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A person, who values the beauty of nature and ambient in the world, for richer and happier than those, who did not notices this.
My new novel:
B♭ (Be Flat)
Dropping more content! 😃
(Still not finalized yet.)
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Scene: Madison Square Garden 2
A low murmur swept down the avenue in front of the Garden as a black lead sedan and a fleet of white motorcycle escorts slowly rolled in. Four armored limousines followed, flanked by NYPD and state police SUVs. Behind them trailed a line of communication trucks, ambulances, and news vans—no more than fifty vehicles in all, but the weight of their presence was overwhelming.
The motorcade moved as if traffic signals held no meaning. The street had been completely shut down, and the convoy advanced in perfect synchrony. Police radio chatter leaked from the vehicles, while the blocked-off sidewalks were crowded with reporters clutching cameras and riot police standing firm. Near the center, three jet-black SUVs carried CAT operatives, their eyes scanning the street like silent sentinels from behind suppressor-equipped rifles.
On top of the limousines, state-of-the-art jamming devices disrupted all outside signals. Trailing them was a “Roadrunner” communications command vehicle bristling with antennas, maintaining real-time encrypted communication with the command center beneath the Garden.
At the tail end were fire department rapid response units, a hazmat vehicle, and two ambulances. The arrival of a presidential candidate was no longer a mere movement—it was a military operation. The city responded like a living neural network, absorbing and adjusting to the convoy’s every move.
Onlookers lined the barricades—civilians raising smartphones overhead, and journalists with grim faces behind their lenses. No one spoke. The crowd stood in solemn silence, bathed in the red and blue pulses of rotating lights, watching as the procession swept past like a scene from a film. But this wasn’t a movie. The silence was real. No one dared crack a joke.
Sniper teams were stationed on rooftops around the Garden. Occasionally, the word “clear” crackled over the comms. Inside the building, only those who had passed facial recognition were permitted to take position. In the chilled surveillance room where Jack sat, hundreds of camera feeds rotated every few seconds across the screens.
Inside the presumed presidential limousine, darkness cloaked everything—no figures visible behind the glass. Yet everyone on-site knew those clear windows hid layers of invisible defense. That silence, designed to preserve life, carried with it a deadly order that blanketed the entire convoy.
Overhead, two Black Hawk helicopters glided in low and began to hover above the Garden. They were escape vessels, should the worst occur—but more than that, they were a reminder that this place was, for tonight, a battlefield.
In the command room on the Garden’s B3 level, Jack sat under the blue glow of the monitors, listening intently to the radio in his ear.
“Eagle has arrived. Parking complete on B3. Zebra point passed. T-minus 45 seconds to approach.”
The voice in his earpiece made him bite his lip unconsciously. The coffee in his cup had long gone cold.
Onscreen, the divided camera feeds displayed the barricades on Seventh Avenue, snipers in standby, and now—the black limousine sliding into the underground garage.
The air tightened. Time became tangible. The tick of the second hand grew louder in everyone’s ears. Jack’s fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the radio button.
Scene: Madison Square Garden 1
Jack shifted the donut box in his hand and pressed the button for B3. The air in the elevator was cold, and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he watched the lights descend. The contrast with the heat above made his vision blur slightly.
Stepping out, he turned right. Immediately on the left was the briefing room door, where a security man in a rumpled suit greeted him.
“Everyone’s already waiting.”
Jack stood before the sensor and calmly turned his face toward it. A few seconds later, a mechanical chime signaled access approval, and the heavy fireproof doors slid open.
Once inside, Jack offered a small smile.
“I brought donuts. Make sure everyone gets some later.”
The security man grinned behind his sunglasses.
Beyond the thick soundproof door, 32 monitors glowed blue in the dim room. Staff members moved briskly and silently between the machines. The hum of servers filled the space, punctuated only by the occasional alert. In the center was the commander’s seat, surrounded in a ring by workstations. The wall-sized screen displayed rapid live cuts from over 400 arena cameras—spectator stands, lobby, corridors, VIP lounge, loading dock, backstage, utility room, underground passages…
If a single rat appeared in those tunnels, they’d be able to track it straight to the sewers.
Jack sat in the commander’s chair and flipped the switch on the gooseneck mic in front of him. Its flexible neck trembled as the red indicator light came on.
“I’ve got donuts. Sorry, no glazed. There’s Boston Cream, Chocolate Frosted, Strawberry Frosted, and Old-Fashioned. No coffee, so grab your own.”
“Old-Fashioned for me,” came Ben’s voice from the loading dock. He adjusted the transparent tube of his earpiece and muttered into his collar.
Jack gave a faint smile, then grew serious again as he leaned toward the mic.
“Eagle is about to arrive. Entering through Ben’s loading dock. Three minutes to VIP room. Fifteen-minute briefing. Then onstage. Let me remind you—tonight marks the official nomination of the presidential candidate at the National Convention. First Republican convention held here in over twenty years. Also, his fiancée, Eleanor Blake, is with him. Stunning and brilliant. Try not to fall for her. The only ones you’re allowed to admire are bulky bruisers in tactical gear. And don’t forget, VP candidate Cole Harrison is here too—he’s the leash on our foul-mouthed Justin. No matter what he says, don’t punch back. I’ll be the one getting punched later.”
Jack checked his watch.
“One minute out. When Justin’s team heads home, dig into the donuts. Over and out.”
From the monitor showing the VIP lounge, Daryl spoke up behind him.
“Jack, better check in with Elijah at the hospital. Make sure he’s on standby.”
Without turning, Jack raised his hand and called out.
“Elijah, you copy? Daryl thinks you’re chilling at Starbucks.”
Laughter came through the speaker, followed by the chaotic background noise of Bellevue Hospital.
“Daryl, how’d you know? I was just thinking of getting Jack fired.”
Swiveling in his chair, Daryl laughed back at the screen.
“Let’s hope Justin doesn’t end up in your ER.”
Jack cut in.
“All stations, go. Justin’s here. Stick to the plan. Let’s move.”
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Scene: Madison Square Garden 3 — Justin, Eleanor, Cole
The door of the limousine opened from within, and Justin Bradford stepped out with a short sigh.
“Damn. It’s suffocating down here. Even a stray dog would turn up its nose at this parking garage.”
He brushed off the hem of his suit jacket with one hand, casting a grimace toward the concrete gloom.
Vice presidential candidate Cole Harrison followed quietly behind. Eight years older than Justin, Cole had once stood by Justin’s father, Lysus Bradford—through every rally and protest, until the day Lysus, still registered as a Democrat, was gunned down by a sniper. Cole had admired Lysus deeply for his commitment to voicing the will of the unheard.
Justin yawned, wide and unfiltered. Cole spoke gently beside him.
“This was the safest option. Too many unknowns outside. It’s dangerous.”
“Cole, you’re the biggest unknown we’ve got.”
“And that makes two of us, Justin,” Cole replied with a small, knowing smile.
The click of white heels echoed faintly as Eleanor Blake stepped onto the stained concrete. She wore a pale beige coat over her dress and moved with quiet elegance. Though her brow creased slightly at the stagnant air, she quickly replaced it with a smile and walked toward Justin.
“Justin,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm, “no more jokes at the staff’s expense. These people would lay down their lives for you.”
Justin gave a small, lopsided smile and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
“For their sake, I better live up to it.”
