehouse and all right. He will be visiting as soon as he can.”
“Can you tell him he should inform my roommate too? His name is Tony.”
Pat: “I will. As of now, is there anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
Pat and I say our goodbyes as he heads to dad and then heads home. I pick the staff back up and take another look at it. It still contains traces of blood. I make my way to the bathroom and start cleaning it. After I’m done it lights up again. I smile and take a seat, waiting for what’s coming next.
Llanddwyn Island is named after St Dwynwen, the Welsh patron saint of lovers. Legend has it that she was spurned by a prince and retreated heartbroken to the island. There she was granted three wishes, and asked to be given the power to grant the wishes of true lovers.
"get your head out of the mud baby...."
As a kid I was scared of escalators, cause my skirt got caught in one when i was 4. I'm now over that. Hope you like my illustration!
I've been having so much fun with this game! BTW she is slightly modded here. Her name is A'ristotle Nuhn but i just call her Ari lol... Here is her lore if you care. SPOILERS WARNING
A'ristotle was cast out of her tribe because they were jealous of her beauty making all of the catboys want to be with her but it wasn't her fault because she didn't even really care about dating and stuff. She actually wanted adventure anyway so it worked out and she became a scion of the seventh dawn and it turns out she was really good at dancing and fighting and she beat up all of the Garleans before she fell in love with Thancred, but he cheat on her with a man (that elf guy) so she dumped him and she started dating Haurchefant instead (RIP) but he died so she started to date Ysale but she died too and then she was so heartbroken so she had to stop dating for a while. Also she has special powers she unlocked through Hydaelyn (mind reading and she can see the future but only in bursts) and she saw in the future she would fall in love with a man named G'raha Tia so she decided to stop dating again until a man named Americ was there and he was kind of a sexy elf and she had a fling with him but he was too intense for her and he got possessive even though it was a just a fling so she killed him. And that made a lot of people mad at her so she had to go to the far east where she met a man named Hien and had sex with him but it turned out he was actually possessed by Americ's ghost so she killed him too. Now she's heartbroken but she remembers she likes girls too so she dates Y'shtola and they are so happy and stuff but then Y'shtola turns straight so they have to break up. So Ari is really heartbroken because everyone dies or she has to kill them or break up and she's considering giving up being the Warrior of Light because it's a nightmare and she's suffering so much. So she decides she's not going to date ayone except G'raha Tia because of her vision. But then everyone gets teleported to the first and she meets a sexy man named the Crystal Exarch but she's like I can't have sex with him because I need to wait for my love G'raha Tia. But like they have obvious chemistry and they're flirting like crazy and they get along like TOO well and she's like he feels like the one for me but she doesn't sleep with him because she's trying so good to not be bad. Eventually The Crystal Exarch gets shot and his hood comes off and he's like so sexy she could scream but she is screaming because he's shot and she's like I don't even care about G'raha Tia anymore I want to fuck the Crystal Exarch but he's kidnapped and she starts to turn into a sin eater. All seems lost until she uses her inner power to break the sin eater curse inside her and she goes to this city underwater where Crystal Exarch is kidnapped and fights Hades and wins. Then she says to Crystal Exarch IDC that I had a vision of G'raha Tia I want to be with YOU! But it turns out that Crystal Exarch wasn't his real name and his real name was G'raha Tia and she gasped and kissed her promised love. And under the robes he was like this sexy little catboy man and she loved catboys so it was totally perfect. They moved into a cute Rococoo style mansion in Limsa Lominsa and he made her cute crystal earrings out of his arm and legs and they were so happy until ELIDIBUS Ari's worst enemy came and explained she wasn't really Ari she was Azem. And Azem was long dead. Elidibus killed G'raha by turning him into a statue so Ari got so mad she killed Elidibus right back with the help of Emet-Selch (RIP) and then she used the last of her magic powers from Hydaelyn to bring G'raha back to life but in the regular Eorzea not the first.
I haven't finished Endwalker that's why I didn't mention it but that's her basic lore, one day I might make a fan fiction detailing her adventures cuz there's a LOT I didn't include that was interesting like she has a threesome with Thancred and the elf guy LOL but also when she saved the mermaid people from the Ascians or when Haurchefant and Aymerics ghost fought in the afterlife over her. But those are way too long to explain. Would anyone wanna read the fanfic?
Heartbroken: EVERY Monday night at Studio80 on the Rembrandtplein in Amsterdam! Party: Heartbroken Venue: Studio80 Coverage by: Waking up in Amsterdam!