View allAll Photos Tagged Hypocrites
Με ένα κομμένο τριαντάφυλλο στο στόμα του επέστρεψε κι ανυποχώρητος στις προθέσεις του, να φτάσει στο κέντρο της γης για τα περαιτέρω όπως και θέλει να τα παρουσιάζει.
Έχει σχέδια λέει για το πως θα πάρει τον έλεγχο του μανδύα της γης ως κολασμένος και φλεγόμενος εις το άπειρο θα προσθέσω εγώ, κι έπειτα της καταστροφής που μια ημέρα με ρώτησε.
Μια κουταλιά του έρωτα που επιθυμεί του αρκεί ως προς τη λάβα που θέλει να πιεί, κι ύστερα το δηλητήριο θα φτάσει στην ψυχή του γιατί το κορμί του θα είναι νεκρό πολύ καιρό πριν.
Νεκρός κι εσύ μου λέει δίνοντας μου λόγο για τα περαιτέρω λέγοντας του, και ποιος σου είπε πως τώρα είμαι ζωντανός σύμφωνα με ότι πιστεύεις ως άνθρωπος τουλάχιστον ακόμα.
Με το τριαντάφυλλό στο στόμα μου μιλάει μασώντας τα λόγια του θα έλεγα, γιατί από πράξεις ακόμα τίποτα και εννοώ γι'αυτό που θέλει να κάνει μήπως και κάποτε σωθεί λίγο πριν.
Δεν έπρεπε να το κάνει πυροβολώντας με στο πόδι και πριν τελειώσει την πρόταση του λέω, πως την γυναίκα που αγαπώ εγώ θα τη σκοτώσω κι ύστερα θα την βαλσαμώσω ως τρόπαιο.
Τότε το τριαντάφυλλο του έφυγε από το στόμα λέγοντας μου πως ποτέ δεν είχε σκεφτεί τούτο που άκουσε, ρωτώντας με αν άνθρωπος είμαι εγώ η εξωγήινος που μας παρακολουθεί.
Πολλές ταινίες βλέπεις του απαντώ και το γεγονός πως μας παρουσιάζουν ως τους κακούς γείτονες του σύμπαντος, κάποια στιγμή θα πρέπει να λάβουν και την κατάλληλη απάντηση.
Κι ο θεός να μας βοηθήσει από εσάς που είναι με ρωτάει λέγοντας του πως από καιρό επίσης τον ψάχνουμε κι εμείς, κι αντί για αυτόν τελικά βρήκαμε εσάς να ασχοληθούμε κάμποσο προς ώρας.
Έπειτα έπεσε στα πόδια μου εκλιπαρώντας με για λίγο σύμπαν ακόμα ώστε να μπορέσει κάποια στιγμή της χαμένες απαντήσεις του να βρει, δίχως όμως να έχει της κατάλληλες ερωτήσεις.
Εξ'όσων φαίνεται του λέω θα κοπείς και κάτω στη γη θα επιστρέψεις ως ένα κομμένο τριαντάφυλλο, και σχεδόν λίγο πριν πεθάνεις θα καταλάβεις περί τίνος πρόκειται στο σύμπαν που λειτουργείς.
Υ.Γ...Χυμός 500 ml..."Τρόπαια Θεών Κι Εξωγήινων"
Dont Tread on Me! Its sadly ironic how many people that fly the Gadsden flag are the same folks that would shoot, shovel and hack these beautiful animals on sight. Infact they gather together in droves of Texan idiocy every year as a tradition for it, and the legality of that is disgusting. But most of all it is hypocritical. The Timber Rattlesnake is a stunning, pale colored crote that can be found from southern Texas all the way to New England. Thus alike the Bald Eagle, it was a prevalent animal in the original Thirteen colonies and earned its right as a symbol of the newfound country. The spirit of defense is self explanatory. Therefore, parading a gadsden around to show that you will stand up for your beliefs is great! But, mutilating the real life example of your beloved symbol is a pretty poor way to honor it..
- Crotalus Horridus from Southern Georgia. #crote #crotalus #crotalushorridus #horridus #canebrake #canebrakerattlesnake #timberrattlesnake #rattlesnake #viperidae #viper #GArattlesnakes #georgiaRattlesnakes
Bali often reminds me that in the midst of corruption, rubbish, tourist traps and patriarchy, beauty can still be found. This picture, this moment, I feel conveys that.
With the influence of money, westernisation, fear and control, the locals that aren't hypnotized struggle to keep their basic, unadulterated way of life.
After returning home for more than a decade, it saddens me that the change I see in Bali is not a change for good.
I can't honestly say that I'm doing my part to make a difference. Rarely do I support local businesses, buy produce from labouring farmers or cease my use of plastic bags.
Your right to say that I'm a hypocrite, because my actions don't match my true feelings. A struggle I've faced all my life, it's something that dearly needs to be corrected If I want to love, if I want to make a difference.
To any reader of this passage, I encourage you to sincerely reflect upon the same issue, a global issue that most of humanity faces. A global awakening that can make a difference. What's that I hear you say? "I'm no hypocrite". You may be right, you also may be wrong. Isn't that worth pondering upon?
All those promises you broke to your child, the people you lied too, the lies you tell yourself. If that isn't a source of hypocrisy, of pain , than I don't know what is.
Those who want to save the earth, first save yourselves. See that the pain and suffering around us is a direct reflection of our own unloving condition, our own unwillingness to change.
A wise man once said “Be the change you wish to see in the world”. That wise man has now passed, but his words, his actions apply today just as much as they did before. Who knows, in 10 years time, it could be you that I’m quoting, it could be you that’s left a legacy.
This picture was taken in Ubud, Bali.
He hates this city.
The darkness lingering beneath the lights of its elegant skyline. The shadows of corruption lurking behind the hypocritical moralism of its “upper” class.
He hates this; his city.
Its rotten core is beyond salvation yet here he stands.
He is not here for this city but because of it. Because of it does to good people.
He is here for them, because there must always be someone to take up arms against the darkness.
The action figure is the Arkham Knight video game version of Red Hood from DC Direct and it’s sculpted by Gentle Giant, the company famous (at least among collectors hehe) for the Star Wars busts and statues.
The last line is a reference to a little detail from a video game dating back to 2009: Dragon Age Origins. You may have discovered I like BioWare games (Mass Effect, Dragon Age series) and that little detailed is still impressed in my memory after all the years.
In the game there was a sword which description said the inscription on its blade reads: “There must always be another to take up arms against the darkness” and continues with a couple of other sentences that make sense only if you know that universe quite well :)
I decided to put that reference in this photo’s background story.
Anyway I hope you like this photo :)
Crocodile tears is a false, insincere display of emotion such as a hypocrite crying fake tears of grief. The phrase derives from an ancient belief that crocodiles shed tears while consuming their prey.
A collection of proverbs attributed to Plutarch suggests that the phrase "crocodile tears" was well known in antiquity: comparing the crocodile's behaviour to people who desire or cause the death of someone, but then publicly lament for them.
While crocodiles do have tear ducts, they weep to lubricate their eyes, typically when they have been out of water for a long time and their eyes begin to dry out. However, evidence suggests this could also be triggered by feeding.
Bogorad's syndrome is a condition which causes sufferers to shed tears while consuming food, so has been labelled "crocodile tears syndrome" with reference to the legend.
We're here visiting Miserable
'Wat er ook gebeurt, altijd blijven lachen.'
Nature gives us an amazing amount of wonders and within her bounty we find similarities upon which we decide to have reflections and those can lead us on to further investigation with wondrous revelations. The figure created by the silhouette of The Pentland Hills is an amazing sight and she can transform her image from different positions even appearing as if she is pregnant from one vantage. Here Mono and Colour are used to give a further insight into the Sleep Skyline Figure that may have been seen as a Goddess, as Geology in transition and also held so many regards that have been given and lost even as she is found in the landscape today and will with weathering and other developments over many, many years be seen as something vastly different than she appears today.
The Pentland Hills are magnificent and here is a share of their beauty.
I have been mentioning the weather lore of, “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,” and now the mention is still reaching into the links below.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Pentland Hills Regional Park
Red sky at night and other weather lore
www.metoffice.gov.uk/weather/learn-about/weather/how-weat...
Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version
2 He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?
Gospel of Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version.
If you don't get noticed, you don't have anything. You just have to be noticed, but the art is in getting noticed naturally, without screaming or without tricks.
Leo Burnett
One thing I hate is people screaming at me. If you want me to do something, talk to me.
Mario Lemieux
The self-righteous scream judgments against others to hide the noise of skeletons dancing in their own closets.
John Mark Green
When you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream.
John Lennon
Unfortunately, sometimes people don't hear you until you scream.
Stefanie Powers
Thank you for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
My original, uncensored, very naughty xxx-photo you find here: slushe.com/DemiBeaulieux
So Flickr wants to be the cleanest photography platform on planet earth? Oh really?? Or is it just the lame excuse for an attempt to force ppl from their free accounts to FLICKR's expensive PRO accounts?? In my opinion it's exactly that!!!
As a side effect it also means that Flickr will become one of the most prudish and limiting photo platforms. No more sexy, naughty photos on free accounts? Those hypocrites!
Their true intention is just to make as much profit as possible only.
Keep it up FLICKR and lose many of your accounts to your competitors.
Photo above: "Blue Skies over Paradise" (One of my last nude and naughty photos on this platform).
MONA CALDA (pussy hot) : Allegory of the wicked woman.
She does this:
www.biznews.com/thought-leaders/2014/01/11/manipulative-p...
The revenge upon her would be sweet, even though it was purely theoretical.
She was the very epitome of every stuck up girl who ever passed judgment on those she refused to view as an equal. And I? I possessed the subtle skill to knock her smirking ego down a few pegs.
**********************************************************************
In late spring of the year 1952, a, bank rented safety deposit lockbox, dusty from many years gone by, was opened. The box had laid unclaimed, the banks records having been destroyed during the Nazi blitzes of World War Two. When its existence became known, an attempt was made to contact the owner, whose family surname was well known in the county. The name turned out to be an alias, no such person ever existed.
Please read the account below to learn more about the person who was believed to have rented the strongbox, as well as what he had placed inside……….
**********
Case Study 84 :
Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have been altered for obvious reasons.
Exerted from the private letters of Mr. Harley Q. circa early 1900’s.
Name: Harly Q. circa 19 …
Subject: Seemingly a rather dexterous scoundrel
Place: A large coastal metropolis
Time: A period of time in late autumn
**************
Harly’s story as related:
The following affair occurred during my younger days when my youth and its’ raw passions were still a strong pull on my reactions! Now, how do I start?
The Blonde dancing in front of me was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy, voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she swirled about the massive chamber! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my upmost command!
But wait, I may be placing the carriage before the steed…….
Allow me to restart:
I had taken a long train into town with the intention of spending a few days relaxing from my previous month of hectic “professional” affairs. Rewarding myself, I located my lodging in a fancy upscale hotel situated across the street from a cavernous Ballroom, checking in for a fortnight. Since my social calendar was unusually light, with only the one high society event, a wedding that I was planning to attend the following Sabbath, at a “chapel” located in one of the cities sprawling suburbs. I spent the first day perusing the cultural calendar of the local papers, and ended up circling one or two events of interest that would be taking place later that month. I than took care of my remaining personal business, locating a reputable bank and renting out one of their lockboxes, before allowing myself some time off from my endeavors.
I than spent the first portion of my week taking in moving picture shows, visiting stores and hanging out at the local museums and antique shoppes. It felt great not worrying about work, although I will did admit that my mind scoped out a few prospects as I was out and about, walking amongst the great masses..
It was mid-week during my stay, while making my way back to the hotel suite, that I decided on a whim to pop into the Ballroom to see what it was all about. I walked into the massive lobby full of activity and wandered about, looking into the massive main ballroom, meeting rooms and various party rooms. As I was leaving I discovered a wall containing posters for all the upcoming events. One poster caught my eye. It advertised the occurrence of a Halloween Ball to take place that very weekend, Tickets still available. The Ball seemed to be the very type of party I was partial to, combining all of my favorite types of affairs, a large gathering frequented by the rich, and everyone attending would be in costume.
Purchasing a pair of tickets (less questions asked) I went out the very next morning scouting various shops in search of my own costume. I finally settled on a highwayman’s attire. It seemed appropriate, and the ribbon style “ masque” over my eyes set off the vacation beard that had been growing quite nicely since my last outing. On my way out to pay for the costume I spied a half off bin. On top of the pile was a phantom of the opera mask. On impulse I added it to my bundle and went to the checkout.
Although I really didn’t have the feeling that this concern would lead to anything, I mean, who wears good jewellery with a costume ? But a little bored by the inactivity, I was none the less growing excited about the venture. I still decided to play it cautious by setting up my usual safe guards, just in case.
A few blocks away from the Ballroom and my hotel suite I found a small chain style motel. Going to the desk I purchased rent for a room for the night, paying in advance. Going into the small room I laid down my purchases and headed back out to the street via a back stairwell, bypassing the registrars chambers. I headed back to my hotel suite to prepare for the evening.
After showering, I changed into a suit, shirt and tie. I then headed out onto the street a couple of hours before the ball was set to begin. Regaining my small quarters in the chain motel I changed into my new persona for the evening’s festivities and left via the same back door I had used earlier. I walked back to the Ballroom, getting my share of looks until I reached my destination, where I blended right in with the other arriving costumed guests.
I followed the stream to the ballroom proper. The main doors leading inside were large, made of a fancy scrolled oak, held open, and guarded by a pair of burly security types.
Apparently which, I soon gathered, was appearing to be the only security present for the evening’s festivities. Capital, I thought, smirking to myself as I joined my fellow guests.
I walk onto a landing, immediately in front of a long bannister guarding a set of wide stairs ascended downwards. I went off to one side, and paused at the railing, starting to survey with eager anticipation, the crowded room below.