Flanked by security, the three of them began walking down the dim corridor. Faint LED lights flickered overhead. Dirty walls, cold silence, and a chill that crept under their skin accompanied them.
“These hallways always get to me,” Justin muttered.
“I understand,” Eleanor said softly. “But this is the safest route.”
“That’s exactly why we should be grateful,” Cole added. “It’s this kind of space that protects us.”
Eventually, they reached the elevator reserved for dignitaries. The face recognition system chirped quietly as it confirmed their identities.
“Just a few more steps to the VIP lounge,” said one of the agents.
Justin glanced back at Eleanor and shrugged.
“Let’s shake the Garden tonight.”
She touched his arm lightly and smiled.
“I’m counting on you, Justin.”
The three of them stepped into the elevator, the doors closing quietly behind them as it carried them upward.
Scene: Totto Ramen — Ana, Mika, Motorcade
— Red, Yellow, Blue —
It was just after 7 p.m. when a light rain began to fall on East 52nd Street.
Ana leaned against the wall of an old building next to Totto Ramen, absently watching the changing traffic light at the intersection to her right. The air was heavy with humid heat clinging to the concrete, making even the pedestrians seem to move slower than usual.
The signal turned green. As she dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief and squinted into the distance, she spotted Kana on the far side of the crosswalk, waving and running toward her with a smile.
Then, suddenly, the air shifted.
From the far side of the intersection, a fleet of black SUVs glided in, soundless and ghostlike. In the few dozen seconds between the lead vehicle’s arrival and the armored limousine at the rear disappearing, the entire intersection was sealed off—no one passed.
As the convoy disappeared down the avenue, the signal changed again. Foot traffic resumed. The city inhaled.
Kana reemerged from the crowd and waved once more.
After wrapping up their exhibit, Ana and Mika had packed their gear into Mika’s car and headed into Manhattan. Ana’s husband, Arjun, worked at LuminaTech Innovations—a hybrid company based in Williamsburg specializing in AI, cloud services, and cybersecurity. Though it was his day off, he’d had a meeting in Hudson Yards and was on a separate schedule from Ana.
Totto Ramen was nearby, and ever since Mika had first brought her there, it had become a favorite for Ana and Arjun alike.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s been such a lovely day,” Mika said, slightly out of breath.
By “lovely,” she meant the two sharply dressed men from that morning, still lingering in their thoughts.
Ana answered with mild disinterest.
“Was it? That your type, Mika?”
Mika shrugged and smiled.
“Mm, I like someone close enough that I can run home to my parents if I need to.”
They laughed as they slid open the ramen shop’s wooden door and took seats at the counter. The place was bustling with Asian families enjoying their weekend. Familiar Japanese drifted from the far end of the counter.
Ana’s iPhone buzzed. It was a video call from Arjun.
She tapped the screen. His apologetic face appeared.
“The meeting’s running long. Go ahead and eat without me.”
Ana smiled gently.
“Be careful. A whole swarm of black cars just swept through here.”
Arjun responded immediately.
“They’re probably heading to the Garden. There’s supposed to be a Republican convention tonight. The candidate’s making his appearance.”
Mika, having caught the gist, nodded deeply.
“Yeah, it’s felt weird all day. The city’s tense—not your usual weekend.”
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Scene: Red Hook 1 — Amir and Rafi
Red Hook stood apart, even within Brooklyn.
Shielded by the shadows of skyscrapers, the red-brick warehouses, worn by wind and rain, groaned softly in the breeze. Each gust from the sea layered fresh salt onto the air, leaving streaks of rust blooming along the warehouse doors.
Beyond a broken fence, a long-unused warehouse door creaked open.
Amir stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The smell of oil soaked into the concrete filled his nostrils.
“Let’s start here,” he said.
Rafi nodded without a word.
They had first come to this place five winters ago.
Having lost everything in Gaza at the hands of Israel, the two had fled legally through Egypt and Turkey, eventually arriving in Tapachula in southern Mexico. There, they made contact with a smuggler known as a coyote.
Rafi paid $12,000 per person to the traffickers—using cryptocurrency hacked through North Korean channels. The coins had been stolen through a North Korea–linked hacking syndicate. Amir wrote the code himself and erased all trace of the transaction. They had crossed borders not with blood, but with digits.
Later, under cover of night, they slipped beneath a border fence and entered the United States by land.
The night sky over Texas was a shade of dark blue they had never seen before. Low and clear, the deep blue held a fleeting kind of hope. But that hope was far outweighed by the hatred that had taken root in their hearts.
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Set in New York City.
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Saipan. USA. 2016. LUMIX G3 shot … 4 / X
サイパン。アメリカ。２０１６。LUMIX G3 shot … 4 / X
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
さらに投下します。😃
(まだ決定ではありません。)
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場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン２
ガーデン正面の通りがわずかにざわめき、先導の黒いセダンと白バイク隊がゆっくりと進入してきた。次いで装甲に覆われたリムジンが４台つづき、市警と州警のSUVがその脇を固め、後方には通信車両、救急車、そして報道バンの列…… 全部でざっと５０台にも満たないが、その重厚感は圧倒的だった――。
車列は信号すら意味をなさず、完全に遮断された通りを、隊列の呼吸に従って前進していく。警察無線の交信が車外に漏れ、通行止めの歩道にはカメラを構えた記者と機動隊員が混じり合っていた。中腹には「CAT」と呼ばれる武装部隊が乗る漆黒のSUVが３台並び、サプレッサー付きライフルを持った隊員が、まるで車内から通りをスキャンするように視線を動かしている。
リムジンの天井には、最新の妨害電波装置が搭載され、外部通信を一時的に遮断する。さらにその後方を、アンテナが林立した“ロードランナー”と呼ばれる通信司令車が追走し、ガーデン地下の指揮室とリアルタイムで暗号通信を続けている。
車列の最後尾には消防局の緊急対応車、化学物質対応車、そして２台の救急車が控えていた。大統領候補がこの都市に足を踏み入れるというのは、もはや“移動”ではなく、“軍事行動”のようだった。街全体が、ひとつの生きた神経網のように、その動線を受け止めていた。
歩道の柵沿いには、スマートフォンを高く掲げる市民と、顔を強張らせた報道カメラマンたちが入り混じっていた。群衆は押し黙り、ただエンジンのうなりと回転灯の光に照らされながら、目の前を通り過ぎる車列を見守っていた。まるで映画のワンシーンのようだが、空気は静まり返り、誰一人として軽口を叩く者はいない。
ガーデン周辺の屋上には狙撃班が配備され、時折、無線越しに「クリア」の声が交錯した。建物内の全階層には顔認証を通過した要員だけが配置され、冷房の効いたジャックのいる監視室では、数百台のカメラ映像が数秒ごとに切り替わっている。
大統領候補が乗ると目されるリムジンの車内は暗く、ガラス越しに人影すら映らない。だが、その曇りのない窓には、目に見えない幾重もの防御層が仕込まれていることを、現場の誰もが理解していた。命を守るために設計された沈黙と、殺気を孕んだ秩序が、車列全体を覆っている。
背後から、２機のブラックホークが上空をなめるように飛来し、ガーデンの屋上でホバリングを始めた。万が一の脱出手段であり、また、この場が“戦場”であることを暗に示す存在だった。
ジャックは、ガーデン地下三階の指令室で、モニターの青白い光に顔を照らされながら、無線に耳を傾けていた。
「イーグル、地下駐車場レベルB3にて停車完了。ポイント・ゼブラ通過。接近までTマイナス45秒」
耳元のイヤーピースから流れるその声に、彼は無意識に唇を噛んだ。手元のカップに入ったコーヒーは、すでにぬるくなっていた。
モニターには分割されたカメラ映像がずらりと並んでいる。第七通りのバリケード、スタンバイ中の狙撃手、そして今、地下駐車場の入口に黒いリムジンが滑り込む様子が映し出されていた。
空気が一気に張り詰めた。誰もが秒針の音を意識し始め、静寂の中に微かな緊張が走った。ジャックの指が、わずかに震えながらも無線の送信ボタンに触れた。
場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン１
エレベーターに乗ったジャックは、手にしたドーナツの箱を持ち替えると、地下三階へのボタンを押した。冷房の効いたエレベーター内で下っていくランプを見上げたまま、額の汗を拭った。熱した地上からの温度差で多少視界が滲んでいた。
降りて、右手に行くと、すぐ左側にブリーフィングルームの扉があり、よれたスーツを着たセキュリティーの男性がジャックに挨拶した。
「みなさん、もうお待ちですよ」
ジャックはセンサーの前に立ち、静かに顔を向けた。数秒後、「アクセス承認」の電子音とともに、重たい防火扉が左右に開いた。
クリアするとジャックは、口元を緩めていった。
「ドーナツ買ってきたよ。あとでみんなで食べてくれ」
セキュリティーの男性は、白い歯を見せ、サングラス越しに微笑んだ。
厚い防音扉を越えると、薄暗い空間に32面のモニターが青白く光っていた。スタッフが機器の合間を縫って、言葉少なに忙しなく行き交っていく。室内には低く唸るサーバーの音と、時折アラート音だけが響いている。部屋の中央には指揮官席、その周囲に円を描くように並んだワークステーション。壁面いっぱいの巨大スクリーンには、アリーナ内400台以上のカメラがライブ映像を忙しなく切り替え、流し続けている。客席、ロビー、通路、VIPラウンジ、搬入口、ステージ裏、電気設備室、地下通路….
