View allAll Photos Tagged Reasoning
Celebrity 90018 in its Freightliner 60 (1965 - 2025) livery draws to a halt at the colour light gantry guarding Golborne Junction with 4M30 the Saturdays only Grangemouth - Crewe 'liner'.
* I took this three weeks ago and have not uploaded reasoning I would eventually get it in sun ... alas not to be, its a rare bird for me.
* Pole @ 3m.
I really can't decide what to post tonight, so I'm going with this one because I like the light, the suggestion of what might be happening off to the left and many of my most recent posts have had a lot of space in them and this one is a little busier! That's the extent of my reasoning really. Hope y'all enjoy.
Truth Unveiled by Time is a marble sculpture by Italian artist Gian Lorenzo Bernini, one of the foremost sculptors of the Italian Baroque. Executed between 1645 and 1652, Bernini intended to show Truth allegorically as a naked young woman being unveiled by a figure of Time above her, but the figure of Time was never executed.
Upon his election to the papacy in 1623, Maffeo Vincenzo Barberini took the name Pope Urban VIII and appointed Bernini as the principal artist for the papal court in Rome. According to Bernini's biographer Baldinucci, Maffeo had 'scarcely ascended the sacred throne' when he summoned Bernini and told him:
"It is your great fortune to see Cardinal Maffeo Barberini Pope, but our fortune is far greater in that Cavalier Bernini lives during our pontificate."
Bernini enjoyed great success during his time as the principal artist for the papal court but, after Urban's death in 1644, he was removed by the incoming pope, Innocent X. The new pope had more conservative tastes and favored Bernini's rival Algardi. Despite the fall from favor this did not stop Bernini from occasionally working for the new pope - One of his most famous works, the Fountain of the Four Rivers, was one of the projects done for Innocent. He still maintained his position as the architect of St. Peter's despite his removal from the papal court and, after Innocent's death in 1655, was immediately given two major commissions at St. Peter's: decorating the Cathedra Petri and building a colonnade round the piazza.
Bernini's rationale for creating Truth Unveiled by Time was, according to his son Domenico, as a sculptural retort to attacks from opponents criticizing his failed project to build two towers onto the front of St. Peter's Basilica. While this is certainly plausible, historians are unsure of the validity of Domenico's claims relating to his father's reasoning. Cracks had appeared in the facade due to the inability of the foundations to support the towers and Bernini's architectural expansion received the blame. What many fail to mention is that most of the blame lies with Carlo Maderno, the previous architect who built weak foundations for the monumental task being requested, and Pope Urban VIII, who kept pressuring Bernini for heavier, more elaborate bell towers.
During the difficult time after Urban's death, Bernini was able to find peace and serenity in his overwhelming confidence that one day he would be vindicated. So strong was this conviction that he created Truth Unveiled by Time to express this confidence in his eventual vindication. Despite this conviction, the sculpture of Father Time was never begun and the project remained incomplete. It has been suggested by historian Franco Mormando that Bernini's return to public favor after Innocent's death might have made the sculptural piece lose the emotional urgency it had previously possessed, which would make sense considering he had been reinstated to his previous place in the upper echelons of society.
To be beyond the bonds of time, “True sight from the Heart” is the key. ― Learning from My Rope Team Friend (and to truly see from the Heart it is learning from my Eterna Friend, Nop). Dated: February 2, 2017
“I can see, and that is why I can be happy, in what you call the dark, but which to me is golden. I can see a God-made world, not a manmade world.” ― Helen Keller
If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves. ― Maria Edgeworth
A hundred year storm, mosquitoes, jaggers and quicksand didn't stop me from shooting this eastbound Wheeling 612 train crossing the Youghiogheny River on the afternoon of August 28th, 2016.
A massive, massive severe thunderstorm had been brewing off to my southeast that was slowly pushing its way to the north prior to the trains arrival. By time the train had shown up, all the light was all but gone due to the thunderstorm approaching.
I later continued towards this storm after shooting the train here - only to crest the ridge behind me and see what a storm it was. Now SWPA is no stranger to some pretty wild thunderstorms in summertime, but wow did this one take the cake.
This same storm ended up causing catastrophic flooding throughout much of the Connellsville, PA area that resulted in a remarkable 5.12 inches of rain! falling within a 2 hour time period. Miraculously - no one was killed, but the property damage left people cleaning up for months to come following the storm. Along with many houses along nearby creeks needing to be demolished for safety reasoning's.
I tried every backroad I knew to try and get around the flooding into Connellsville, but just couldn't due to such a extreme amount of rain falling in that short period. Everything around was completely impassable, so I called it a day and headed for home. Back at home, roughly 35 miles northwest of Connellsville, it had not even so much as drizzled that same evening. Definitely was a day I'll never forget.