All was quite glittering, as large chandeliers set off a spectrum of colors with any crystal or glass it touched. It especially created shimmers as it played off the colorful jewelry the lavishly costumed ladies present were wearing. Several dozen couples were dancing in front of a 17 piece orchestra, a slow dance, and many were dancing almost too close. Many more people were mingling around tables of appetizers. A large, chattering crowd was also gathered at the long oak bar that took up one whole side of the huge room. It was to the bar that I headed, to observe the merry proceedings.
But the Ball, as it turned out, was a bust, so to speak. Although several attempts were made to ask a number of charming (to me) ladies to add me to their dance cards, they all were, unfortunately, full. I should have suspected it would turn out this way, but I still harbored an all too familiar nagging feeling in the back of my head that something was still going to happen, call it intuition if you need to label it. So I nursed my drink, reminiscing about how I had reached this point in my then still young life…..
Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorite poets, once said” Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”
Long before the the time I discovered this quote I found that my life’s path had already been heading that way.
Without boring anyone with far too many details of my rather complicated youth, I discovered while quite young that I had a certain knack for adeptness at being able to nimbly pick pockets. When I was eighteen ( having graduated high school at seventeen) and out on my own in the world, I found this skill quite useful. But it was at a wedding reception in my early twenties where I became of age, so to speak.
She was older than me, resplendent in a sleek black satin gown with bright white frills, long white satin gloves upon which graced a pair of diamond bracelets. She was very tipsy and would not take no for an answer when asking for a dance partner. She cornered me and before I could catch my wits, we were in a close embrace on the dance floor. I was totally mesmerized by the feel of her warm figure emitting through the sensuous satin gown. My eyes feasted upon the dazzling show put on by her flashy twin bracelets. When the exquisitely long dance ended and she moved on: I was left with a lot of pleasantly mixed feelings, I was also left with my first trophy, the Lady’s appealing necklace of pearl that I had ever so delicately sipped off her throat, using the sleekness of her satin gown to its fullest advantage.
I found myself enthralled with my new “hobby”, and over the course of the next couple of years sought out fancy dress affairs to better learn how to master the art of attracting and dancing with any lady I chose. Along the way I managed to accumulate quite a few trophies for my efforts. I stayed under everyone’s radar by picking out only those females who had been enthusiastically imbibing and by allowing myself to acquire only one trophy per gathering, two if the function was large enough.
During this period I made two discoveries: One was that most women would rather assume their jewel had been merely lost long before ever considering that they had been robbed of it. The second was that most of my collection of pretty trophies carried an equally pretty price, and could quite acceptably be turned into ready cash.
So, by the tender age of twenty two, my life started to lead where there had ever been but few tracks. And thus we finally come to this particular branch of my rather unique, lengthily crooked trail….
So, there I was, on a bar stool, alone and growing more bored by the minute, wishing something interesting would happen. I can remember thinking, as I looked over my fellow partiers about a saying that I had always found to be amusingly true. “If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” I don’t know who first said it, but brother, the person was right on the money. As I had witnessed for myself time and time again. So I just settled in and watched the amusing antics of the wealthy among the crowd, especially those of …“the girl!’
The girl was a stunning young blonde who was probably just fresh out of high school, with the maturity level of a grade schooler!
I kept catching my eye on her all evening, and once or twice, was sure she caught mine looking. But I was not watching her for the reasons she would think were mine. To her I was just some male face in the crowd, exhibiting his lust. But, the reason my eyes kept traveling upon her was for an entirely different one. I just found nothing to be more annoying than a sulky, immature young whelp who believes she is the apple of everyone’s eye, making an absolute nuisance of herself. She was running around, making silly remarks about people, sometimes to their face. Hanging out with her group of friends whom seemed to be of the same mold as my blonde, one girlfriend was even dressed appropriately enough, as a willowy witch.
The Blonde was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she bounced about the massive chamber, slipping in and out amongst the guests! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my command! But I had decided, as far as I could tell, that she was wearing nothing but cheap rhinestones, which like her, appeared totally fake. But, as they say, appearances can sometimes be deceiving!
This girl was the epitome of every condescending stuck up high society girl that probably everyone has had the misfortune to be the victim of. The girl, who mainly because of her looks, was popular with everyone like her, and had no use for those who, forever what reason they deemed, was ostracized by those of her type. In high school I knew girls like this one, and was a witness, sometime victim, to many a scene of arrogance displayed by girls like her. This one was young, too young to be acting the way she was. Her mannerisms were just a beacon, reaching out out to be taught a lesson.
Wallowing in my boredom, a spark began to kindle into flame deep within my brain. Determined not to let the evening be a total loss, I decided act upon it. My plan being to theoretically get revenge on all those smirking girls who tormented me during high school, by knocking this cocky little scamp down a few pegs, using the best of my abilities..
Now, I’m not one normally to act as judge, jury, and executioner in most situations, in my selected line of work it would be hypocritical. But obviously old wounds’ had been opened, this long haired girl scampering about reminded me of ones whom had ridiculed me, another lifetime, one that I had left behind A long time ago. The opportunity for bittersweet revenge had presented itself for the taking, and the pull to obtain a little solace by using my unique talents was far too great to resist. Talk about mixing pleasure with business I though wickedly to myself, smiling with the inviting thought.
Believe me, this girl would be no innocent victim, and nothing I was about to attempt would leave her with any type of lasting impression, or harm. But if I could cause her at least some considerable discomfort to ruin the rest of her evening out, it would be reward in and of itself! I again eyed her sparkling jewels with all the seriousness I would have given any I was really interested in acquiring. Although she didn’t fit my favorite pre-requisite, she certainly was not drunk on alcohol, she was merely just intoxicated in her own questionable self-esteem, which can work just as well.
I waited until her friends had all apparently deserted her for the evening and leaving her, quite vulnerably, alone. I walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. She whirled facing me, her eyes going from happy expectations to a glare! “What do you want!? she snipped disdainfully”. Calmly I held her gaze, “I was hoping you would help me win a bet” I asked in what I hoped was my most wily voice. She was curious, but wary of me, “as you should be my pretty miss”, I remember thinking to myself. Her eyes sized me up and down, and I seized the moment to take in her jewels, not at all disappointed in them, but my curiosity was aroused about her necklace, I definitely needed to get a closer look to appraise them! “Why should I help you,” she practically spitted out he words like daggers.
“It’s this way miss, a couple of boys over at the bar bet me 50 quid that I could not get a dance with the prettiest girl here.” “Me?” she asked primping, no I confessed, I picked you, they had wanted me to dance with someone far less pretty, in my opinion.
I don’t think so; she said with a slight hint of hesitation, my card is full. Just for fifteen minutes I implored. That’s all I need (which was the truth), and Ill split my winnings with you on top of it. She finally bought it, hook line, sinker and pound signs in her adorable violet coloured eyes. Fifteen minutes she specified, before, be-grudgingly, allowing me to lead her to the dance floor.
Now, as I took her stiff body in my arms, I was able to satisfy my curiosity about the girl’s necklace, and it caused a dilemma to rear its thought provoking head. While she was busy looking around to make sure none of her friends saw her dancing with me, I allowed myself a couple of precious minutes to think. Her long rhinestone earrings were clip held, and an easy pick. I wanted to try for them both,( I knew how I would do it), and losing a pair of earrings would send a message that they had not just fallen away. Also, I would be suspected by her, which suited me just fine. However, my dilemma was caused by the vixen’s pretty necklace. While the rest of her plentiful jewels were cheap rhinestones as I had suspected the row of diamonds that rippled blazingly around her throat were in fact, the real McCoy. So, which should I go for? The necklace would be profitable and easy but she may just suspect its clasp had broken. The earrings would be just for a sporty trophy, not worth anything but for the knowledge that she would know she had been a victim. Ah, life’s precious little quandaries!
So, I continued with the dance, my partner still rigid, so very true to her character. Then, with five minutes left, I made up my mind on what she would not be leaving the ball still wearing. She was a charmer, this disdainful one. Her stiff figure was warm to the touch, underneath the scintillating slippery gown. The show her sparkling jewels produced was most pleasing to the eye. All in all quite a pretty portrait, a shame it was that I was not allowed to appreciate it. Which was fine by me! I was able to concentrate freely on the task at hand. I looked around, the coast was still clear. Then eyeing for one last time her mesmerizingly swaying long earrings and the flickering diamonds that graced her pretty little throat, I executed my move..
By the time the final five minutes were up I had the selected jewelry in my pocket without even the slightest notice from my unwilling dance partner. Then, fifteen minutes to the second (good thing I had been keeping track of the time) she broke it off. “Thank you”, I said, to which she mumbled, “my money, sir!” I told her I had to collect it, and would meet her by the ladies powder room. I left her waiting, smiling inwardly to myself at the empty space from which the missing jewelry was glaringly gone from her.
She had no doubt that I would be back with her money, was I not merely like one of her household servants, who routinely, without question or error, existed to do her bidding. It would be a major jolt to her system when she realized I was not coming obediently back to her. I had no doubt she would spend some time searching me out for her money once she realized I was not coming back forthwith, with the intention of lecturing me on how I should act around my betters. So I knew that her immediate attention would be elsewhere upon realizing I was tardy, and that it would take quite a bit of time before she recieved a second shock of an altogether different sort.
I left with my prize, walking past the two guards with such a carefree air that even they would never have suspected that I could possibly have been up to any mischief. I made good time getting back to the dingy motel room. Changed out of my costume and back into the shirt and tie I had worn. The highwayman costume, which had served me well, I rolled in a bundle under my arm, I again left by the back stairwell and retraced my earlier steps, whistling, back to the suite in the hotel. Along the way the costume was stuffed unceremoniously into a handy trash bin. My little operation had been a complete success. The evening was after all, not going to be a total loss.
Back in my suite I stowed the newly acquired jewels the girl had worn into one of my many secret hiding spots. There they would be safe until I could convey it to my banks lockbox on Monday. As I finished I, spied the phantom of the opera mask lying discarded on top of a table. A shame it would not be used….
A thought washed over me that would not be denied! Risky, but it would make my evening complete. I quickly shaved off the thin beard, and restyled my hair. I changed from my suit into my tux and tails. Scooping up the phantom mask I headed back to the costume ball. Placing the mask on before entering, I presented my second ticket( not very often did the opportunity arise to use both of the pair of tickets I customarily purchased!) I walked past the two security types without a second glance from them, they absolutely did not recognize me, which meant I had passed that test. My objective now was to try and catch the second half of the show; namely the shimmering liquid satin gowned brats squawking reaction when she first discovered her jewels were gone.
I regained a bar seat just in time.
She did not disappoint!
************************************************************************
Epilogue
When, in the presence of both bank and county officials, the strong box was opened, it was found to contain a fairly large collection of the Kings currency, equaling roughly £500 , and a selection unmatched jewelry, rings, single earrings, bracelets, and necklaces, worth a almost £3.000. Also inside was small a bundle of papers. The papers, old and yellowed, appeared to contain the partial handwritten journals of a certain Mr. Harly Q___ , esq. The papers were examined, but gave no clues to who Harley was, or to his current whereabouts. But the journals presented clues as to Harly’s nature, and as a consequence the money and jewels were considered stolen goods and handed over to the authorities. No one knows what became of them, as for the papers, they were handed over to a relative of one of the government officials, and also, for a period of time, lost.
The journal was rediscovered amongst the personal files of the late Professor Sedwig Dermitt phd, llc.a dex,
Recovered, restored, and now kept in the human behavioral archives of the criminology dept, Chatwick U.
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
Yes, We live in a world 🌎 of Hypocrites 🎭
where people pray🙏 for
your downfall,
but 😁smile in your face like
they love ❤️ you all
at the same time 🎭
its rare to meet someone
with a mind👨🎤 that's
just as beautiful as their face
Don't feel bad if people
remember😇 you only when
they need yOu.
feel privileged that you are
like a candlethat comes to
their mind when
there is darkness..!!
not everyone likes yOu...
but not everyone matters..
distance yourself from negative 👎
people, they have problems
for every solution also,
they want you to fail,
so go succeed
never struck on
what others think 💭
Talk with people who
make you see the world 🎊differently🎊
life goes on🙋♂️ make it count _move on🚶♀️🚶🌿🌸
.
Never seen a person with hair that long ... Maybe it's artificial but I'm not sure.
No woman, no cry
No woman, no cry
No woman, no cry
No woman, no cry
[Verse 1]
'Cause, 'cause, 'cause I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown
Oba, observing the hypocrites, yeah
Mingle with the good people we meet, yeah
Good friends we have had, oh good friends we've lost along the way, yeah
In this bright future you can't forget your past
So dry your tears I say, yeah
[Chorus]
No woman, no cry
No woman, no cry, eh, yeah
Little darling don't shed no tears
No woman, no cry
[Verse 2]
Eh, Said, said, said I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown, yeah
And then Georgie would make the fire light, I say
A log wood burning through the night
Then we would cook corn meal porridge, I say
Of which I'll share with you, yeah
My feet is my only carriage
And so I've got to push on through
But while I'm gone
[Bridge]
Everything's going to be alright
Everything's going to be alright
Everything's going to be alright
Everything's going to be alright
Everything's going to be alright
Everything's going to be alright
Everything's going to be alright
Everything's going to be alright
So No woman, no cry
No woman, no cry, I say
Oh little, oh little darling, don't shed no tears
No Woman, no cry, eh
No woman, no woman, no woman, no cry
No woman, no cry
One more time I've got to say
Oh little, little darling, please don't shed no tears
No woman, no cry
Bob Marley
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Concerned about her beau, Selwyn Spencely’s, true affections for her, and worried about the threat his cousin and 1923 debutante, Pamela Fox-Chavers, posed to her own potential romantic plans with Selwyn, Lettice concocted a ruse to spy on Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 1923 Great Spring Show*. As luck would have it, Lettice ran into Pamela and Selwyn, quite literally in the latter’s case, and they ended up having tea together. Whilst not the appropriate place to talk about Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, whom Lettice suspects of arranging a match between Selwyn and Pamela, who are cousins, Selwyn has agreed to organise a dinner with Lettice where they can talk openly about the future of their relationship and the interference of Lady Zinnia. However, whilst Lettice waits for the dinner to be arranged, she has a wonderful distraction to take her mind off things.