もしも地下通路にねずみが一匹現れたら、下水溝まで追跡できるはずだ。
ジャックは指揮官席に腰を下ろし、前方に据え付けられたグースネックマイクのスイッチを押した。しなる首元がわずかに揺れ、赤いインジケーターが点灯した。
「みんな、ドーナツを買ってきた。残念ながらグレーズドは売り切れだった。ボストンクリーム、チョコフロステッド、ストロベリーフロステッド、オールドファッション、以上だ。コーヒーもないからな。勝手に飲むように」
「ジャック、俺はオールドファッションな」
搬入口にいるベンが、耳に伸びたセキュリティイヤピースの透明なチューブを整えながら、襟元に指を添え、モニター越しに呟いた。
ジャックは軽く微笑み返してから、声を整え、目の前のマイクに向かって、真剣に伝えた。
「まもなく、イーグルがやってくる。ベンのいる搬入口から入り、３分でVIPルームへ。１５分の打ち合わせ後、アリーナへ登壇する。もう一度確認するが、今夜は大統領候補の指名が正式に確定する全国党大会だ。共和党は、２０年以上振りにここで開催するらしい。それから、フィアンセのエリノア・ブレイクもいっしょだ。容姿端麗な才女だ。見惚れるなよ。お前らが見惚れていいのは筋肉隆々の荒くれものだけだ。さらに副大統領候補のコール・ハリソンもいっしょだ。口の悪いジャスティンのお目付役だ。何を言われても決して殴り返すな。俺があとで殴られるからな」
ジャックは腕時計を見た。
「あと１分で到着だ。ジャスティン一行が帰宅したら、ドーナツをたらふく食べてくれ。以上だ」
画面左側に映ったVIPラウンジに見入っていたダリルが、ジャックの背中にいった。
「ジャック、病院のイライジャにも確認したほうがいい。ちゃんと待機しているようにってね」
ジャックは背を向けたまま、腕を上げて返答するとイライジャに問いかけた。
「聞こえるか、イライジャ。お前がスタバでくつろいでると疑われてるぞ、ダリルに」
イライジャは、笑いながら即答した。背後に、ベルビュー病院内の忙しないアナウンスが走っている。のんびりしたイライジャの声とは正反対だ。
「ダリル、なんでばれた？ そろそろジャックの首を飛ばそうと思ってさ」
椅子を回転させたダリルは、右手のモニターに目を落としながら、イライジャに笑いながらいった。
「お前のところに、ジャスティンが運ばれないことを祈るよ」
ジャックは、二人の会話を遮った。
「全員、スタートだ。ジャスティンが到着した。打ち合わせどおりに。頼んだぞ」
場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン３ ジャスティン、エリノア、コール
リムジンのドアが内側から開き、ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードは短くため息をついて足を踏み出した。
「まったく、息が詰まるな。地下駐車場なんて、野良犬でも嫌がる」
スーツの裾を片手で乱暴に払いつつ、顔をしかめて辺りを見回した。その後ろから、副大統領候補のコール・ハリソンが静かに車を降りた。彼はジャスティンより8歳年上だったが、かつてはその父、ライサス・ブラッドフォードのもとで行動を共にし、彼が民主党に籍を置き、狙撃により命を落とすその時まで、傍らで支え続けていた。ライサスが声なき国民の想いを代弁しようとする姿に、コールは深い感銘を受けていた。
大きなあくびをこぼしたジャスティンに、コールは穏やかに言った。
「セキュリティ上の最善策だ。外は、あまりにも不確定要素が多い。危険だ」
「コールの言動の方がよほど先が読めないけどね」
「ジャスティン、そのままお前に返すよ」
ジャスティンの皮肉に、コールは軽く微笑みながら冷静に返した。
エリノア・ブレイクの白いハイヒールが、駐車場の暗いコンクリートに静かに降りた。淡いベージュのコートを羽織った彼女は、ヒールの音も控えめに、優雅に車外へ降り立った。地下の濁った空気に微かに眉を寄せながらも、すぐに笑みを浮かべ直し、ジャスティンに歩み寄った。
「ジャスティン、スタッフにつまらない冗談はやめてね。みんな、あなたのために命を投げ出す人たちよ」
彼女の声は柔らかいが、芯のあるものだった。
ジャスティンは少し顔をほころばせ、エリノアの頬に軽いキスをした。
「命か…なら、俺もその期待に応えないとな」
セキュリティーに囲われた三人は地下駐車場の薄暗い通路へと歩みを進めた。所々薄汚れた壁と天井のLEDライトが冷たく落ちている。冷たさと静寂が辺りを覆っている。
「この手の通路は、いつ見ても気が滅入るな」
ジャスティンが呟いた。
「気持ちはわかるけど、ここが最も安全なルートよ」エリノアが柔らかく返す。コールが間を埋めるように言った。
「こうした環境だからこそ、私たちが守られている。感謝するべきだ」
しばらく歩くと、要人専用エレベーターの前に到着した。壁の顔認証システムが稼働し、認証音が静かに鳴った。
「VIPルームまであと少しです」
セキュリティーのひとりがジャスティンらに告げた。
ジャスティンは背後のエリノアをちらりと見て、肩をすくめていった。
「今夜、ガーデンを震わそう」
エリノアが彼の腕に軽く触れ、優しく笑いかけた。
「期待してるわ、ジャスティン」
三人は静かにエレベーターに乗り込み、VIPルームへと向かった。
場面 トットラーメン アナ、ミカ、車列
—— 赤、黄色、青 ——
イースト52丁目に小雨が舞い始めたのは、午後七時を少し過ぎた頃だった。
アナは、トットラーメンの隣にある古いビルの壁面にもたれ、右手に見える十字路の信号をぼんやりと眺めていた。蒸し返すような湿気がコンクリートにまとわりつき、行き交う人々の足取りもどこか重たかった。
信号が青に変わった。額の汗をハンカチで拭いながら、アナが目を細めると、十字路の向こうにカナの姿が見えた。彼女は手を振りながら、笑顔でこちらに駆け出してくる。
そのとき、空気がふいに変わった。十字路の向こうから、黒いSUVの車列が音もなく滑り込んできた。先頭車両の到着から、最後尾の装甲リムジンが去るまでの数十秒間、交差点は完全に封鎖され、誰も通ることができなかった。
車列が去ると、信号が切り替わり、ふたたび人の流れが戻り、動き出した。
カナがその人波の中からふたたび現れ、手を振った。
展示を終えたアナたちは、ミカの車に荷物を積み終えたあと、マンハッタンへ移動していた。
アナの夫アルジュンは、ウィリアムズバーグにあるAI・クラウド・サイバーセキュリティを手がける複合企業「ルミナテック・イノベーションズ」に勤めている。今日は休日だったが、彼だけハドソンヤードで会議があり、アナらとは別行動だった。
トットラーメンはその近くにあり、以前ミカに連れてきてもらってから、アナたち夫婦のお気に入りになっていた。
「おまたせ。今日は朝から素敵だったね」
息を切らせながら駆け寄ったミカが、そう言った。
“素敵”というのは、今朝の高級スーツをまとった二人の男のことだ。
アナは興味なさそうに答えた。
「そうね。ミカはああいう男性が好み？」
ミカは首をすくめ、笑って言った。
「うーん、かなり遠い存在かな。私は、すぐ実家に帰れるくらいの距離感が好き」
二人は笑い合いながら、ラーメン店の引き戸を開け、カウンターに並んで腰掛けた。店内は週末のため、アジア系の家族で賑わっていた。ミカの聞き慣れた日本語が遠くのカウンターから聞こえてくる。
アナのiPhoneが震えた。アルジュンからのビデオ通話だった。
画面をタッチすると、アルジュンが申し訳なさそうな表情で映った。
「会議が延びてる。少し遅れるから、先に食べててくれ」
アナは、静かに答えた。
「気をつけて来てね。さっきすごい車の軍団が流れていったわよ」
アルジュンは、即答した。
「今日はガーデンで、共和党の大会があるらしい。次期大統領候補が立つらしいよ」
傍で聞いていたミカが深々と頷きながら、同意した。
「なんか朝から物々しいのよね。いつもの週末と違うわ」
ーーーーーーーーー
場面 レッドフック１ アミール、ラフィ
レッドフックは、ブルックリンの中でも異質だった。
高層ビルの影に守られ、風雨に洗われた赤レンガの倉庫と錆びた港湾クレーンが、風に軋んでいる街だ。やってくる潮の匂いが重なるたびに上塗りされ、倉庫の鉄の扉に赤錆を浮かせていく。
鍵の壊れたフェンスの向こう、何年も使われていなかった倉庫の扉が静かに開いた。
アミールは一歩踏み入れ、光のない空間に目を慣らした。コンクリートに染み込んだ油の臭いが鼻をついた。
「ここから始めよう」
その声に、ラフィが黙って頷いた。
ふたりが初めてここにやってきたのは５年前の冬だ。イスラエルによってガザ地区ですべてを失った二人は、合法的にエジプトからトルコを経由し、メキシコの南部タパチュラへ行き、コヨーテと呼ばれる密入国請負人と接触した。ラフィは密入国業者へ一人あたり１２，０００ドルを支払った。すべて、北朝鮮経由でハッキングした仮想通貨での支払いだ。金の出どころは、北朝鮮系ハッカー集団を通じて奪ったコインだった。アミールの手でコードが組まれ、記録は消された。彼らは、血を流さずに数字を流して国境を超えたのだ。その後、国境のフェンスを夜に潜り、陸路でアメリカに入った。