Gondolas took us to the top of the summit overlooking Squamish and Howe Sound. It took about 45 minutes to convince my wife to come to the top. Reasoning from my wife's side went something like this, "Are you prepared to die today". She finally acquiesced when i agreed to pay for the tickets and the funerals. I still can't understand her reluctance since she was the Nancy Greene of the ski hills in her home town and rode the chair lifts and gondolas to the mountain tops practically every day of her teenage youth.
Black-figured pinax (plate), late style, depicting a youthful, beardless archer, with hair curly in front, earrings, and a high peaked cap. He also wears a jerkin (jacket) and anaxyrides (trousers) in one piece, stippled all over, with a guilloche pattern down the legs. At his side, his bow and quiver, the latter ornamented with guilloche pattern, with open lid in the form of a wing. He's blowing a trumpet (salpinx) with a phorbeia (chinstrap).
His clothing is almost entirely Scythian in style. Scythian archers were employed as mercenaries in Athens from the mid-sixth century until 514 BCE, with the Persian conquest of Thrace. I assumed this meant he *is* Scythian, but the British Museum has a somewhat odd reasoning behind why they think he's really Greek: he's clean-shaven. Perhaps the trumpet is part of their reasoning ...
This archer is blowing the salpinx, whose sound the Greeks most associated with war. It was the instrument often used for signaling, summoning crowds and starting chariot races. Aristides Quintilianus described the necessity of the salpinx and salpingtis (a player of the salpinx) in battle in his treatise, On Music. He explains that each command to troops was given using specific tones or "melodies" played on the salpinx. This action allowed for an entire army to receive a command at once as well as provide a level of secrecy as these salpinx calls were specific to a group and would be unknown to an opponent. Because it could be difficult to hear its tones over the sound of war, it was generally used before fighting began, to gather the men to battle and sound the charge.
This plate was painted by Psiax, who worked in both the conventional black-figure and the new red-figure techniques. The design, with the single black figure set on a plain clay background, looks like a translation into black-figure of a contemporary red-figure decorative scheme. Comparing it with a red-figure plate by the painter Epiktetos, which also shows a single archer, the opportunities offered by the newer technique are clear. The red-figure archer stands out more boldly against his black background; more varied and intricate patterns can be achieved because the details of his costume are painted rather than incised.
Greek, Attic, ca. 520-500 BCE. Painted by Psiax.
British Museum, London (1867,0508.941)
Driving down to Port Alfred I saw this little boy in the car in front of us holding his vuvuzela. I loved the wistful almost dreamy look on his face and the way he was holding onto his precious noise-maker. Not a good shot but I just loved the mood.
This is for Monday Photo Challenges and Thursday Retreads challenge which was "Something that is either old, new, borrowed or blue". My reasoning? By now the World Soccer Cup is almost old and I am sure you are all feeling that the vuvuzela is something very old (!), to this little boy it is new, I borrowed his face for this image and the car happened to be blue. Well done me. Go here to see what everyone else did. I love this group
www.flickr.com/groups/1091826@N21/
And this is also for Geza's special day (I suspect it is his birthday). If you have not been to his site before you have a treat in store. Happy birthday, I think, Geza
What if during the Battle of Coruscant, General Grievous executed Supreme Chancellor Palpatine aboard the Invisible Hand? How would the fate of the galaxy have changed without Palpatine's machinations to drive it towards it's ultimate fate. Ruled over by a tyrannical Galactic Empire.
Would the Clone War have continued? Would Dooku assume the role as Dark Lord of the Sith? What would have become of Anakin Skywalker's fear of losing Padme during child birth? Would he have continued down the dark path? Or would he have sought the guidance of a close friend?
The possible ripple effects of Palpatine's death are endless, due to the role he played on both sides of the Clone War as well as orchestrating the downfall of Anakin Skywalker. In my mind, having lost a non-Jedi confidant to confide his fears, Anakin would likely eventually open up on the matter to Obi-Wan. But that's something to be told in the actual bio.
But with the execution of the Republic's head of state, it's likely the Galactic Senate would refuse any calls for a peace deal with the Separatists, instead believing the only way to end the war was to eradicate the Separatist forces. In response to the Chancellor's assassination, it's likely a pro-war senator would be elected Supreme Chancellor thus ensuring further escalation in the Clone War.
Anakin Skywalker - Following the loss of his close friend, Chancellor Palpatine, Anakin would find himself gravely concerned about problems with Padme's pregnancy. Though the death of Palpatine would grant him great clarity in his vision, the lack of knowledge as to what this complication would be would slowly start to drive him mad. Eventually, he had no choice but to confess the truth about his marriage to Padme Amidala to his oldest friend and mentor, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Kenobi would be apprehensive at first with the Jedi doctrine dictating that the Jedi not form attachments, but ultimately he would promise to protect Anakin's secret out his love and respect for his former apprentice.