That is why today we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his new wife Arabella. However, we are not at Glynes, but rather in Glynes Village at the local village hall where a much loved annual tradition is taking place. Every year the village have a summer fête, run by the local women and overseen by Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to help raise money for a worthy cause in the village. The summer fête is one of the highlights of the village and country calendar as it always includes a flower show, a cake stand, stalls run by local famers’ wives selling homemade produce, games of hoopla, a coconut shy, a tombola and a jumble sale, a white elephant stall and a fortune teller – who is always local haberdasher Mrs. Maginot who has a theatrical bent and manages the Glynes theatrical players as well as her shop in the village high street. All the stalls and entertainments are held either in the village hall or the grounds surrounding it. Not only do the citizens of the village involve themselves in the fête, but also the gentry, and there is always much excitement when matriarch of the Brutons, Lady Gwyneth – Gerald’s mother, and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt – Arabella’s mother, attend. Neither lady have been well over the last few years with Lady Gwyneth suffering a spate of bronchial infections and Lady Isobel receiving treatment for cancer, so it is a rare treat to have both in attendance. This year’s summer fête is a special one for Arabella in particular, for as the newly minted Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, she now joins the effort to help run the Glynes summer fête for the first time and has been given the second-hand clothing stall to run as part of the jumble sale.
The Glynes village hall is a hive of activity, and the cavernous space resounds with running footsteps, voluble chatter from the mostly female gathering, hammering and children’s laughter and tears as they run riot around the adults as they set up their stalls. Mr. Lovegrove, who runs the village shop, climbs a ladder which is held by the elderly church verger Mr. Lewis and affixes the brightly coloured Union Jacks and bunting that have been used every year since the King’s Coronation in 1911 around the walls. Lady Sadie casts a critical eye over the white elephant stall, rearranging items to put what she considers the best quality items on more prominent display, whilst removing a select few pieces which she thinks unsuitable for sale, which she passes to Newman, her ladies maid, to dispose of. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler arranges and categorises books for the second-hand book stall, perhaps spending a little too much time perusing some of the titles. Mrs. Elliott who runs the Women’s Institute manages the influx of local women bringing in cakes with regimental efficiency. And amongst all the noise, activity and excitement, Arabella busies herself unpacking boxes of old clothes and tries her best to make her trestle an attractive addition to the summer fête. Lettice perches on an old bentwood chair, offering suggestions to her sister-in-law whilst pulling faces as she lifts up various donations before depositing them in disgust where they had been beforehand.
“Here we are then,” Gerald announces as he walks across the busy floor of the hall bearing a wooden tray containing several teacups and a plate of cupcakes from the refreshments stand, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Lovegrove’s two youngest children as they chase one another around his legs. The sound of his jolly call and his footsteps joining all the other cacophony of setting up going on around him. “Refreshments for the hard workers,” he looks at Arabella. “And the not-so-hard-workers.” he looks at Lettice.
“Don’t be cheeky!” Lettice says to him with a hard stare, letting a limp stocking fall from her hand and collapse into a wrinkled pool on the trestle table’s surface.
Gerald puts the three tea cups down where he can find a surface on Arabella’s trestle table, followed by a long blue and gilt edged platter on which sit three very festive cupcakes featuring Union Jacks made of marzipan sticking out of white clouds of icing.
“Mrs. Casterton’s special cupcakes.” he announces proudly with a beaming smile.
“How on earth did you get those, Gerald?” gasps Lettice in surprise, eyeing the dainty cakes greedily. “Mrs. Casterton hasn’t let me take food from her kitchen since I started dining at the table with the rest of the family, never mind pinch anything from her stall for the fundraiser!”
“It helps when you aren’t her employer’s indulged youngest child.” Gerald says, tapping his nose knowingly.
“I was not an indulged child!” Lettice defends, raising her hand to the boat neckline of her frock and grasping her single strand of creamy white pearls hanging about her neck. “You were more indulged by Aunt Gwen than I ever was by Mater or Pater.”
“Oh, just ignore him, Tice!” laughs Arabella from her place behind the trestle. “You know Gerald has always had the ability to charm anything from anyone when he wants to.”
“That’s true,” Lettice replies, eyeing Gerald with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smile as she picks up her magenta and gilt rimmed cup and sips her tea. “I had forgotten that.”
“What can I say?” laughs Gerald proudly with a shrug of his shoulders.
“It’s not so much what you can say as what you can do, Gerald.” mutters Arabella with a frustrated sigh.
“I am at your service, my lady?” Gerald replies, making a sweeping bow before Arabella and Lettice, who both laugh at his jester like action.
“Be careful what you promise, Gerald.” giggles Lettice.
“Bella would never expect too much from me, Lettice.” Gerald retorts with a smile. “She’s known me all her life and she knows what my limitations are.”
“Well, I was hoping you could help me by working some magic on my second hand clothing stall.” Arabella remarks with another frustrated sigh as she tugs at the old fashioned shirtwaister** blouse with yellowing lace about the collar. “I’ve tried and tried all morning, but nothing I seem to do helps make anything look more modern and more attractive to buy.”
Lettice and Gerald look around at Arabella’s stall. The shirtwaister outfit with its pretty, albeit slightly marked, lace, tweed skirt and leather belt with a smart, yet old fashioned Art Nouveau buckle really is the most attractive piece that she has on display. Around it on the surface of her trestle are a jumble of yellowing linen napkins complete with tarnished napkin rings, a selection of embroidered, tatted*** and crocheted doilies, mismatched pairs of leather and lace gloves and several rather worn looking hats that are really only suitable for gardening now, rather than being worn to church services on Sunday.
“I warned you Gerald.” Lettice says with a knowing wink.
“Don’t you remember how much we all felt sorry for whomever ran the second-hand clothing stall at the fête each year as children, Bella?” Gerald asks.
“It was always the short straw.” Lettice adds.
“Yes, being stuck under the piercing stare of His Majesty.” Gerald indicates to the portrait of King George V, dating back to the pre-war years when the King still had colour in his hair.
“The worst stall to have because none of the villagers ever seem to have anything nice or remotely fashionable to donate, even for a good cause like new books for the village school.” Lettice picks up a pretty primrose yellow napkin. “These are nice at least.”
“Except there are only three of them.” points out Arabella with a disappointed air. “I can’t seem to find a fourth.” She picks up a red dyed straw hat in the vain hope that it will be there, even though she has searched beneath it three times already. “And I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Tea for two, perhaps?” Gerald suggests hopefully as he picks up his own teacup and takes a sip of tea.
“Oh, you two are no help!” scoffs Arabella. “I’ve a right mind to stick you both with these!” She grasps a pair of knitting needles complete with some rather dreadfully made rows of incomplete knitting and a ball of wool and thrusts them through the air between she, Lettice, and Gerald. “They’ll get you working.”
“Even if they do, Bella, we aren’t miracle workers.” remarks Gerald.
All three of them laugh good heartedly.
“Oh I must make the best of it,” Arabella sighs resignedly as she tugs at the left leg-of-mutton sleeve**** of the shirtwaister. “After all, this is my first year as Leslie’s wife, and the first jumble sale I am actively helping to run to help raise funds for the village. I must make this stall a success no matter what.” The steely determination in her voice surprises her as she speaks. “I’m a Chetwynd now, and I can’t disappoint the villagers with a poor show.”
“Nor Mater.” adds Lettice, taking another sip of tea.
“No indeed!” agrees Gerald. “Lady Sadie will be judging you from afar, Bella, rest assured. If your stall isn’t a great success, you’ll hear about it.”
“In a dozen little quips.” Lettice adds.
“More like a hundred.” corrects Gerald.
“Tearing delicately phrased strips off you.” agrees Lettice.
“Inflicting as much pain for as long as possible.” adds Gerald with seriousness.
“Oh stop, Gerald!” laughs Arabella. “She isn’t anywhere near as much of a dragon as you and Tice paint her to be.”
“You’ve only been married to the family for a little while now,” Lettice counters, looking at her sister-in-law over the magenta and gilt painted rim of her cup. “And you and Leslie have your own lives and are left pretty much to your own devices down in the Glynes Dower House from what I can gather. We’ll give you a little while longer to find out the truth about your wicked mother-in-law.” She smiles cheekily.
“I have grown up alongside you, going in and out of your house, Tice,” Arabella replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So it’s not like Sadie is an unknown quantity to me.”
“But you’ve never been a recipient of her acerbic tongue either, I’ll wager.” adds Gerald dourly. “You’re far too sweet and compliant a young daughter-in-law for that, but both Lettice and I have.”
“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries, turning her attention to Gerald. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you, Gerald? I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps poor Aunt Egg who can never do any right in her eyes.”
Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight***** that night on your father’s champagne.”
“Well,” Arabella says with a sigh. “I’m determined not to incur her wrath, even though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as awful as you two suggest.”
“Oh-oh!” Gerald mutters under his breath to Lettice. “In coming.”
“Oh no.” moans Lettice quietly in return behind the painted smile she places on her face as she, Gerald and Arabella are suddenly set upon by the Miss Evanses, the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village.
The trio smile benignly as the two sisters twitter to one another in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot as they approach them.
“Well, twice in as many weeks, Miss Chetwynd!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses in delight, a joyous smile spreading across her dry, unpainted lips. “Last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, and now here! How very blessed we are to see you again.”
“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice acknowledges them both with a curt nod from her seat. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, both dressed in a similar style to when she saw them last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, in floral gowns of pre-war Edwardian era length, their equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corsets****** forcing their breasts into giant monobosoms down which sautoirs******* of glittering Edwardian style beads on gold chains cascade. Wearing toques with feather aigrettes jutting out of them atop their waved white hair they look like older versions of Queen Mary.
“I’m afraid you are a little early for the jumble sale, Miss Evans and Miss Evans,” Arabella remarks sweetly. “We are still setting up.”
“Oh, thank you! We know, Mrs. Chetwynd.” twitters the elder of the Miss Evanses, surprising Arabella a little as she still gets used to being referred to by her new married name. “I was just remarking to Henrietta this very morning over breakfast that we do so much look forward to the village fête every year.”
“Yes, it’s a nice way for us to be able to support the local community in our own small way, isn’t that right Geraldine?” enthuses her sister, raising her white lace glove clad hand to her wrinkled and dry mouth as she giggles in a rather unseemly girlish way.
“Indeed yes, Henrietta. It is to aid the school this year, is it not?”
“It is Miss Evans.” Arabella confirms. “To help buy new books for the children.”
“A very fine cause, I must say,” the younger of the Miss Evanses remarks indulgently. “Helping the young ones to read and develop their fertile minds. Rather like gardening, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is not even remotely like gardening!” quips her sister. “Stop talking such nonsense Henrietta.”
“We shall of course be glad of your patronage when the jumble sale opens in an hour.” Arabella quickly says in an effort to diffuse any unpleasantness between the two spinster sisters, at the same time emphasising the time the sale begins.
“Well,” adds the elder of the Miss Evanses seriously. “We shall of course come and spend a few shillings and pence when it opens officially, but…”
“Oh!” interrupts the younger of the Miss Evanses. “Is your frock designed by Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd?” She addresses Gerald in the old fashioned deference of the village and county folk when addressing the children of the bigger aristocratic houses.
“Yes, Miss Evans. Mr. Bruton,” Lettice applies gravatas to the correct reference to Gerald’s name now that he is of age. “Did design my frock.”
“Oh it’s ever so smart!” the younger of the sisters enthuses.
“Thank you, Miss Evans.” Gerald acknowledges her.
“And your hat?” Miss Evans points to the yellow straw hat. “Didn’t I see you wearing that at Master Leslie’s wedding to Miss Arabella?”
“Mrs. Chetwynd, I think you mean, Henrietta.” corrects her sister with a sharpness to her remark.
“Oh yes!” bristles the younger Miss Evans at her sister’s harsh correction, raising her hand to her mouth again. “Yes of course! Mrs. Chetwynd, I do apologise.”
“It’s quite alright, Miss Evans.” Arabella assures her. “I am still getting used to being Mrs. Chetwynd myself.”
“How very observant of you, Miss Evans.” Lettice addresses the younger of the siblings. “I did indeed have my hat made for Leslie and Bella’s wedding. It was made by a friend of Mr. Bruton’s, Miss Harriet Milford.”
“Yes, well thinking of hats, I…” begins the elder Miss Evans.
“Oh it’s most becoming, Miss Chetwynd.” the younger Miss Evans interrupts her sister again as she compliments Lettice in an obsequious manner, followed by another twittering giggle.
“I can send someone down to Holland House this afternoon after the fête with her details if you like.” Lettice replies. “The next time you’re in London, you might pay her a call.”
The two sisters give one another a sour look at the idea, their lips thinning and their eyes lowering as they nod to one another in unison before turning back to Lettice and Gerald.
“Aside from the Great Spring Show, we don’t have much call to go up to London these days, do we Henrietta?”
“Indeed no, Geraldine.” agrees the younger Miss Evans between pursed lips, a tinge of regret in her statement.
“Besides we find the services of Mrs. Maginot’s in the high street to be quite adequate.”
“Good lord!” gasps Gerald, causing the two spinster sisters to blush at his strong language. “Is old Mrs. Maginot still going?” He chuckles. “Fancy that!”