テキサスの夜空は、彼らが見たことのないほど青黒かった。低く、澄んだ深い青の美しさは、彼らの胸にいくらかの希望を与えていたが、それ以上に憎しみの強さが上回っていた。
ーーーー
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これまでのメモ
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
舞台はニューヨークです。
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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"Lopsided Smile"
circa 1946 Chevy pick up under the full moon at a Central Valley Junkyard
262 sec, f/8, ISO 100, 20 mm focal length
Swirls of chocolate, caramel and cream – this image is definitely one to trigger sweet-toothed cravings. Smooth cream-coloured plateaus surrounded by cocoa-dusted ridges interspersed with caramel-hued streaks create a scene reminiscent of a cosmic cappuccino.
This picture is, perhaps surprisingly, from ESA’s Mars Express, which has been exploring and imaging the martian surface and atmosphere since 2003. We may be used to seeing numerous images of red and brown-hued soil and ruddy landscapes peppered with craters, but the Red Planet isn’t always so red.
The bright white region of this image shows the icy cap that covers Mars’ south pole, composed of frozen water and carbon dioxide. While it looks smooth in this image, at close quarters the cap is a layered mix of peaks, troughs and flat plains, and has been likened in appearance to swiss cheese.
The southern cap reaches some 3 km thick in places, and is around 350 km in diameter. This icy region is permanent; in the martian winter another, thinner ice cap forms over the top of it, stretching further out across the planet and disappearing again when the weather warms up.
The cap is around 150 km north of Mars’ geographical south pole and Mars Express has shed light on why this ice cap is displaced. Deep impact craters – notably the Hellas Basin, the largest impact structure on the entire planet at 7 km deep and 2300 km across – funnel the strong winds that blow across Mars towards its southern pole, creating a mix of different low- and high-pressure systems. The carbon dioxide in the polar cap sublimates at different rates in these regions with contrasting pressure, resulting in the cap’s lopsided structure.
Mars Express imaged this area of Mars on 17 December 2012, in infrared, green and blue light, using its High Resolution Stereo Camera. This image was processed by Bill Dunford, using data available from the ESA Planetary Science Archive.
Credit: ESA/DLR/FU Berlin / Bill Dunford
“There were two moons in the sky – a small moon and a large one. They were floating there side by side. The large one was the usual moon that she had always seen. It was nearly full, and yellow. But there was another moon right next to it. It had an unfamiliar shape. It was somewhat lopsided, and greenish, as though thinly covered with moss. This was what her vision had seized upon. Aomame stared at the two moons with narrowed eyes. Then she closed her eyes, let a moment pass, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes again, expecting to find that everything had returned to normal and there was only one moon. But nothing had changed. The light was not playing tricks on her, nor had her eyesight gone strange. There could be no doubt that two moons were clearly floating in the sky side by side – a yellow one and a green one.”
1Q84, Haruki Murakami
Something that has been bothering me with the traditional 7.2s diameter cylinder technique is how the 45 degree slopes create pretty nasty gaps in the shape, and the only way to shrink those gaps is to make the shape lopsided. I’m extremely excited to announce that I have found a solution. This technique can easily be duplicated and used in a series to lengthen the cylinder. The yellow clip plates on the outside can be swapped for normal plates.
In this image you can see how turntable top plates are used to hold pieces on the outer edge while still allowing clearance for the angled sections. I’m looking forward to using this technique on some upcoming locomotive boilers!
A pretty trashy photo of my sweet Trixi. She is over 20 and suffers from arthrosis and muscle loss. That's why her posture is crooked and lopsided. Nevertheless, she shows a lot of energy for life. She is now getting painkillers and i hope it helps her. (Minox 35 ML, Fomapan 400, self-dev. with Adox FX-39ll)
Suretta Lisker
INTJ, 63, Professional Extrovert, ASD, ADHD MentorAuthor has 14.9K answers and 28M answer views9y
Originally Answered: Do you agree with the statement that "what you see in other people is a reflection of yourself"? Why and why not?
I was brought up with that adage, but it was not correctly explained to me.
I was told that, "What you see wrong with others, is wrong about yourself." That's not entirely true, and it created a great deal of distress, because I wondered how bad I was since I saw other people as bad.
What the statement really means, is that there is a reason you see or feel things in others. For instance, if you see someone as unsafe, it means you know the difference between safety and danger. <-- that's the reflection.
If you see someone as insincere, it means the reflection is that you can sense insincerity because you are, in fact, sincere.
Had I understood this growing up, I would not have developed the paranoia I have now. I thought that the reason I didn't trust people was because I was untrustworthy, not because I knew the difference between the truth and a lie.
Research indicates a person’s own behavior is the primary driver of how they treat others
Diana Yates, University of Illinois News Bureau
August 9, 2023
What is selfish behavior? Selfishness is defined as the tendency to act in one's own interests without regard for the impact on others. New research shows that a person’s own behavior is the primary driver of how they treat others during brief, zero-sum-game competitions.
Generous people tend to reward generous behavior and selfish individuals often punish generosity and reward selfishness – even when it costs them personally. The study found that an individual’s own generous or selfish deeds carry more weight than the attitudes and behaviors of others.
The findings are reported in the journal Cognitive Science.
Previous research into this arena of human behavior suggested that social norms are the primary factor guiding a person’s decision-making in competitive scenarios, said Paul Bogdan, a PhD candidate at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign who led the research in the Beckman Institute for Advanced Science and Technology with U. of I. psychology professors Florin Dolcos and Sanda Dolcos.
“The prevailing view before this study was that individuals form expectations based on what they view as typical. If everyone around me is selfish, then I’m going to learn to accept selfishness and behave accordingly,” Bogdan said. “But we show that your judgments of other people’s behavior really depend on how you behave yourself.”
To test the factors that guide expectations and drive behavior, the researchers conducted a series of experiments involving the Ultimatum Game, which captures how an individual responds to offers from another player proposing to split a pot of money with them. The game requires the proposer to suggest how much each person receives of a $10 pot. The receiver must decide whether to agree to that split or reject it. If the offer is rejected, neither participant receives any money. Rejection can be seen as a form of punishment, even though it costs both players, the researchers said.
Some people tend to be generous – or at least fair – when offering another person a portion of a $10 reward. Others try to take as much of the money as they can, offering lopsided splits that benefit themselves at the expense of their competitors.
When on the receiving end of an offer, generous people tend to accept only generous offers, while selfish people are happy with selfish offers – even though the other player’s selfishness hurts them financially, the researchers found. Having the players switch between receiving and proposing offers allowed the team to explore the relationship between a player’s selfish or generous behavior and their evaluation of other players’ offers.
Further experiments showed that generous and selfish individuals tend to trust others who behave as they themselves do, regardless of the economic outcome.
Sanda Dolcos, Florin Dolcos, Paul Bodgan
In a new study, psychology professors Sanda Dolcos, left, and Florin Dolcos and PhD candidate Paul Bogdan, right, tracked how a person’s own behavior guides their expectations of others’ generosity or selfishness. Photo by L. Brian Stauffer
“Participants will gain more money with a generous person. But a selfish person will prefer to play with someone who behaves as they do,” Bogdan said. “People really like others who are similar to themselves – to a shocking degree.”
The team also evaluated data from a previous cross-cultural study that found that individuals sometimes punish others for their selfishness or for their generosity in a collaborative game involving resource sharing. They found that, when deciding whether and how much to punish others, participants were guided primarily by their own behavior and less by the pressure to conform. People who behaved generously tended to punish selfishness and people who put their own welfare first were much more likely to punish generosity – even in situations where one approach was more common than the other.
Cultural norms toward self-interest or generosity do influence people, as other studies have found, Florin Dolcos said. “But we are not only observers. This study is showing that we filter information about the world through our own view.”
Those individuals whose behavior switched from generous to selfish over time were more likely to punish generosity and reward selfishness – but only after their own behavior changed, the team found.
This helps explain the phenomenon of social alignment, for better and for worse, Florin Dolcos said.
“You may have groups of selfish people who are more accepting of other selfish people, and in order to be part of that group, newcomers might display the same behavior,” he said.
Ultimately, the study finds that a person’s own generous or selfish nature drives their behavior in many arenas of life, Sanda Dolcos said.
“This is not just about decision-making,” she said. “It has practical relevance to many types of social interactions and social evaluations.”
The paper “Social expectations are primarily rooted in reciprocity: An investigation of fairness, cooperation and trustworthiness” is available online. DOI: 10.1111/cogs.13326
las.illinois.edu/news/2023-08-09/study-finds-people-expec...
Kristin Dombek’s The Selfishness of Others begins by introducing three characters. There’s Allison, one of the stars of the MTV reality show My Super Sweet 16. (For her birthday parade, she had an entire block of Atlanta shut down, right in front of a hospital: “They can just go around,” she said.) Next is Tucker Max, the celebrity whose books and blog posts about “getting wasted and sportfucking” made him a hero among pickup artists and men’s rights activists. And then there’s Anders Breivik, who in 2011 killed eight people with a car bomb in Oslo, Norway. After that he proceeded to a summer camp, where he shot and killed 69 more. He would later claim that the massacres were a publicity stunt to promote his 1,500-page manifesto deriding women and Muslims, and featuring pictures of him smiling in Knights Templar costumes.
If Breivik seems like an outlier—if the comparison with two relatively harmless figures strikes you as inappropriate—this is intentional. The millennial girl, the bad boyfriend and the murderer: these examples show the range of our obsession with narcissism, a condition we hear more and more about these days. As I write this, half the country is still reeling from the election of a self-absorbed millionaire (or billionaire, if you believe his boasts) whom numerous psychologists have publicly diagnosed as a narcissist, while an online petition calling for the Republican Party to #DiagnoseTrump has been signed by more than thirty-four thousand people.
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Dombek begins her own discussion on more personal ground, in the depths of what she calls the “narcisphere.” This is her name for the metastasizing cluster of blogs, vlogs, quizzes and support communities where self-described victims gather to vent and to discuss the behaviors of their personal “narcs.” One website, the Web of Narcissism, quotes Dracula and employs gothic castle imagery; its members, who call themselves “keyboard faeries,” trade recommendations for media about sociopaths and vampires, enacting narc victimhood as a kind of underground subculture. There are many gurus and experts to choose from in the narcisphere, but their advice converges on one remedy. If you find yourself in a relationship with a narcissist—and you’ll know because they withhold care and attention, or do not seem to love you with the exclusivity you deserve—then the only solution is to cut your losses and get out. The narcissist can’t love you, and trying to change them is hopeless.