The elder Miss Evans clears her dry and raspy throat awkwardly before continuing. “For our more bucolic, and doubtlessly simple tastes, Master Bruton, we find Mrs. Maginot to be quite satisfactory.” Both sisters raise their lace gloved hands to their toques in unison, patting the runched floral cotton lovingly. “We aren’t quite as fashionable as you smart and select London folk down here in sleepy little Glynes, Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd, but we manage to keep up appearances.”
“On indeed yes, Miss Evans.” Lettice replies with an amused smile. “No-one could fault you on maintaining your standards.”
“I imagine you will soon be designing Miss Chetwnd’s own wedding frock, Master Bruton.” the younger of the Miss Evanses announces rather vulgarly.
“That’s only if I let her get married, Miss Evans,” Gerald teases her indulgently. “I might like to whisk her away and lock her in a tower so that I can keep her all to myself.”
“After what we all saw with our own eyes at the Hunt Ball, I’m sorry Master Bruton, but I don’t think you are in the running for Miss Chetwynd’s affections!” the younger Miss Evans twittering giggle escapes her throat yet again as her eyes sparkle with delight at the very faintest whiff of any gossip.
“How is Mr. Spencely, Miss Chetwynd?” the elder Miss Evans asks pointedly, her scrutinising gaze studying Lettice’s face.
Lettice blushes at the directness of both Miss Evans’ question and her steely gaze. “Oh, he’s quite well, as far as I know, Miss Evans.” she replies awkwardly.
“As far as you know?” the older woman’s outraged tone betrays her surprise as she looks quizzically into Lettice’s flushed face.
“Well, I haven’t seen Selw… err, Mr. Spencely just as of late.”
“Oh?” the elder Miss Evans queries. “I thought we saw you leave the tent we were in at the Great Spring Show, on the arm of Mr. Spencely.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was him, Miss Chetwynd.” adds the younger Miss Evans as she raises a lace clad finger in thought. “He’s very striking and hard to mistake for someone else.”
Silently Lettice curses the beady eyed observation the two spinster sisters are known for. Of course, they of all people at the bustling and crowded Chelsea flower show, noticed her inadvertent stumble into Selwyn and then her departure with him. Although perfectly innocent, and accompanied by her married friend Margot Channon, and Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, she can see how easily the Miss Evanses can construe the situation to their own advantage of spreading salacious London gossip about Lettice, as daughter of the local squire, around the citizenry of Glynes village.
“I believe you were here for a purpose, Miss Evans.” Gerald pipes up, quickly defending his best friend from any more uncomfortable cross examination.
“Oh,” the elder Miss Evans replies, the disappointment at the curtailing of her attempt to gather gossip clear in both her tone of voice and the fall of her thin and pale face. “Yes.” She turns to Arabella. “I have actually come early today to see you on business, Mrs. Chetwynd.”
“Me, Miss Evans?” Arabella raises her hand to the scalloped collar of her blouse and toys with the arrow and heart gold and diamond broach there – a wedding gift from her husband.
“Yes.” replies the elder of the two sisters. “You see, when I heard that you were running the second-hand stall this year, I did feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me, Miss Evans?”
“Yes,” she replies, screwing up her eyes. “For as you know, there is always a poor offering of donated goods by the other villagers, and it makes for a rather sad and depressing sight amidst all this gaiety.” She gesticulates over Arabella’s trestle with a lace glove clad hand, sending forth the whiff of lavender, cloves and camphor in the process.
“Unless you are donating one of your lovely frocks to the sale, Master Bruton?” the younger of the Miss Evanses adds with a hopeful lilt in her voice. “I should buy it, even if it didn’t fit me.”
Gerald splutters and chokes on the gulp of tea he has just taken as the question is posed of him. Coughing, he deposits his cup quickly and withdraws a large white handkerchief which he uses to cover his mouth and muffle his coughs.
“Oh, poor Master Bruton!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses as she reaches out and gently, but pointlessly, taps Gerald on the shoulder in an effort to help him. “Did you tea go down the wrong way?”
“I arrest my case.” her elder sister snaps giving Gerald a steely, knowing look.
“Now be fair, Miss Evans,” Lettice defends her friend, filled with a sudden burst of anger towards the hypocritical old woman, who despite having plenty of money of her own, only spends a few shillings at the fundraiser every year. “Gerald is still establishing himself in London! He cannot afford to give one of his frocks away when he has to pour what little profit he currently makes back into supporting and promoting his atelier.”
“As you like, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Evans replies dismissively. “It is a pity though that neither Master Bruton, nor yourself could cast something Mrs. Chetwynd’s way, to help make her stall more,” She pauses momentarily as she considers the correct word. “Appealing.”
Lettice feels the harshness of the old woman’s rebuke, but she says nothing as she feels a flush of shame rise up her neck and fill her face.
“Geraldine!” her younger sister scolds her. “That’s most uncharitable of you.”
“Charity, my dear Henrietta, begins at home.” She looks critically at the knotted half completed knitting, the yellow and age stained linen and the mismatched gloves. “And Mrs, Chetwynd, I see that try as you might, you cannot disguise the usually dispirited efforts of the village used clothing drive this year.”
“Oh, well I haven’t really finished setting up yet, Miss Evans.” Arabella defends herself. “There are still some things to unpack from the boxes behind me.” She indicates to several large wooden crates stacked up behind her against the wall under the watchful gaze of the King.
“Which are items that doubtlessly didn’t sell last year, or the year before that have been shuffled away, only to make their annual reappearance.”
“Perhaps you have something appealing,” Lettice emphasises her re-use of the elder Miss Evans’ word as she tries to regain some moral standing against the older woman. “To offer at this year’s second-hand clothing stall, Miss Evans.”
“As a matter of fact,” the elder Miss Evans replies with a self-satisfied smile and sigh. “That is exactly why I am here.”
With a groaning heave, she foists the wicker basket, the handle of which she has been grasping in her bony right hand, up onto the trestle table’s surface. She opens one of the floral painted flaps and withdraws a large caramel felt Edwardian style picture hat of voluminous pre-war proportions from within the basket’s interior. The brim of the hat is trimmed with coffee and gold braid, woven into an ornate pattern whilst the crown is smothered in a magnificent display of feathers in curlicues and the brim decorated with sprigs or ornate autumnal shaded foliage and fruit.
“As I said, charity begins at home, so I thought I would add some style and panache to your stall, Mrs. Chetwynd, with the addition of this beautiful hat.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says with a sweet, yet slightly forced smile as the older woman tears off a smaller blue stiffed lace hat from a wooden hatstand and replaces it with her enormous millinery confection.
“I know it is only a hat from Mrs. Maginot, and not a London milliner,” she looks pointedly at Lettice. “But I dare say it will be more than suitable for our modest little country jumble sale.”
“Oh I’m sure it will be,” Arabella lies politely as she looks in dismay at the old fashioned headwear.
“Geraldine!” gasps her sister in disbelief. “You love that hat! I remember you had Mrs. Maginot make it for the King’s Coronation celebrations at great expense!”
“That’s true, Henrietta, but it just sits in a box at home these days and never gets worn anymore. It seems a shame to hide it away when it could look fetching on another’s head in church on Sunday. No-one will have anything to rival it. Not even you, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I agree with that,” whispers Lettice discreetly into Gerald’s ear, unnoticed by either of the spinster sisters. “I’d rather die than be caught in that ghastly thing. It looks every minute of it’s age.”
“Just a touch Miss Havisham, don’t you think?” Gerald whispers back, causing both he and Lettice to quietly snort and stifle their giggles.
“Well, that really is most kind of you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says loudly and brightly with a polite nod of acknowledgement, anxious to cover up the mischievous titters from her friend and sister-in-law.
“It’s my pleasure.” she replies with a beatific smile. “Well, we shan’t hold you up any longer from doing your setting up of the clothes, Mrs. Chetwynd. Come along Henrietta. Let’s go and make sure Mr. Beatty has my floral arrangement in a suitably advantageous place. I’m not having it shunted to the back like last year.”
“Oh, yes Geraldine.” her sister replies obsequiously.
Lettice, Gerald and Arabella watch as the two old ladies slowly retreat and heave a shared sigh of relief.
Gerald deposits his cup on the trestle’s surface and walks up to the grand Edwardian hat and snatches it off the wooden stand before placing it atop his own head with a sweeping gesture. “Do you think it suits me?” he laughs.
Lettice and Arabella laugh so much they cannot answer.
“Well,” Gerald sighs, returning the hat to the stand. “Even if Hattie could make hats a hundred times more fashionable than this, maybe some local lady who is a bit behind the times will want to take this beauty home.” He arranges it carefully on the rounded block so that it shows off the autumnal themed fruit garland pinned to the wide felt brim.
“That’s the spirit I need, Gerald.” Arabella manages to say as she recovers from laughing at her friend’s theatrical modelling of the hat, and quietly she hopes that someone will buy the hat and everything else she has in her remit to sell, to help raise money for schoolbooks for the local village and country children that attend the Glynes Village School.
*May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
**A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
***Tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. Tatting can be used to make lace edging as well as doilies, collars, accessories such as earrings and necklaces, and other decorative pieces.
****A leg of mutton sleeve is a sleeve that has a lot of fullness around the shoulder-bicep area but is fitted around the forearm and wrist. Also known as a gigot sleeve, they were popular throughout different periods of history, but in particular the first few years of the Twentieth Century.
*****’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.
******Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.
*******A Sautoir is a long necklace consisting of a fine gold chain and typically set with jewels, a style typically fashionable in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
Whilst this charming village fête scene may appear real to you, it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Perhaps the main focus of our image, the elder Miss Evans’ camel coloured wide brimmed Edwardian picture hat is made of brown felt and is trimmed with miniature coffee coloured braid. The brim is decorated with hand curled feathers, dyed to match the shade of the hat, as well as a spray of golden “grapes” and dyed flowers. Acquired from an American miniatures collector who was divesting herself of some of her collection, I am unsure who the maker was, other than it was made by an American miniature artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.
The shirtwaister dummy, complete with lace blouse, tweed skirt and Art Nouveau belt attached to a lacquered wooden base, is an artisan miniature as well, once again by an unknown person. It came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The divine little patriotic cupcakes, each with a Union Jack on the top, has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each cupcake is only five millimetres in diameter and eight millimetres in height! The plate on which they stand and the teacups on the table are made by the Dolls House Emporium and are part of a larger sets including plates, tureens and gravy boats.
Miss Evans’ wicker picnic basket that can be seen peeping out near the right-hand side of the picture was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. When I bought it, it arrived containing the little yellow napkins folded into triangles and the hand embroidered placemats that you see on the table in the foreground.
The knitting needles and tiny 1:12 miniature knitting, the red woven straw hat, the doilies, the stockings and the napkins in their round metal rings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The elbow length grey ttravelling gloves on the table are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.
The wooden boxes in the background with their Edwardian advertising labels have been purposely aged and came from The Dolls’ House Supplier in the United Kingdom.
The Portrait of King George V in the gilt frame in the background was created by me using a portrait of him done just before the Great War of 1914 – 1918. I also created the Union Jack bunting that is draped across the wall in the background.
At Pastor Charles Calvin's house, there is much preparation for the Thanksgiving meal. Pastor Calvin's son, Charles Jr. is just arriving with a much needed final sack of supplies. As Charles Jr. approaches the house, he sees the happy scene through the window, and his thoughts go to salvation.
""Test me, Lord, and try me; examine my heart and mind. For Your faithful love is before my eyes, and I live by Your truth. I do not sit with the worthless or associate with hypocrites. I hate a crowd of evildoers, and I do not sit with the wicked. I wash my hands in innocence and go around Your altar, Lord, raising my voice in thanksgiving and telling about Your wonderful works." Psalm 26:2-7
"Before God saved me, how my life was like this. On the outside, looking in. I professed to be a Christian. My father is a beloved pastor. I talked the talk and I did a fairly good job of walking the walk. But I never felt the joy and peace they seemed to. I always felt like I was outside, in the cold, looking in on a warm gathering. Not really a part of it.
And then God opened my eyes through 2 Timothy 3:5, " having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power. Avoid such people." I had an appearance of Godliness. I acted like a Christian, and worked hard to convince myself I was one. But I had denied the power of God in true salvation which is that He changes us, radically, fundamentally, from the inside out. I had been trying to have Christianity my way, when in truth Jesus is the way.
Then God saved me and I no longer felt like an outsider. 2 Corinthians 5:17 proved true, "Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come."
Now, when I walk through that door and join them, I'm one of them. Thank you Lord."
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Although heaven will be our first encounter with true, complete perfection, the Lord is already at work in the lives of His people preparing us for that perfection.
God begins the process of perfecting us from the moment we are converted from unbelief to faith in Christ. The Holy Spirit regenerates us. He gives us new hearts with new, holy desires (Ezekiel 36:26). He transforms our stubborn wills. He opens our hearts to embrace the truth rather than reject it, to believe rather than doubt. He gives us a hunger for righteousness and a desire for Him. Thus the new birth transforms the inner person. From that point, everything that occurs in our lives—good or bad—God uses to make us like Christ (Romans 8:28–30).
In terms of our moral and legal status, believers are judged perfect immediately—not on the basis of who we are or what we have done, but because of what Christ has done for us. We are forgiven of all our sin. We are clothed with a perfect righteousness (Isaiah 61:10; Romans 4:5), which instantly gives us a standing before God without any fear of condemnation (Romans 5:1; 8:1). And when Paul writes that God has “raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:6), he is again speaking of this position of favor with God that we have been granted by grace alone.
We are not literally, physically seated with Christ in the heavenlies, of course. We are not mystically present there through some kind of spiritual telepathy. But legally, in the eternal court of God, we have been granted full rights to heaven. That is the high legal standing we enjoy even now, on this side of heaven.
But God does not stop there. Having judicially declared us righteous (Scripture calls that justification), God never stops conforming us to the image of His Son (that is sanctification). Although our legal standing is already perfect, God is also making us perfect. Heaven is a place of perfect holiness, and we would not be fit to live there unless we too could be made holy. In a sense, then, the blessing of justification is God’s guarantee that He will ultimately conform us to the image of His Son. “Those whom He justified He also glorified” (Romans 8:30).