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What’s tempting about this “narciscript,” as Dombek calls it, is that it reduces a complicated situation (e.g. the average relationship) to a heavily weighted binary: Do I continue to extend an imprudent empathy, or do I go cold, the way the other person already has, in the interest of self-preservation? Clearly the latter course is the more “reasonable” one, but the moment I take it—go cold, withdraw, run—is the moment I can no longer safely distinguish my own behavior from the narcissist’s. “The script confirms itself,” Dombek writes, “and the diagnosis and the treatment confound the evidence, until it gets harder and harder” to tell whether the word “narcissism” describes anything at all. This is why, although The Selfishness of Others seems to promise an investigation of whether the “narcissism epidemic” (as it’s been called) is real, the book’s main interest derives from Dombek’s posing of another question, which may shed new light on our urge to #DiagnoseTrump: What’s at stake for us in believing it’s real?
Dombek spent the first part of her life in Philadelphia, where she was homeschooled by her parents, affable-sounding Jesus freaks she has described as “long-haired, corduroy-bell-bottom-wearing, antiauthoritarian biblical literalists.” When she was nine her father became sick with a host of terminal illnesses and the family relocated to a farm in Indiana, where they lived with a lot of animals: according to one (maybe exaggerated) list there were “not only about twenty cats and a dog but a half-dozen roving demented geese and two ornery pebble-shit-spewing goats and a couple dozen hysterical hens and a tyrannical rooster named Sam.” After high school Dombek attended Calvin College, a Christian Reformed (Calvinist) school in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She struggled to fit in with her classmates, who had all grown up in suburban neighborhoods.
As a freshman, Dombek became politically active in the fight against abortion—a practice she firmly believed, along with her parents and many of her friends, was not only murder but “a first step toward state-run infanticide and euthanasia.” At church, she and her friends watched films of months-old fetuses writhing in pain as machines snapped them apart piece by piece. Dombek would describe the anguish of those images in “The Two Cultures of Life,” her first article for n+1. The essay, which questions the left-right polarization of the abortion issue, contains many of the hallmarks of Dombek’s later work, including her attempt to bypass either-or distinctions by staging an argument on the page, and her insistence on directing empathy toward those viewed as incapable of returning it: the fetus, the animal, the murderer.
The year after she participated in an anti-abortion march in Washington, Dombek picked up smoking, started wearing flannel shirts and declared herself a Marxist. But her belief in the importance of empathizing across ideological and (sometimes) ontological boundaries seems to have persisted, along with her certainty that, as she writes in “Two Cultures,” “if it looks like violence, it is.” Studying literature at NYU after college, she emphasized persuading secular people to be “more empathetic toward fundamentalists, even those who conduct or support great atrocities.”
Her dissertation, “Shopping for the End of the World,” drew on the ideas of the French philosopher and literary theorist René Girard, who was interested in the ways that violence emerged within social groups. We tend to believe that violence happens when people don’t understand or empathize with one another, but Girard argued, first in Deceit, Desire and the Novel (1961) and later in Things Hidden Since the Foundation of the World (1978), that violence springs just as much from our similarities. We think we desire things and people for their particular qualities but, according to Girard, this is an illusion; all desire is in fact an anticipatory mirroring of the desires of those closest to us. When two people reach for the same thing at once, as they inevitably will, not only are they hurled into conflict over that thing; they are also each confronted with disturbing evidence that their deepest self is little more than a bundle of imitations. Desperate to destroy the bearer of such news, they lash out. And because violence, too, is mimetic, it spreads through the community in a destructive, destabilizing feedback loop.
According to Girard, archaic societies developed a stopgap solution to these epidemics of violence: ritual sacrifice. (All archaic societies, apparently: Girard, who based his theory of sacrifice on readings of ancient myth rather than direct anthropological research, had a tendency to overgeneralize.) The group would select a scapegoat, and the selection itself was a significant decision. Ideally, this being—whether human or some other animal—would be enough like the sacrificers themselves that destroying or exiling it would satisfy the sacrificer’s need to banish what they hated. At the same time, the scapegoat needed to seem, or be made to seem, inhuman enough that everyone could safely assume its suffering didn’t count. This is how Dombek’s interest in empathy led her to the narcissist—the being our society often claims is too inhuman to truly suffer.
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The first people labeled as narcissists, writes Dombek, were almost exclusively homosexuals and women—and for Freud, who popularized the label, almost all homosexuals and women were narcissists. Beautiful women, whom Freud compared to children and “certain animals which seem not to concern themselves about us,” seemed to him particularly resistant to therapeutic practice. To his mind, the abnormal resistance of these women to transference—love, basically—appeared to be a form of regression. Normal, healthy people start their lives in a similar state of selfish inaccessibility, he reasoned, but eventually they develop the capacity for empathy and love. The narcissist, for Freud, was the person who maintained or returned to this self-sufficiency.
Dombek’s criticism of the Freudian interpretation of narcissism draws from another work by Girard. In “Narcissism: The Freudian Myth Demystified by Proust,” Girard compared famous passages from Proust about desire with Freud’s vaguely moralistic theorizing about his desirable patients. The similarities he found were remarkable. Both writers ascribed to their subjects an inhuman autonomy, compared them with children and animals (specifically birds: large birds of prey in Freud’s case, seagulls in Proust’s) and marveled at their indifference to those around them. The difference was that Proust didn’t present his descriptions as true. “There is no such thing as a ‘real,’ objective narcissism for Proust,” Girard writes. It’s just less painful, when someone doesn’t feel about us like we feel about them, to believe that they’re incapable of feeling. What looks to us like someone else’s arrogance, according to this line of thinking, is actually our own inverted neediness.
Are these insights about scapegoating and the “narcissistic illusion” (as Girard called it) helpful for understanding today’s “narcissism epidemic”? The claims that narcissism is becoming pathological on the level of the whole culture go back to at least the late Seventies, when Tom Wolfe’s “The Me Decade” (1976) made the cover of New York and Christopher Lasch’s The Culture of Narcissism (1979) became a national best seller. Despite Lasch’s scattershot approach—sections of The Culture of Narcissism are devoted to confessional writing, radical feminism and the use of AstroTurf in sports stadiums—his account of “the new narcissist” remained firmly rooted in psychoanalytic theory: specifically, Dombek notes, that of the analyst Otto Kernberg, who modified Freud’s theory by positing that the narcissist’s performance of self-sufficiency was part of a compensatory attempt to fill a vacuum of self-esteem.
Just as Lasch’s book was published, however, scientists began laying the tracks for the more clinical conception of the condition that prevails today. In 1979, two social psychologists developed the Narcissistic Personality Inventory (NPI), a diagnostic tool that reduced Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) (enshrined in the DSM as a mental illness the next year) to a set of eight traits. The NPI is a forced-choice questionnaire, which means it tests NPD by asking subjects to select from a pair of statements—for example, “Sometimes I tell good stories” or “Everybody likes to hear my stories”—which it then correlates with clinical traits. The resulting numerical score tells you next to nothing about the individual test-taker, not even whether that person is a narcissist (as the test’s creators readily admitted). But it makes it much easier to generalize across large sample sizes.
In The Narcissism Epidemic (2009), for instance, social psychologists Jean Twenge and W. Keith Campbell reported that because millennials scored 30 percent higher on the Narcissistic Personality Inventory than ever before, they were likely the most self-involved generation in history. But according to Dombek, the study the book was based on actually only revealed that a “slight majority of students in 2006 answered, on average, one or two more questions in the narcissistic direction than did those in 1986.” Another caveat is that the people surveyed in Twenge and Campbell’s study were not just American college students, but specifically freshman psychology students, participating for course credit—an extremely common form of institutional bias which leads Dombek to wonder how much of popularly reported psychology research “would actually be more accurately framed as an understanding of what young psychology students think about themselves.”
The problem is not just that studies using this paradigm mask an absence of real knowledge, although this is a problem. More importantly, by presenting narcissism as a diagnosis with a firm empirical basis, journalists quoting social psychologists often make it seem like a condition someone—or a whole group of someones—just has. For researchers, this sort of shorthand isn’t unusual—it’s more or less how most sciences operate. But such research isn’t usually being cited to support sweeping claims about entire generations, nor to explain the behavior of our bad boyfriends, murderers and politicians.
The fact that, with narcissism in particular, such labeling has become so common, speaks in favor of Dombek’s suggestion that the narcissist occupies a special place in our social imagination. For Twenge and Campbell, millennials play the role of arch-villains in a story about our culture’s refusal to grow up. More recently, many of us have focused our attention on a villain who looks very different from a millennial, though we call him the same name we call them. Which makes one wonder what, in this case, is the underlying sameness that we’re hoping to purge.
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It’s likely no coincidence that one of the terms commentators often used to describe the political divides of the 2016 presidential campaign—“echo chamber”—brings us back to the Narcissus myth. In the classic version told by Ovid, Echo is a girl who, cursed by Hera, can only speak by repeating what others say. In the forest she falls hopelessly in love with the beautiful Narcissus, but when she tries to embrace him he reacts fearfully, with angry words that she can only whisper back to him; then he abandons her in favor of his own reflection in a dark pool. In our modern rendition, the term “chamber” is supposed to suggest a technological component to the problem, but the basic story is the same. In it, the other side of whatever divide—political, ideological, demographic—is imagined as being trapped in the echo chamber of “fake news” and bias-confirming feeds, while “we” play the role of Echo. We want to communicate, but the only way our voices can carry across the divide is if we repeat exactly what the other side already believes.
Although the echo chamber presents itself as a tragic picture, Dombek can help us recognize its flattering features. We, the ones who bemoan being stuck in our chamber, desire earnestly to reach out to the other side. They, the narcissistic ones, refuse to leave their chamber and meet us halfway. Scapegoating has always been an effective political tactic, and it is one Trump used ably, if offensively, during his campaign. But if Dombek and Girard are right that narcissism functions today largely as a scapegoating technique—a way of justifying coldness, maybe even violence, toward the one we label the narcissist—then it is Trump himself who emerges as the ultimate scapegoat, precisely because of his refusal to even pretend to care what his adversaries think.
Other presidents, after they win, at least make a show of reaching out; our narcissist-in-chief just keeps insulting us. Apparently he’s seeing other people, or maybe he really does just look into his reflection on TV all day. In any case, a better pretext for our own unapologetic anger and hatred could hardly be imagined. Which is a relief, in a way: all that empathizing can be exhausting.
The problem is only that, as Girard believed, scapegoating could never truly end violence or hatred, because, in misidentifying its source, it leads us to think we’re outside the dynamics responsible for it. “The moment you begin to find that the other lacks empathy—when you find him inhuman,” Dombek writes, “is a moment when you can’t feel empathy, either.” We say, this is how things are, fair or not. Either they burn, or we do.
This is a "flag tree," one that has a lopsided look because the prevailing winds have stripped the branches on that side. Seen at Mt. Rainier National Park.
The iconic Damrak Narrow Houses. They are narrow because in the 16th century, how wide a building was would determine how much taxes the residents would pay. The buildings also appear to be lopsided as some of the buildings were built on wooden stilts or piles over marshy ground and over time, either the stilts warped due to age or they sank as the buildings were renovated and extra floors would be added increasing the weight of the building.
If you visit this wonderful Long Gallery in Little Morton Hall, Cheshire.... you'd better have your 'sea legs' on!
Circa 1504
The Long Gallery seems to have been an afterthought, conceived during the construction of the gatehouse on which it sits. Arch-braced roof trusses support the weight of the heavy stone slates on the roof, while the gallery itself is loaded directly onto the first-floor ceiling joists.
The entire South wing has little or no foundation, this explains the lopsided appearance of the house. Iron-tie rods were inserted at the end of the nineteenth century as a further precaution against collapse, but the crooked and bowed windows, floors, panelling and beams all combine to make visitors to Little Moreton feel just a little seasick! It has been suggested that the heavily decorated fireplace in the Upper Porch Room, just off the Long Gallery, is the only true vertical in the house!.
Number 32. Made of Wood. theme for 115 pictures in 2015
I'm still on my rainbow kick! You know, it's harder to find blue fruits & veggies than you think. It's pretty much just blueberries, at least Re-ment-wise. Tons of red, yellow and green. So much red, yellow and green that I didn't get to use everything that I have. I did find more purple or purple-ish than I thought there would be. It worked out pretty well, the proper colors are aross from each other. It's a tad lopsided, but I still like it. :D
I'm not even going to attempt to list all the various collections these come from, so I'll list just a few that have several of the items. Let me know if you have questions, I'll be happy to answer.
-From the Farm 1
www.re-ment.co.jp/products/sanchoku/index.html
-From the Farm 2
www.re-ment.co.jp/products/sanchoku2/index.html
-From the Farm 3
www.re-ment.co.jp/products/umaimon/index.html
-Farmer's Market
www.re-ment.co.jp/products/yaoya/index.html
-Mimo Fruit Stand
www.flickr.com/photos/24617799@N06/9394041581/in/set-7215...
-Orcara Fruit Collection
www.flickr.com/photos/etradersplace/4067330207/in/gallery...
Another MHA figure!
Enøshima asked me to make him next, plus he's just funny, so here's Best Jeanist.
I made his "turtleneck" with electrical tape, and his jacket, pants cuffs, and boots as well.
For his hair, I cut the back off of an old Luke Skywalker hairpiece, and modified the cut piece to look like bangs. I then glued it onto the front of the hair.
He just has a Lego Clone Wars head, and Superboy's legs.
That's all. Pretty simple custom, really, but I think it looks good. Other than the fact that his turtleneck is still lopsided...DX
Let me know what you think of him!
Our Dad Swan sails along happily, not caring that one wing's lost a lot more feathers than the other - no matter, they're still pretty impressive. He's still moulting, leaving little souvenirs everywhere he goes, like the mini-feather at the lower right!
I looked at this again and the buildings look a little lopsided. Oh well... This is at San Francisco's museum of modern art...
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This is "Valentine" ... our little rescue puppy!
We found him on ebay LAST February ... and he has been patiently waiting all this time ...
for his turn in the spotlight :)
He was for adoption by a fundraiser seller/group ... and he was priced really low, due the fact that one of his little "stitches" had come undone, so he has a little lopsided smile ...
WHICH of course, is what made his so endearing and irresistible ... and heck, for a worthy cause ... why not!?