The seeds of Christlikeness are planted at the moment of conversion. Peter says that believers have been granted “all things that pertain to life and godliness” (2 Peter 1:3). If you are a Christian, the life of God dwells in your soul, and with it all that you need for heaven. You have already passed from death to life (John 5:24). You are a new person (2 Corinthians 5:17). Whereas you were once enslaved to sin, you have now become a slave of righteousness (Romans 6:18). Instead of receiving the wages of sin—death—you have received God’s gift of eternal life (Romans 6:23). And eternal life means abundant life (John 10:10). That is what Paul means when he writes, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17).
Now let’s be honest. Even the most committed Christian doesn’t always live as if “the new has come.” We don’t always feel like a “new creation.” Usually we are more keenly aware of the sin that oozes from within us than we are of the rivers of living water Christ spoke of. Although we “have the firstfruits of the Spirit, [we] groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:23). And we groan this way all our lives. Remember, it was a mature apostle, not a fragile new Christian, who cried out in Romans 7:24, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”
Here’s the problem: Like Lazarus, we came forth from the grave still bound in grave clothes. We are incarcerated in human flesh. Flesh in the biblical sense refers not just to the physical body, but to the sinful thoughts and habits that remain with us until our bodies are finally glorified. When Paul speaks of flesh and spirit he is not contrasting the material body with the immaterial spirit—setting up a kind of dualism, the way gnostic and New Age doctrines do. He uses the word flesh to speak of a tendency to sin—a sin principle that remains even in the redeemed person.
Paul clearly spells out the problem from his own experience in Romans 7.
For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good. So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.
So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. (Romans 7:15-–21)
As believers we are new creatures—reborn souls—vested with everything necessary for life and godliness, but we cannot fully appreciate the newness of our position in Christ because of the persistent presence of sin.
Like Paul, we “delight in the law of God, in [our] inner being” (Romans 7:22). Only the principle of eternal life in us can explain such love for the law of God. But at the same time, the flesh constricts and fetters us like tightly bound grave clothes. This flesh principle wars against the principle of new life in Christ. So we feel like captives to the law of sin in our own members (Romans 7:23).
How can this be? After all, Paul earlier wrote in this very epistle that our bondage to sin is broken. We are supposed to “have been set free from sin” (Romans 6:22). How is it that just one scant chapter later, he says we are “captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members” (Romans 7:23)?
The answer is, being a captive is not quite the same thing as being enslaved. As unredeemed sinners, we were full-time slaves of sin—willing servants, in fact. But as Christians who are not yet glorified, we are captives, unwilling prisoners of an already defeated enemy. Although sin can buffet and abuse us, it does not own us, and it cannot ultimately destroy us. Sin’s authority and dominion are broken. It “lies close at hand” in the believer’s life (Romans 7:21), but it is no longer our master. Our real allegiance is now to the principle of righteousness (Romans 7:22). It is in this sense that “the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Even though we still fall into old patterns of sinful thinking and behavior, those things no longer define who we are. Sin is now an anomaly and an intruder, not the sum and substance of our character.
God is changing us from the inside out. He has planted the incorruptible seed of eternal life deep in the believer’s soul. We have new desires to please God. We have new hearts and a whole new love for God. And all those are factors that contribute to our ultimate growth in grace.
Although sin has crippled our souls and marred our spirits—scarred our thoughts, will, and emotions—we who know Christ have already had a taste of redemption. As we set our hearts on heaven and mortify the remaining sin in our members, we can experience the transforming power of Christ’s glory on a daily basis. And we long for that day when we will be completely redeemed. We yearn to reach that place where the seed of perfection that has been planted within us will bloom into fullness and we will be completely redeemed, finally made perfect (Hebrews 12:23). That is exactly what heaven is all about.
- "Changed From The Inside Out"
John MacArthur
2013
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Happy Thanksgiving 2022 as we at Paprihaven celebrate gratitude through God through the Psalms!
Previous Thanksgiving at Paprihaven!
2015:
www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/23317280855/
2016:
www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/31221411415/
2017:
www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/38546781536/
2018:
flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/45946160821/
2019:
flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/49117569293/
2020:
flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/50634408816/
2021:
A while ago, I took a lot of flak from one of those ultra-ardent anti-fur crusaders... because I'd used some old scraps of fur in a photo. I don't begrudge anyone their passions... and I'm certainly not a supporter of the fur trade. But I found the ranting rather hypocritical... considering that none of us can get through life without the resources of other living things.
If you've looked at my stream, you know I dig trees. Okay... I borderline worship trees. And with all due respect to fur-bearing critters... life is life is life.
I'd never harsh out on anyone for using paper... or other tree-derived products. But I do think the lives of trees are worth acknowledging, and celebrating, in all their twisting dancing changing swaying grace and beauty.
Thank you all for your comments and faves!
Blog: www.miksmedia.net
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It's been rather hot lately and I find myself wishing for a cool breeze coming from the water, alas, I have no plans for a visit to any lake for the foreseeable future.. I was looking at some of my winter photos to cool myself of, but decided it would be a bit perverse of me to share any, just yet, especially when I am the one always complaining about cold ;D. And, since, I refuse to be a complete hypocrite here is some sunset images from Astotin Lake, instead. It was a surprisingly beautiful evening despite the rain and, I hope, I will have a chance to visit the lake soon again :D
The revenge upon her would be sweet, even though it was purely theoretical.
She was the very epitome of every stuck up girl who ever passed judgment on those she refused to view as an equal. And I? I possessed the subtle skill to knock her smirking ego down a few pegs.
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In late spring of the year 1952, a, bank rented safety deposit lockbox, dusty from many years gone by, was opened. The box had laid unclaimed, the banks records having been destroyed during the Nazi blitzes of World War Two. When its existence became known, an attempt was made to contact the owner, whose family surname was well known in the county. The name turned out to be an alias, no such person ever existed.
Please read the account below to learn more about the person who was believed to have rented the strongbox, as well as what he had placed inside……….
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Case Study 84 :
Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have been altered for obvious reasons.
Exerted from the private letters of Mr. Harley Q. circa early 1900’s.
Name: Harly Q. circa 19 …
Subject: Seemingly a rather dexterous scoundrel
Place: A large coastal metropolis
Time: A period of time in late autumn
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Harly’s story as related:
The following affair occurred during my younger days when my youth and its’ raw passions were still a strong pull on my reactions! Now, how do I start?
The Blonde dancing in front of me was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy, voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she swirled about the massive chamber! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my upmost command!
But wait, I may be placing the carriage before the steed…….
Allow me to restart:
I had taken a long train into town with the intention of spending a few days relaxing from my previous month of hectic “professional” affairs. Rewarding myself, I located my lodging in a fancy upscale hotel situated across the street from a cavernous Ballroom, checking in for a fortnight. Since my social calendar was unusually light, with only the one high society event, a wedding that I was planning to attend the following Sabbath, at a “chapel” located in one of the cities sprawling suburbs. I spent the first day perusing the cultural calendar of the local papers, and ended up circling one or two events of interest that would be taking place later that month. I than took care of my remaining personal business, locating a reputable bank and renting out one of their lockboxes, before allowing myself some time off from my endeavors.
I than spent the first portion of my week taking in moving picture shows, visiting stores and hanging out at the local museums and antique shoppes. It felt great not worrying about work, although I will did admit that my mind scoped out a few prospects as I was out and about, walking amongst the great masses..
It was mid-week during my stay, while making my way back to the hotel suite, that I decided on a whim to pop into the Ballroom to see what it was all about. I walked into the massive lobby full of activity and wandered about, looking into the massive main ballroom, meeting rooms and various party rooms. As I was leaving I discovered a wall containing posters for all the upcoming events. One poster caught my eye. It advertised the occurrence of a Halloween Ball to take place that very weekend, Tickets still available. The Ball seemed to be the very type of party I was partial to, combining all of my favorite types of affairs, a large gathering frequented by the rich, and everyone attending would be in costume.
Purchasing a pair of tickets (less questions asked) I went out the very next morning scouting various shops in search of my own costume. I finally settled on a highwayman’s attire. It seemed appropriate, and the ribbon style “ masque” over my eyes set off the vacation beard that had been growing quite nicely since my last outing. On my way out to pay for the costume I spied a half off bin. On top of the pile was a phantom of the opera mask. On impulse I added it to my bundle and went to the checkout.
Although I really didn’t have the feeling that this concern would lead to anything, I mean, who wears good jewellery with a costume ? But a little bored by the inactivity, I was none the less growing excited about the venture. I still decided to play it cautious by setting up my usual safe guards, just in case.
A few blocks away from the Ballroom and my hotel suite I found a small chain style motel. Going to the desk I purchased rent for a room for the night, paying in advance. Going into the small room I laid down my purchases and headed back out to the street via a back stairwell, bypassing the registrars chambers. I headed back to my hotel suite to prepare for the evening.
After showering, I changed into a suit, shirt and tie. I then headed out onto the street a couple of hours before the ball was set to begin. Regaining my small quarters in the chain motel I changed into my new persona for the evening’s festivities and left via the same back door I had used earlier. I walked back to the Ballroom, getting my share of looks until I reached my destination, where I blended right in with the other arriving costumed guests.
I followed the stream to the ballroom proper. The main doors leading inside were large, made of a fancy scrolled oak, held open, and guarded by a pair of burly security types.
Apparently which, I soon gathered, was appearing to be the only security present for the evening’s festivities. Capital, I thought, smirking to myself as I joined my fellow guests.
I walk onto a landing, immediately in front of a long bannister guarding a set of wide stairs ascended downwards. I went off to one side, and paused at the railing, starting to survey with eager anticipation, the crowded room below.
All was quite glittering, as large chandeliers set off a spectrum of colors with any crystal or glass it touched. It especially created shimmers as it played off the colorful jewelry the lavishly costumed ladies present were wearing. Several dozen couples were dancing in front of a 17 piece orchestra, a slow dance, and many were dancing almost too close. Many more people were mingling around tables of appetizers. A large, chattering crowd was also gathered at the long oak bar that took up one whole side of the huge room. It was to the bar that I headed, to observe the merry proceedings.
But the Ball, as it turned out, was a bust, so to speak. Although several attempts were made to ask a number of charming (to me) ladies to add me to their dance cards, they all were, unfortunately, full. I should have suspected it would turn out this way, but I still harbored an all too familiar nagging feeling in the back of my head that something was still going to happen, call it intuition if you need to label it. So I nursed my drink, reminiscing about how I had reached this point in my then still young life…..
Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorite poets, once said” Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”
Long before the the time I discovered this quote I found that my life’s path had already been heading that way.
Without boring anyone with far too many details of my rather complicated youth, I discovered while quite young that I had a certain knack for adeptness at being able to nimbly pick pockets. When I was eighteen ( having graduated high school at seventeen) and out on my own in the world, I found this skill quite useful. But it was at a wedding reception in my early twenties where I became of age, so to speak.
She was older than me, resplendent in a sleek black satin gown with bright white frills, long white satin gloves upon which graced a pair of diamond bracelets. She was very tipsy and would not take no for an answer when asking for a dance partner. She cornered me and before I could catch my wits, we were in a close embrace on the dance floor. I was totally mesmerized by the feel of her warm figure emitting through the sensuous satin gown. My eyes feasted upon the dazzling show put on by her flashy twin bracelets. When the exquisitely long dance ended and she moved on: I was left with a lot of pleasantly mixed feelings, I was also left with my first trophy, the Lady’s appealing necklace of pearl that I had ever so delicately sipped off her throat, using the sleekness of her satin gown to its fullest advantage.
I found myself enthralled with my new “hobby”, and over the course of the next couple of years sought out fancy dress affairs to better learn how to master the art of attracting and dancing with any lady I chose. Along the way I managed to accumulate quite a few trophies for my efforts. I stayed under everyone’s radar by picking out only those females who had been enthusiastically imbibing and by allowing myself to acquire only one trophy per gathering, two if the function was large enough.
During this period I made two discoveries: One was that most women would rather assume their jewel had been merely lost long before ever considering that they had been robbed of it. The second was that most of my collection of pretty trophies carried an equally pretty price, and could quite acceptably be turned into ready cash.
So, by the tender age of twenty two, my life started to lead where there had ever been but few tracks. And thus we finally come to this particular branch of my rather unique, lengthily crooked trail….
So, there I was, on a bar stool, alone and growing more bored by the minute, wishing something interesting would happen. I can remember thinking, as I looked over my fellow partiers about a saying that I had always found to be amusingly true. “If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” I don’t know who first said it, but brother, the person was right on the money. As I had witnessed for myself time and time again. So I just settled in and watched the amusing antics of the wealthy among the crowd, especially those of …“the girl!’
The girl was a stunning young blonde who was probably just fresh out of high school, with the maturity level of a grade schooler!
I kept catching my eye on her all evening, and once or twice, was sure she caught mine looking. But I was not watching her for the reasons she would think were mine. To her I was just some male face in the crowd, exhibiting his lust. But, the reason my eyes kept traveling upon her was for an entirely different one. I just found nothing to be more annoying than a sulky, immature young whelp who believes she is the apple of everyone’s eye, making an absolute nuisance of herself. She was running around, making silly remarks about people, sometimes to their face. Hanging out with her group of friends whom seemed to be of the same mold as my blonde, one girlfriend was even dressed appropriately enough, as a willowy witch.
The Blonde was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she bounced about the massive chamber, slipping in and out amongst the guests! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my command! But I had decided, as far as I could tell, that she was wearing nothing but cheap rhinestones, which like her, appeared totally fake. But, as they say, appearances can sometimes be deceiving!
This girl was the epitome of every condescending stuck up high society girl that probably everyone has had the misfortune to be the victim of. The girl, who mainly because of her looks, was popular with everyone like her, and had no use for those who, forever what reason they deemed, was ostracized by those of her type. In high school I knew girls like this one, and was a witness, sometime victim, to many a scene of arrogance displayed by girls like her. This one was young, too young to be acting the way she was. Her mannerisms were just a beacon, reaching out out to be taught a lesson.
Wallowing in my boredom, a spark began to kindle into flame deep within my brain. Determined not to let the evening be a total loss, I decided act upon it. My plan being to theoretically get revenge on all those smirking girls who tormented me during high school, by knocking this cocky little scamp down a few pegs, using the best of my abilities..
Now, I’m not one normally to act as judge, jury, and executioner in most situations, in my selected line of work it would be hypocritical. But obviously old wounds’ had been opened, this long haired girl scampering about reminded me of ones whom had ridiculed me, another lifetime, one that I had left behind A long time ago. The opportunity for bittersweet revenge had presented itself for the taking, and the pull to obtain a little solace by using my unique talents was far too great to resist. Talk about mixing pleasure with business I though wickedly to myself, smiling with the inviting thought.
Believe me, this girl would be no innocent victim, and nothing I was about to attempt would leave her with any type of lasting impression, or harm. But if I could cause her at least some considerable discomfort to ruin the rest of her evening out, it would be reward in and of itself! I again eyed her sparkling jewels with all the seriousness I would have given any I was really interested in acquiring. Although she didn’t fit my favorite pre-requisite, she certainly was not drunk on alcohol, she was merely just intoxicated in her own questionable self-esteem, which can work just as well.
I waited until her friends had all apparently deserted her for the evening and leaving her, quite vulnerably, alone. I walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. She whirled facing me, her eyes going from happy expectations to a glare! “What do you want!? she snipped disdainfully”. Calmly I held her gaze, “I was hoping you would help me win a bet” I asked in what I hoped was my most wily voice. She was curious, but wary of me, “as you should be my pretty miss”, I remember thinking to myself. Her eyes sized me up and down, and I seized the moment to take in her jewels, not at all disappointed in them, but my curiosity was aroused about her necklace, I definitely needed to get a closer look to appraise them! “Why should I help you,” she practically spitted out he words like daggers.
“It’s this way miss, a couple of boys over at the bar bet me 50 quid that I could not get a dance with the prettiest girl here.” “Me?” she asked primping, no I confessed, I picked you, they had wanted me to dance with someone far less pretty, in my opinion.
I don’t think so; she said with a slight hint of hesitation, my card is full. Just for fifteen minutes I implored. That’s all I need (which was the truth), and Ill split my winnings with you on top of it. She finally bought it, hook line, sinker and pound signs in her adorable violet coloured eyes. Fifteen minutes she specified, before, be-grudgingly, allowing me to lead her to the dance floor.
Now, as I took her stiff body in my arms, I was able to satisfy my curiosity about the girl’s necklace, and it caused a dilemma to rear its thought provoking head. While she was busy looking around to make sure none of her friends saw her dancing with me, I allowed myself a couple of precious minutes to think. Her long rhinestone earrings were clip held, and an easy pick. I wanted to try for them both,( I knew how I would do it), and losing a pair of earrings would send a message that they had not just fallen away. Also, I would be suspected by her, which suited me just fine. However, my dilemma was caused by the vixen’s pretty necklace. While the rest of her plentiful jewels were cheap rhinestones as I had suspected the row of diamonds that rippled blazingly around her throat were in fact, the real McCoy. So, which should I go for? The necklace would be profitable and easy but she may just suspect its clasp had broken. The earrings would be just for a sporty trophy, not worth anything but for the knowledge that she would know she had been a victim. Ah, life’s precious little quandaries!
So, I continued with the dance, my partner still rigid, so very true to her character. Then, with five minutes left, I made up my mind on what she would not be leaving the ball still wearing. She was a charmer, this disdainful one. Her stiff figure was warm to the touch, underneath the scintillating slippery gown. The show her sparkling jewels produced was most pleasing to the eye. All in all quite a pretty portrait, a shame it was that I was not allowed to appreciate it. Which was fine by me! I was able to concentrate freely on the task at hand. I looked around, the coast was still clear. Then eyeing for one last time her mesmerizingly swaying long earrings and the flickering diamonds that graced her pretty little throat, I executed my move..
By the time the final five minutes were up I had the selected jewelry in my pocket without even the slightest notice from my unwilling dance partner. Then, fifteen minutes to the second (good thing I had been keeping track of the time) she broke it off. “Thank you”, I said, to which she mumbled, “my money, sir!” I told her I had to collect it, and would meet her by the ladies powder room. I left her waiting, smiling inwardly to myself at the empty space from which the missing jewelry was glaringly gone from her.
She had no doubt that I would be back with her money, was I not merely like one of her household servants, who routinely, without question or error, existed to do her bidding. It would be a major jolt to her system when she realized I was not coming obediently back to her. I had no doubt she would spend some time searching me out for her money once she realized I was not coming back forthwith, with the intention of lecturing me on how I should act around my betters. So I knew that her immediate attention would be elsewhere upon realizing I was tardy, and that it would take quite a bit of time before she recieved a second shock of an altogether different sort.
I left with my prize, walking past the two guards with such a carefree air that even they would never have suspected that I could possibly have been up to any mischief. I made good time getting back to the dingy motel room. Changed out of my costume and back into the shirt and tie I had worn. The highwayman costume, which had served me well, I rolled in a bundle under my arm, I again left by the back stairwell and retraced my earlier steps, whistling, back to the suite in the hotel. Along the way the costume was stuffed unceremoniously into a handy trash bin. My little operation had been a complete success. The evening was after all, not going to be a total loss.
Back in my suite I stowed the newly acquired jewels the girl had worn into one of my many secret hiding spots. There they would be safe until I could convey it to my banks lockbox on Monday. As I finished I, spied the phantom of the opera mask lying discarded on top of a table. A shame it would not be used….
A thought washed over me that would not be denied! Risky, but it would make my evening complete. I quickly shaved off the thin beard, and restyled my hair. I changed from my suit into my tux and tails. Scooping up the phantom mask I headed back to the costume ball. Placing the mask on before entering, I presented my second ticket( not very often did the opportunity arise to use both of the pair of tickets I customarily purchased!) I walked past the two security types without a second glance from them, they absolutely did not recognize me, which meant I had passed that test. My objective now was to try and catch the second half of the show; namely the shimmering liquid satin gowned brats squawking reaction when she first discovered her jewels were gone.
I regained a bar seat just in time.
She did not disappoint!
************************************************************************
Epilogue
When, in the presence of both bank and county officials, the strong box was opened, it was found to contain a fairly large collection of the Kings currency, equaling roughly £500 , and a selection unmatched jewelry, rings, single earrings, bracelets, and necklaces, worth a almost £3.000. Also inside was small a bundle of papers. The papers, old and yellowed, appeared to contain the partial handwritten journals of a certain Mr. Harly Q___ , esq. The papers were examined, but gave no clues to who Harley was, or to his current whereabouts. But the journals presented clues as to Harly’s nature, and as a consequence the money and jewels were considered stolen goods and handed over to the authorities. No one knows what became of them, as for the papers, they were handed over to a relative of one of the government officials, and also, for a period of time, lost.
The journal was rediscovered amongst the personal files of the late Professor Sedwig Dermitt phd, llc.a dex,
Recovered, restored, and now kept in the human behavioral archives of the criminology dept, Chatwick U.
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
on all bigots, homophobes, racists, anti-semites, fascists, tyrants, republicans, imperialists, oppressors, elitists, hypocrites, misogynists, xenophobes, extremists, and all other haters.
may you find *all the love* that you need!
© Danny B!
Scrabble Wisdom from False Creek…
Ya Gotta love the Tommy T……
"Broadband is vital for the success of our rural communities and for our entire economy. Great to see Alabama receive crucial funds to boost ongoing broadband efforts," Tuberville tweeted Tuesday.
Getting political points from the structure bill. 2 bill of fed money that he voted against and had many negative comments about said bill.
I guess it is true. Politicians are hypocrites. Tommy may be one of the worse Senators we in Alabama have ever had. Maybe a great football coach, I would not know, but when it comes to senatoring he is dumb as a box of rocks. Scary part… In 5 years we will probably give him another 6 years.
In Alabama we have more people on the government breast than any other state. But we still blatantly speak up against that left wing money as we cash the checks. It is Just like Obamacare here in the deep south. We are a very poor people compared to those blue states up north. The poorest people voting for the richest people.
I have no problems with conservatives, I share some conservative values. I would really like the Republican party members to show us, by their actions, that they have conservative principals. I miss Mr Shelby. He seemed to be, mostly, a true conservative.
Day one, of my week of secrets (post secret style) with Jordie. Also, feel free any of you guys who want to jump in and do a few secrets with us!
Anything you guys think about Christians, I probably agree.
Close-minded? In a lot of ways, yes. I've met many close minded Christians who don't give the environment, psychology & sciences, and new ideas a thought.
Judgmental? Oh heck yes. The most judgmental people I know, are Christians.
Holier-then-thou/Condescending? Indeed. Even to other Christians, well maybe even especially to other Christians.
Do they shove their religion down your throat? I've seen it done many times.
Hypocritical? Oh yes. Not that we aren't all at one point in our lives, but it's a major problem with the church as a whole.
^Note: All of these are a generalization, and not individually.
Have I seen things done in Christ's name that are amazing and beautiful? Absolutely! I've even done some myself. I have met so many amazing people, witnessed miracles of sorts, seen people serve and be humbled more than I ever thought was possible. I've seen the faces of the families that we built houses for, true joy reflected. I've felt God physically, when I thought that was only a myth. I've come to Jesus broken, and I've felt my burden being lifted off my shoulders.
Personally, I think one of the main problems is that Christianity is the fall-back religion. For example, on MySpace, it has a huge list of religions, and then "Christian-other." And people who consider themselves christians because they go to church on Christmas and Easter are most likely going to live a life that reflects the world, rather than what they call themselves, thus giving Christians a bad name. However, I know a lot of Christians who go to church every week, yet they are still no different then anyone else. Something is wrong with that! Being a Christian means you should look different from the world.
Now, I'm not saying I'm perfect by any means. In fact, I'm a huge hypocrite.
I used to be a cleptomaniac about 5 years ago, and I stole a lot of stuff. All last year, I had a gay best friend (gasp!), and last summer we smoked a fair amount of weed. It was my experimentation. I've since realized how dumb it made me feel. I don't even remember half the summer. I've been depressed, which is a dirty word to some Christians. But, I don't regret any of it, it's made me search harder than I've ever searched. It's made me question my faith, which in turn made made me find answers, making me stronger.
I've learned to be so much more open-minded about things, including other religions. I may not ever agree with your religion, but I will listen. I try so hard not to judge others, because in the past, a lot of times I was wrong. Oh and I can't even put myself up on a pedestal, and I'm not going to try. Will I ever shove my religion down your throat? Absolutely not. That's one reason why I waited until now to share this, I mean it's something I take seriously now, and I don't use it flippantly. I am trying everyday to walk the walk rather than talk the talk. Talking is just words, which after awhile with no actions become meaningless. But, I do love having rational conversations about deeper things, including what I believe. With that, if you have any questions or statements, I would love to talk. :) In fact I'm looking forward to it, and I promise not to judge, or any of that crap. If you choose to do so in my comments (which is fine by me) please do respect others opinions and beliefs.
Note: It has come to my attention that the "gasp!" after me saying my best friend was gay is "disturbing." Now I just want to clarify, that we're not best friends anymore, and it's NOT because he was gay. Friendships come and go, and some grow while others fade. I wrote with a strong dose of sarcasm, that hopefully you can catch by the context of the whole thing. Everything I've written I'm serious about whether it be my view on the generalized "Christians" or the things I've done and how I've changed. I mentioned my friend because first, he was a huge part of my life last year, and second, to make a point about other Christians because I was chastised by some people for being friends with him.
This is incredibly long, so props to anyone who read it all!
Explore @ 6
Thank you all!
© tt
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please note that any Invitations from groups which are running Sweepers and have hypocritic admins that are hiding behind them, are ΝΟΤ welcome and will not be accepted.
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Sweepers are insulting for photographers.
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>>> Also note that any Invitations from groups with admins who are MORE
Photographers and LESS counters are happily accepted <<<
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Madrid, Sept 2009.
It's easy to pass judgement but us Brits are pretty hypocritical when it comes to animal treatment...
Paid Cover Up.
Sumptus est, extendens arma, pecuniam, itemque ostentationem fugere est,
magnificence conjecturer propositions hypocrites qui influencent autorité motions,
φήμη απόκρυψη μεγάλη καταδίκασε απόκρυψη του,
Ruf fleißig zahlreiche Gewinne montiert Vermögen Gold,
Ядро эффективной сети ненависти убить жертвы,
tattiche dilatorie intermediari infuriati monopoli dichiara negoziati ingerenza,
tystiolaeth gorthrymder gwrthdaro lletchwith cyhuddo tystiolaethau swyddogion,
conjugate matematicieni substanțe înec scopuri consonante,
incidentele grammaticus rationele definities vragen werkoorzaken verdeeld,
foirmeacha bac sonrach a ghintear go huimhriúil gcrích imperfectly scríofa,
meticulosa observatione duplex principium communis reipublicae administratio pertinet Leges tulisse,
straks lover meklere inkluderer tvil talende inndelt mendicant fakultetet mener,
atos externos estruturam discursivamente intelectos princípios de aprendizagem começa,
テーブルの下に悪施錠されたドアのロックが解除悪の心を満たされた目に見えるポケットを明らかに!