He is here today, with Miss Epiphany Estelle ... to help us present the:
Blythe Fifth Avenue
Fourteen Days of LOVE
A Valentine Holiday Photo Series
FEBRUARY 2015
DAY 10: PUPPY LOVE
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Epiphany is wearing a Nancy Ann / Storybook Doll dress; Madame Alexander petticoat;
Red bow shoes by Gotall;
Special Hair bow by Dollymama :) (thank you Amy!)
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A lopsided jetty at Mill Dam on the Greenan Road, Upper Burren Road just outside a small seaside town called Warrenpoint, County Down, Northern Ireland.
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Many thanks for taking the time to view and comment on my photos, your kind words are really appreciated.
© 2014 Jarlath Gray - All Rights Reserved.
"Очи чёрные, очи страстные,
Очи жгучие и прекрасные!
Как люблю я вас, как боюсь я вас!
Знать, увидел вас я в недобрый час!"
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After getting my special order from MMCB, I was finally able to get this guy finished.
Based on an old Creepypasta that faded into obscurity to the point where it got deleted. It was basically about a Russian super soldier experiment in the 50's that went wrong; The Sniper ending up killing Stalin. Just look it up on YouTube and you'll probably find a reading of it. I'll admit it wasn't the best, but I saw a lot of potential in it with the theme it had. And despite his name being "The Sniper" there was never any explicit mention of him doing any snipping, thus I thought it would've been better to stick true to his name and make him more of the LDSK type.You'll probably recall I even made him one of the main characters in my Creeps of the Living Dead series I had going for a while.
Since the original story basically ceases to exist in creepypasta form and as far as I've seen the original author doesn't really care about the story, I've been taking it upon myself to try and reinvent the character. I'm even working on making a new short story for him right now.
I also re-imagined his appearance, since the original story didn't really outline too much - and what was outlined didn't seem fitting to the Cold War-era Soviet Union. The most prominent thing mentioned was his red eyes, it was never clearly explained the reasoning for them. My idea is to justify them as retinal augmentations based off the German ZG 1229 infrared scope. There was mention of him wearing a trench coat, which in the image on the story appeared dark blue. I thought it would be more fitting to swap it out with a more Soviet-looking gray greatcoat. I took a knife to the bottom of the coat to give it more of a warn look. I gave him a 1960's era Soviet uniform for added effect. I also added a large amount of blood and dust effect in different areas.
I'm still trying to get his eyes right. I'd already messed up once and tried again, but every time I do I end up making one a little bigger than the other or one of them too lopsided. Like I said, I'm thinking they'd be like the Zielgerät 1229, but I don't want to make them perfect circles like how the lamp would've been on the Vampir. idk, maybe it's just a matter of doing it on a good day.
Just gonna steer away from the Concours d'Caffeine photos for just a second. Here is a preview of what my photos are going to look like from 2016 onwards. No new camera, no new editing style, just different composition methods, Honestly, I feel that taking photos like this is more pleasing to the eye (or my eye at least) because you have a lot more to look like and it looks more professional. Pre-2016 I was trying to find composition in car show photos (which was basically useless) and I failed miserably as all my photos look lopsided. Now there is no need to even crop the photo because it's straight already. Tell me what you guys think below.
But anyways, here's a cool MG MGB GT I found today parked in the CVS Plaza in Ridgefield, Connecticut. This car used to be under CT Early American plates reading "1F 839".
29 January 2022, Edinburgh Airport
Looking very lopsided as it struggles in the gale force winds brought by Storm Malik.
Something that has been bothering me with the traditional 7.2s diameter cylinder technique is how the 45 degree slopes create pretty nasty gaps in the shape, and the only way to shrink those gaps is to make the shape lopsided. I’m extremely excited to announce that I have found a solution. This technique can easily be duplicated and used in a series to lengthen the cylinder. The yellow clip plates on the outside can be swapped for normal plates. I’m looking forward to using this technique on some upcoming locomotive boilers!
This was taken at the lake near me over the summer. There was a great mix of clouds, both regular and stormy, so yes, that is the real sky.
I can't believe how full those cheeks are especially one side, I think he stuffed a whole peanut in there!
(Camera settings)
Camera: FinePix HS20EXR (FUJIFILM)
Focal Length: 16 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Aperture: f/5
Shutter Speed: 1/120 sec
She really is spectacular. That dippy bow is lopsided. Which of course drives me nuts! Imagine that. It will probably come off in the near future.
London Central route 321: New Cross Gate, Sainsbury's - Foots Cray, Tesco
Approaching New Cross Gate Station (M)
Hybrids are not too common on route 321, but I have noticed quite a few on them recently. As Go-Ahead continue to gain routes and shuffle buses between garages, workings like these are starting to become more frequent.
Excuse the slightly lopsided angle. Although, unintentionally I must admit, it has ended up illustrating the discrete elevation of the road surface here at the entrance of a superstore complex somewhat disconnected from the New Cross Road.
©London Bus Breh 2017.
ok so i know i just posted a similar shot earlier, but after many hours of throwing a ball against my wall, i've decided that i like this one more. i've also realized,in that same amount time, that my face is lopsided & i am jimi hendrix reincarnated. well, i'm not sure about my face but i'm pretty certain about jimi.
inspired by steve mccurry.
The conspiratorial lean and the lopsided smile say that the story she’s telling is clearly getting to one of the good parts.
Unposed shots are just so much more fun. You'd never recapture this as a posed shot.
It’s cool how the gray, urban background makes it look like color-splash, when, other than cropping and watermarking, it’s OOC. And, I love the psychedelic rainbow Tribbles turned into earrings.
24th Annual How Wɘird Street Faire, 14 October, 2023.
Howard Street, San Francisco, CA.
October 25th, 1415. On St. Crispin's day the beleaguered English expeditionary force in France was cornered by the chivalry of France. Outnumbered 5:1 and outclassed by heavy mounted cavalry, the English yeoman archers and foot soldiers claimed one of the most lopsided victories in history suffering a few hundred losses and inflicting over 6000.
The Chinese money plant, also known as the missionary plant, lefse plant, pancake plant, UFO plant, or just pilea (short for its scientific name of Pilea peperomioides) is originally from the southwestern Yunnan province of China. Popular lore maintains that a Norwegian missionary, Agnar Espegren, took cuttings home with him in the 1940s, and shared them with friends and family. Those plants were spread throughout Scandinavia, and eventually the world, as people passed cutting between friends.
Light-wise, the best situation for a Chinese money plant is bright light, with no direct sunlight. Direct sun scorches leaves, and light shade may encourage larger leaves. They're said to be hardy down to freezing, and a period of cool temperatures may make them more likely to produce their tiny white flowers on pink stems.
Care and Maintenance
The Chinese money plant prefers a well-draining potting soil, and a pot with drainage holes is necessary. The soil needs to mostly dry out between waterings, with more watering required in warmer, sunnier weather. If the leaves start to look slightly droopy, that's a sign that the plant needs water. To keep your Chinese money plant nicely shaped, rotate it at least once a week to prevent it from getting lopsided. The large leaves tend to accumulate dust, so these plants benefit from regular showers, or at least wiping down of their leaves. Treat monthly with an all-purpose plant fertilizer during the spring and summer growing seasons. You may also want to put your plant outdoors as temperatures warm, but, again, take care to keep it out of direct sunlight.
the flowerpot is manufactured by Leo Enna