Steve.D.Hammond.
my room is a disaster. my hair is greasy and choppy and i have split ends beyond reason. i can't go a day without wearing a ring on my right hand. today i wore an owl ring that was my grandmothers. i have no living grandparents. i can't stop editing my photographs with these neutral, earthy tones. i cannot stop listening to certain songs. and i have a lot to say about my own formulated ideas and opinions and beliefs on the questions i asked all of you, but i don't know how to say it all. i've been having trouble lately communicating. i don't know why, but i just want you to feel me.
and just know.
here's my own answers to the questions from my previous post:
1. i think i am going to go with a light shade of grey. and not have very much of anything on my walls at all. maybe just my polaroids.
2. this one
3. I am a virgin.
i am thankful, so thankful to be one. however, I do not judge those who are not. i choose to love people no matter what they have done. for that is how Christ has loved me. i do not believe that sex before marriage is a sin because sex is bad. sex is not bad. sex is a beautiful, wonderful act that is made to be the bonding together of two creations into one. "the two will become one flesh" however, i do believe that sex before marriage is not a good idea because it always hurts someone or something. "all other sins one commits are sins against other things or people, but sexual immorality is sin against oneself." so pretty much, we damage our souls by this sort of thing. and we may not realize it at the time. but it does. it breaks us in the depths of our being. that is why it is not such a good idea, not because it is just a meaninglessly sinful way of living, but because it causes pain in some deep and intricate way.
i believe in self-control and purity. i do not believe that kissing is wrong before marriage. i think that there is a level of intimacy that needs to be there between two people that are in love with one another. there is a physical side to love. that is how it was designed. however, i do not believe in perverting love, and tainting it with sexual immorality. i am saving myself for my husband because my body belongs to him. my body is a temple that Christ has bought with a price, therefore i desire above all else to honor him with it. i believe there are certain limitations that we need to form for ourselves to know that we are honoring God with our WHOLE selves.
4. i am going to be dead honest with you.
at one point in my life... i realized that i was so consumed with doubt and frustration at the way in which my society was telling me to live. most of our principles here in America are founded in the bible, yet, we are such freaking hypocrites. i mean, think about what we do here? we murder our own children. we neglect the poor. we deny showing love to homosexuals and drunkards. we break marriage bonds by divorce. we cheat and lie and scam and kill and turn our faces to the very life that Christ has called us to live. our society is so corrupt.
our society is so wrapped up in ourselves we just cry and moan and piss all over the place. so yes, i am not afraid to say that before i committed my life to Christ, i was freaking influenced by the society i live in. i was confused as anything, but i was influenced. i would be a liar to say i wasn't.
before i truly discovered Christ, it was pretty much just the "right thing" to say i believed in God. thats what we do here in america right? "In God we trust" its pretty much written on everything we posses. i did not believe out of love. it was just what my world told me to do. so i did it. it was just a sick and empty life i was living. so empty and full of nothingness. i had no faith in anything but my self, and that in some way or another i existed and i was just going to be just fine in my comfortable little house in my comfortable little neighborhood, in my comfortable little city, in my comfortable little state, in my comfortable little country... i am repulsed.
5. but now, i have and am constantly being transformed in my mind. two and a half years ago, somebody in my life showed me the true love and grace of Christ, and i finally understood. i discovered truth beyond all reason. there is something that happened inside of me when i choose to turn from my old way of living in an empty and pitiful state, and following the only one who loves all people no matter anything. its called unconditional love. nothing else makes any sense except that sort of love. is that not what all humans desire? to be forgiven and loved? i mean... wanted? the core of everything terrible that has happened or is happening or will ever happen in the complete history of humanity is that there was a void of love. there was someone who was hurt and broken and empty and hopeless and nobody showed them this love.
we cannot deny the fact that even we ourselves feel no purpose in life without feeling loved in some way or another. it is the core of everything.
Christ came and said, "darling, child, i love you. i am love in the flesh. i am so incredibly in love with you, and i made you, i created you, i know every single hair upon your head, i know every freckle on your skin. i know your heart and i know your mind. and even though you have denied me, even though you have murdered and lied and judged and stolen and hated, i know you, and i love you and i want you to be mine. i want you to come with me, because i will show you a love that does not count those things of the past against you. i will forgive everything horrible you have ever done or will do. i will try to remake your heart so that love is at the center of it. not the absence of love. please, beloved, come with me and i will show you truth."
this is why i believe in Christ.....nothing else that this world offers me can surpass the truth of Christ and his love. i know in my being that it is the truth because my soul has always ached for it. always. and when it finally was filled with it, this God of love, when i finally understood it all, there was not a single crack or crevice that was not satisfied in me.
there is proof in faith.
i've lived without believing in Christ. i have gone down that path. i have walked it before. and now, i know, that it is a dead end. nothingness. nothing that we do in this life means anything at all without him. no other religion offers love in this way. no other religion calls us to just simply accept the love and live it. its not about all the freaking do this and do that's. if you have understood Christ to be the guy who stands up there on sunday and tells you that your wrong and your going to hell and you don't deserve anything good and your a big pile of shit, then you are being led astray by the brokenness and the void of love that i was talking about earlier. Christ is LOVE. he would hang out with those people that your preacher tells your are going to hell. why? because he loves all, and came to heal the sick. he came to love the loveless. and embrace those who have never known embrace.
Words for transition:
I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you...If you can love me for what I am, we shall be the happier. If you cannot...I will not hurt you and myself by hypocritical attentions. If you are true, but not in the same truth with me, cleave to your own companions; I will seek my own. I do this not selfishly but humbly and truly. It is alike your interest, and mine, and all men's, however long we have dwelt in lies, to live in truth. Does this sound harsh today? You will soon love what is dictated by your nature as well as mine, and if we follow the truth it will bring us out safe at last.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
[Better large]
06-0908-P0911
Shot 3, Dentist
Ladies and gentlemen, let me inform you that cavities like these, requiring such fillings, are caused by failing to use dental floss more than a few times per year.
Do as I say, not as I do. (You can learn a lot from a hypocrite.)
Best on Black
“Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.” Ezekiel 16:49
"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. These you ought to have done, without leaving the others undone." Matthew 23
I am NEPTUNE KING!
Now see, you were Big the Budo. *
Right??
And then he came out and was all, "No, now I'm Neptune King." **
But he didn't look like this Neptune King at all!
Big the Budō (ビッグ・ザ・武道ブドー) is my stage persona but my true name and identity is... NEPTUNE KING!
Well, why do you change your look so much??
It's like it's not enough to have a wacky origin, you also have to have split personalities.
And split wardrobes.
You do not understand! I'm quite arrogant and I look down upon the inferior Chojin. I'm a bit of a hypocrite regarding the Perfect Chojin rules.
...
Okay, that sounded more like a confession than 'ring talk'.
Are you crying out for help?
NO! I used to be the student of Psychoman until I grew too proud. Psychoman frowned upon this and kicked me out of the Perfect Large Numbers.
The 'Perfect Large Numbers'?
Was that a club?
But I was undeterred. I created my own spin-off Perfect Chojin. I disguised myself as Big the Budo and plotted to steal masks with Neptuneman. However, Neptuneman turned against me during the finals, causing our defeat.
Wait, are you giving us your origin??
He must be. It doesn't make sense. Aren't you Neptuneman??
No, no, he's Neptune KING.
Ah.
I can manipulate electromagnetic forces in the Earth with my Neptune Mask. I know judo, karate and kendo as well. After Psychoman stripped me of my rank, I took members with me and left. I called our group the MAIN PERFECT CHOJIN!
Oh, well, if you were the 'MAIN'...
Having left the Perfect Large Numbers, as Neptune King I entered Chojin Tournaments within the mortal realm. However, I became disgusted as the competition shifted from strong vs. weak death matches into a commercialized sport.
Wait... you preferred strong people going up against weak people in a death match??
I then went into hibernation under the River Thames.
Sure, that may as well happen.
I remained there for countless years until I was discovered by a Chōjin named Quarrelman. Quarrelman was trying to commit suicide by jumping into the river because he couldn't find any opponents strong enough to defeat him. Even Robin Mask was too easy for him.
Of course he was.
Together we plotted to bring the Chōjin competitions back to its bloody roots. I gave Quarrelman my Neptune Mask, making him Neptuneman, and created a new Bōgu-clad identity for myself- Big the Budō.
We weren't really ASKING for your origin.
We just said Kinniku-origins are wacky.
Aaaaand, you're proving that.
I and Neptuneman entered the Universal Tag Team Tournament as the Hell Missionaries with the intention of stealing the masks of the Chojin champions and giving them to our henchmen, so that 'Kinnikuman' and 'Robin Mask' would be our henchmen, if only in name. They appeared disguised at the beginning, revealing themselves to punish Screw Kid and Kendaman for their loss against the 20 Million Powers, Buffaloman and Mongolman.
So your henchmen put on Robin Mask's mask and people thought he was Robin Mask?
And, Kinnikuman doesn't even wear a mask.
And poor Kendaman! He doesn't need to be punished. He's self-punished enough. ***
We faced the Chojin Master-Student team of Robin Mask and Warsman, who we beat and stole their masks. In the next round we fought the 20 Million Powers, ultimately defeating them and unmasking Mongolman to reveal Ramenman.
I thought the 20 Million Powers were Buffaloman and Mongolman...
Shh! Just let him finish. So it will end.
In the final round, we fought the Muscle Brothers, Kinnikuman and Kinnikuman Great, who was Terryman in disguise, in a three-round match. In the first round, I, as Big the Budo, and Neptuneman won by Cross Bomber, revealing Kinnikuman Great to be Terryman, who had taken the role after the real Great, Prince Kamehame, died.
We lost, however, to Kinnikuman and Terry in the next rounds, when I began using the swords in the 'Sword Floor Death Match' I designed. This caused Neptuneman to turn on me, as using weapons was against the rules of Perfect Chojin. But since there is no Chojin as perfect as I, I can make or break the rules at my leisure.
Didn't you just acknowledge that as hypocritical?
SHH!!
Sorry...
As THE Perfect Chojin of 50,000,000 power, I am unstoppable! My Megaton King Drop (メガトン・キング落とし, Megaton Kingu Otoshi) where I perform a double under-hook and jump into the air with my opponent then I shift my weight so I am standing on the soles of their feet and I drive them into the floor with the added force of my magnet power.
Wow. Waaay too much info on your mega-whatever.
There is also my Budō Exploding Kick (武道爆裂キック, Budō Bakuretsu Kikku), and my Magnetic Storm Driver (磁気嵐ドライバー, Jiki Arashi Doraibaa).
Right! We don't need to have them explained.
I am 290cm/9'5" and weigh 320kg/705lbs.
Good grief, he's going into all his details now.
Thank you Big the Budo Neptune King Chojin person!
We've heard enough now. You can do your match or whatever where you beat up a weak person.
I will now describe my birth.
NOOOOOOO~~~!!!!!
💪M💪U💪S💪C💪L💪E💪
A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.
M.U.S.C.L.E.
# 73
"Neptune King"
* As seen way back in BP 2018 Day 317!
www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/42426927085/
** As seen in BP 2019 Day 287!
Hello, my name is Sophia and I am a Blythe addict. I have loved these little plastic girls for the last 5 years – they have been there for me through thick and thin, they have made me happy but also made me mad at times, they are part of my life now, my family. I look at their big faces and I can’t help but smile.
But something has not been right. At first I thought I was in a rut but I realise I am not. Instead of logging on flickr and the forums and feeling happy, I am starting to feel stressed, sad, sometimes even angry.
What has happened? Has something changed? Or is what we are experiencing, our general malaise, to be expected with changes in the hobby?
I have decided to voice my opinion on this matter. I have thought for a long time about writing something like this. I have seen similar topics of disenfranchised feelings being posted on BK but I wanted to post my own feelings here, on my own space in the Blythe universe. I hope I do not offend people, instead, I hope that this opens up some discussion.
The one thing that has always driven the Blythe market that we all know, but don’t really talk about, is money. In fact, most non-Blythe people’s initial reaction to Blythe is how expensive it is (my friends still have a hard time getting used to the idea). However, as Blythe collectors, we come to talk in Blythe currency. The value of dolls and sundries are not in proportion to any real ‘worth’, but rather dictated within the bubble economy of the Blythe world – I use the word bubble economy to only mean that Blythes trade at values much higher than their intrinsic worth (i.e. cost of materials, labour, etc).
Even though Blythes trade at high value, I never really felt like that mattered. I suppose because we didn’t really talk about it. In fact, I still find it awkward to talk about the money side of Blythe with people – both Blythe and non-Blythe. There were joys to be had within our own Blythe bubble – a Kozy was a bargain at $400, a Kenner a bargain for $500. Everything is relative.
Which brings me to what I think is making me feel sad about this hobby - that we are now entering a phase where money seems to matter. Or the whole idea that what you own determines who you are. Community feels like it is being replaced with competition.
What competition am I talking about? I am sure no one will be surprised by my next statement - the highly exorbitant prices of ‘designer’ goods – in particular covetable customs dolls.
There have always been expensive dolls in Blythe. I remember when Leo/Poupee Mecanique used to sell girls on eBay and I would just stare at them in adoration. I never bid on them because I could not afford them (but perhaps I was also more financially sensible then! :P).
But the thing is, those dolls were exceptions to the rule. They were not THE rule. They did not reflect the general custom Blythe market as a whole.
Fast forward 3-4 years and let’s examine what we have. There are still affordable customs, but it seems that more and more customiser’s work is being driven up to values exceeding 1k, sometimes even 2k and 3k. In fact, from most of the dolls on people’s wishlists, I would say that at least 75% appear in this price category. And not because I think people have “expensive taste”, but that those dolls are simply expensive now. (Of course everything is a matter of supply and demand but I think it’s simply ridiculous now. I don’t think I am alone in saying that.)
Let’s put that fact aside for a moment and look at what that means for our hobby.
The first consequence is that commission lists are pretty much a thing of the past. As someone who has spoken to customisers about this, I feel this is a difficult position. If a doll sells for 1000, what is fair rate for a customiser to charge a customer on commission? There comes a stage when it simply isn’t smart for a customiser to continue charging what they initially charge for commissions, as their end products sell for much more than commission fee + base doll. I am totally on the customiser’s side in this view – it does not seem right for your hard work to profit someone else beyond mere inflation. So I support the customiser in this decision, it is simply impossible to keep things fair now.
But here is my question - what came first? Did commission lists close because of high prices, or did high prices close commission lists?
I used to proudly say I get the majority of my dolls from commission lists, because that is simply how I liked to do things. I felt like I paid a fair price, I felt like I got great service, and often commissions were a way for me to get to know the customiser and often led to friendships. I still like to support my friends who are customisers, because I love this personal feeling. I think with all my custom girls at home at the moment, I would consider all the customisers my good dolly friends.
The fact that high prices means commissions may not be a wise investment means that we lose this personal aspect in our community. Commissions were not only a way for people to get what they want, it was also a way to give everyone a fair chance and know exactly when their turn was up. I liked that even if the hobby was money driven, there was still this ‘fair’ system where everyone was charged the same and waited their turn. There were still lists I could never get on because I was not fast enough, but there were also lots of other ones I could join so it seemed balanced.
Commission lists are not possible anymore because people are able to boycott those lists by paying more or offering more. I don’t know whether this is because people are increasingly impatient, or because supply does not meet demand (probably both). It seems to me there is now increasingly a very small market of things that are worth a lot in Blythe world – certain designers or customisers – and they have become our currency. Our main currency. Money is no longer enough. I have to admit now, I have done this myself too, because I felt there was no other way. Some of my newer commissions have come across because I just happened to have a doll that the customiser wanted so I could trade. Other times I have made offers for trades.
I am going to say something controversial now – I feel like Blythe dealings are no longer transparent – instead I often wonder what goes on behind emails and FM’s and how these transactions take place. (Please note again I am not pointing at anyone or intending to hurt anyone, this is just describing my feelings.) I realise I am probably a bit hypocritical here because of course some of dolls came across this way. I would however, be happy to disclose any of this information to people if they desire.
Anyway back to the point at play here – although Blythes were always expensive, I don’t think it’s ever felt IMPOSSIBLE before. Now that is how I feel. It is how my close Blythe friends feel. We are not alone in feeling like this.
If one doll sells for this amount, you can expect the next one to as well. And more and more will go down this path, and it will just get more and more. Like a bubble economy it seems unsustainable. Will it pop soon? What will happen then?
Maybe it’s the greed that drives us. The more we can’t have something, the more we want it. Or maybe because those customs are fetching high prices, they have ‘legitimised’ their own prices and that is what we expect. This means however that most of us are being priced out of the hobby, with only a few left standing.
Most customisers have taken fantastic incentives to avoid this. Some sell dolls on more than one place so some are fixed price, and others auctions. Others now only sell dolls to those who don’t already own them. These are great moves that I think can help address the problem.
But I think we also need to change our attitude. Which brings me to my main point – that those prices are caused by US. At the end of the day what matters more to us, our community, or that we compete with each other? I am probably sounding very naïve, but doesn’t the competition put you off the hobby? That is exactly why I have been in a “blythe rut.” Instead of supporting one another, I compete with my dear friends because that is simply the way things happen now. I hate that. I hate that because I have $50 more I can get a doll that someone else can’t. I hate that I have to sell a doll at the price I paid even if that price was crazy to begin with. I hate that even if I stop bidding the prices will still stay up. I hate how hopeless I feel, and how angry I am. I hate that recently I had to pay more on a doll, more than intended by the seller and myself, because another buyer had a higher offer and the seller could no longer sell to me at her intended price. Because what can you do then?
I have boycotted custom auctions. I no longer participate in ‘taking offers’. The highest I will go for a custom is, and always will be, less than a Kenner. The most I have paid so far is $900 for a custom which looks crazy when I type it down, but it happened. As a result, that doll will probably never leave my possession because I can’t imagine charging that much again.
It’s not anyone’s fault. Buyers are not at fault because we obviously want what we want (myself included). Customisers are definitely not at fault because they are one person meeting the demands of hundreds. In this way, I can see that there is no solution to the problem. It may pass over time, but it may not. It’s not like those prices will suddenly come down, supply will suddenly meet demand, and we have enough customs to satisfy everyone. And I think it’s that fact – that things have CHANGED and will likely stay this way that makes me sad.
So let’s not forget to look out for each other. Let’s not forget our community. Let’s be happy when our friends get what we don’t. Let’s celebrate each other’s dolly families whether those dolls are “luxury” or not. Let’s be happy with that we have. Let’s bring back the love, the inclusion.
At the end of the day I guess it’s not really about the money, even if it feels like that way at the moment. It’s about enjoying the hobby and each other’s company. Let’s remember that again, that is the reason we are here. And also let’s remember, we should be acquiring dolls that we LOVE. Another thing I think we need again is PATIENCE. Patience to wait for the right moment, patience to wait our turn if we are lucky enough to be on a commission list. Life is already fast paced, Blythe does not need to be!
And I think everyone should be given a fair chance, don’t you?
Dublin Ireland
Named for Padrig Pearse, Leader of the Easter Uprising April 2016. He was executed for his role.
Perhaps Pearse foresaw this future role in a poem he wrote called “The Rebel”:
I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow
That have no treasure but hope,
No riches laid up but a memory
Of an Ancient glory.
My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,
I am of the blood of serfs;
The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten,
Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,
And, though gentle, have served churls…
… And I say to my people’s masters: Beware,
Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people,
Who shall take what ye would not give.
Did ye think to conquer the people,
Or that Law is stronger than life and than men’s desire to be free?
We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held,
Ye that have bullied and bribed, tyrants, hypocrites, liars!
Taken in the most light polluted place in Australia, Sydney. However, given my last upload it might seem a little hypocritical to complain!
An open little spot I scoped in northern Sydney, looking back towards the City.
Have an awesome weekend!
Exif data:
Around 150 images at 30 secs each.
ISO 400
F2.8
Scripture: Matthew 22:15-21, The 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Subject: Why are you testing me?
Today’s Gospel reading is relevant to us and it revolves around a simple question that Jesus asked of the Herodians and Pharisees who were questioning HIM; “Why are you testing Me?” It is a question we should ask ourselves whenever, we are confronted by individuals that are “locked and loaded” with a question in which they will use to probe, confront, and ultimately judged and label us. Why? Within the question they are asking is their “intent.”
I offer some contemporary examples:
Are you a Christian? Do you believe in God? Who are you voting for? Are you a republican? Are you a democrat? Are you pro-life? Some local favorites: Do you drink coffee? What religion are you? Are you a Christian? Don’t you believe in God?
These are just a few questions we are all to familiar with and we do understand that they are loaded with more meaning than the question implies. The motives behind these questions, and our answers, can easily allow the one asking the question the ability to unload all the baggage that is behind the question with a convenient label such as “you are a good Catholic”, “you are not a good Catholic”, “you are an atheist”, “ you are a conservative”, “you are a liberal”…and yes a local favorite, “you are a gentile.”
I want to revisit our reading again…remember...
The Pharisees are plotting how they might entrap Jesus in some way, and the unknown reality to them is that- HE knows what their intent is. They think they are smooth by building Jesus up by saying “Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man, and you teach the way of God.” In a contriving way, they ask Jesus a simple question…” Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?” Straightaway, because he understands their motive and intent, he asked them a question: “Why are you testing me, you hypocrites?” Without waiting for a response to his question He states, “show me the coin that pays the census tax.” Whose image is on the coin? Jesus is the one leading now. They say “Caesar’s image.” He states, “Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”. If Jesus had said “yes” he would have been going against most of the people and if he said “no” would have brought him into conflict with Roman authorities. You see in his answer Jesus avoided their trap.
They were amazed and his replay and went away. However, we must remember, that their original intent was to find a reason to kill him. As we know, they will keep trying until the the crucify HIM and yet they will soon learn that they are wrong-the Jesus movement has continued to our day.
What can we learn from Jesus and this Gospel reading?
Firstly, Jesus shows us what evil intent can confront us when we are citizens of two dominions-the temporal and the spiritual. As faithful Christians we maneuver between two worlds and make efforts to be loyal to both. Our loyalties are being challenged in every moment of our lives…this is our reality. More times then we would like, these worlds meet wherever a question is asked between us and another. Jesus shows us how he skillfully managed to stay loyal to both the temporal and spiritual. However, because of who “He is” we fully understand what Kingdom dominated HIS world-the Kingdom of God.
Secondly, we learn that our Christian beliefs are bigger (they transcend) the labels that get thrown around. Our secular labels are too small to contain the truths that our Christian faith entails. However, remanence of truth is found everywhere in our secular culture. When we mix the secular and the spiritual together expect confrontation and disillusionment. The effects of this are all around us. Yes, indeed these two worlds meet most visibly in the questions we ask one another. When conflict arises between spiritual and temporal powers, it is wise to keep in mind St Thomas More’s famous maxim, “The King’s good servant, but God’s first”.
But our reading challenges us to rise above the visible divisions that surrounds us. It is possible! Why every Sunday, we meet for Mass! For obvious reasons, we come into the Church quietly. We carry with us smiles, waves and kindness! Why? Because we understand that we are closer to God here than anywhere. We come into the Church a broken people and we leave with Christ in our hearts. As your deacon, after the conclusion of each Mass, I get to say to you “Go in Peace.” There are other phrases that I could use, and one is an extension of this on…”Go in Peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.” May we take up this Gospel challenge and meet those who would question us with hurtful intents, with a smile, a wave and kindness. Let us give them what they do not expect!
-rc
It always seems a little odd to say, "Happy Ash Wednesday" since it is a serious and penitential day. But Jesus does tell us not to look gloomy like they hypocrites.... so here is my flickr-effort!!!!
Bunratty castle in Ireland is a 15th century castle that has AMAZING medieval furnishings and tapestries. Its also a HUGE tourist attraction and the ONLY place that actually made me feel a bit claustrophobic because there were SOOOO many tourists. It made me feel like a local, i was so frustrated, lol (just a tad bit ironic and hypocritical). I was determined not to let all 'those tourists' ruin my shots, so I had more patience in waiting for them to leave the frame, than normal. Normally I dont understand the concept of patience.
The grounds of the castle have been turned into a 19th century irish village, which really feels similar to Williamsburg Virginia with street characters in traditional garb, animals around, and demonstrations of how things USED to be done.
© BlueFunambulist 2015 | Spain
Over human history, civilisations tends to identify with an animal or creature in order to show the others their distinctive features. Althought I am fascinated with the nature of the planet Earth, I will not choose an Eagle for representing myself. There is something on the species' eyes with what I do not empathize at all. However, I get absorved when I watch them fly. As Yesterday, in our way to A., Ruins. The wide and striking wings of an eagle can easily duplicates it own size and, when is close to the ground, the animal uses it claws for hunting for feeding itself and it eaglets.
On the contrary, our claws are still full, in the highest level, of sickly envy, of jealousy without foundation, of cowardice in adulthood, of hidden observers with closed mouths and of hypocrites who condemmn the hypocrisy. There is, probably and sadly, a long etcetera. The lowest points are considerably under Plato clasifications. Who can explain to me, why do we hunt when we are not even hungry. People may excuse themselves and think that without claws we can not survive, but I have to remind them that we are not eagles. There such a space between us.
We need more goodness, honesty, sincerity, admiration, humbleness, courage, loyalty, nature, justice, less pretending and more feeling. And if our feelings are bad: control, learning and overcoming. Maybe then, we will be a species with what persons as me can identify with.
—Thank you, W., for being that loyal assistant and follow my instructions for taking this photograph.
Listening to: Missing Parts, covered by Daniela Andrade.
I liked this,
so I will put one here for all of you; It is from Kurt Cobain's journal,
which is very different than what I expected, but I think I'm enjoying it.
Is it hypocritical for me to agree with this? I don't know:
"The conspiracy towards success in America is immediacy. To expose in great repetition to the minds of small attention spans. fast, speedy, and with even more nacho cheese flavor! Here today, gone tomorrow because yesterdays following was nothing more than a tool in individuals need for self importance, entertainment, and social rituals. Art that has long lasting value cannot be appreciated by the majorities."
-Kurt Cobain
One for the hypocritical religious types out there who are showing their true colours in the last few weeks by speaking ill of the dead and forgetting that people are born pure and can remain that way....if they really want to.
It's the sick minds of those who condemn that need saving.
One for MJ.
já que céu tava bonito...na falta do que fazer, rsrsrs :D
Today´s Soundtrack: Dream Theater - The Mirror
Temptation-
Why won't you leave me alone?
Lurking Every Corner, everywhere I go
Self Control-
Don't turn your back on me now
When I need you the most
Constant pressure tests my will
My will or my won't
My Self Control escapes from me still...
Hypocrite-
How could you be so cruel
and expect my faith in return?
Resistance-
Is not as hard as it seems
When you close the door
I spent so long trusting in you
I trust you forgot
Just when I thought I believed in you...
"What're you doing?
What're you doing?"
It's time for me to deal
Becoming all too real
living in fear-
Why did you lie and pretend?
This has come to an end
I'll never trust you again
It's time you made your amends
Look in the mirror my friend
"That I haven't behaved as I should"
"Everything you need is around you.
The only danger is inside you."
"I thought you could control life,
but it's not like that. There are
things you can't control."
Let's stare the problem right in the eye
It's plagued me from coast to coast
Racing the clock to please everyone
All but the one who matters the most
Reflections of reality
are slowly coming into view
How in the hell could you possibly forgive me?
After all the hell I put you through
It's time for me to deal
Becoming all too real
living in fear-
Why'd I betray my friend?
Lying until the end
Living life so pretend
It's time to make my amends
I'll never hurt you again...
Bom Fim de Semana !!! E obrigado pelos views :D