Eventually, as the Clone Wars escalated and the Republic began a fresh multi-front campaign to push the Separatists from the outer-rim, Padme would go into labour. Unlike his vision however, the complication that Anakin feared, Padme dying during child birth, was not to be. Instead the complication was of a far different nature. Padme gave birth to twins.
A son and a daughter who would later be known by the names Luke and Leia.
With Obi-Wan present to help with the birth, Anakin would make him the children's godfather out of both respect and love for his former teacher.
Slowly but surely, as he continued to fight on the battlefield in the name of the Republic, Anakin would start to utilise more more extreme methods of force use in order to try and force the war towards a swifter revolution. These actions would trouble Obi-Wan, but he understood Anakin's reasoning. All he wanted was an end to the war, both to bring peace to the galaxy and to ensure a safe future for his children.
Anakin would soon find himself the target of Count Dooku's new apprentice, and would spar with the Sith apprentice on numerous different occasions before finally striking him down during a duel in the lava fields of Mustafar. This action would make Anakin Skywalker the face of the Jedi war effort against the Separatists, and as such, the Jedi council would take the unusual step of granting him the title of Master despite having not taught an apprentice to knighthood. His position on the council would slowly start to make Anakin feel appreciated by his fellow Jedi, and he would eventually become more humble, realising that even though he was destined to destroy the Sith and bring balance to the force, he still had much to learn. The more self conscious Anakin would slowly come to accept the path of the Jedi and fully embrace their ways, even going so far as to dress in the more typical Jedi robes, a symbol of his development from Jedi Knight, to Jedi Master.
Despite this though, the shadow of his greatest secret would loom over him. His family. Skywalker had always longed for a family of his own and feared what the Jedi council would do were they to learn the truth. It wouldn't be until Jedi Master Mace Windu was defeated and killed by the reigning Sith Lord, Count Dooku that Anakin would confess his secret to Grandmaster Yoda. Leader of the Jedi council. To Anakin's surprise, Yoda did not seem angry or annoyed at Skywalker's secret. In fact, he appeared proud. Yoda would remark on how the Clone War had shown the Jedi the importance of life and that it was only right that Skywalker would lead them into a new era.
He wasn't any Jedi.
He was the first of a new generation of Jedi. Due to his confidence in Skywalker's abilities and trust in the young Jedi, Yoda would entrust the leadership of the Jedi council to Anakin as he retired solely to teaching the youngest amongst the Jedi ranks. Under Skywalker's leadership, the Jedi order would undertake a galaxy wide search for the sinister Count Dooku, seeking to bring an end to the war.
The war would finally resolve as the Republic launched a full scale offensive against Count Dooku's final hideout. A battle station the size of a moon, that the holonet news would come to refer to as the 'Death Star'.
Title #
Mail.
( iPhone 13 Pro shot )
Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. 2024. … 1 / 1
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
The Weeknd … Niagara Fall 【和訳】
youtu.be/hz-GZub_9rw?si=5yimkNvIoidXGPlA
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 15 😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.
Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.
The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.
Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.
Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.
Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.
Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.
In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.
Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.
The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.
Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.
At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.
“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”
“Understood.”
The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.
“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”
The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.
Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
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
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
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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Title.
Mail.
( iPhone 13 pro shot )
本須賀海岸。九十九里浜。山武市。千葉県。日本。2024. … 1 / 1
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
The Weeknd … Niagara Fall 【和訳】
youtu.be/hz-GZub_9rw?si=5yimkNvIoidXGPlA
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第15弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
マンハッタンの夏の午後の光が高層ビル群のガラスにぎらつき、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニューヨーク支局の巨大な建物は都市の喧騒を吸い込み、どっしりと静けさを保ちながらも、その内部に張り詰めた警戒と緊張をにじませていた。その角に設えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監視カメラの無数の視線と警備員の動きが絡み合い、外界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っていることを告げていた。
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス特別捜査官は、豊富な経験を背負いながらもなお研ぎ澄まされた眼差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これまでに起こった報告がまとめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いていた。差し込んだ外光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪ませ、彼女の思考はそれに抗うように細部まで集中され、事件の可能性や影響範囲を論理の中に立体的に描き出していった。
書類に記された数字や地図の記号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集度までを含めるかのように頭の中で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に整理していく手つきには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っていた。
天井のLEDの白い光が、紙面に落ちる影を揺らし、視界の隅で振れるその影さえも、未知の変数として分析に取り込まれているかのようであった。
ヴェロニカは指先で地図上の一点をなぞり、都市の動線、人の密度、建築の密集度を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の中で現場の立体的な状況を描き出していた。信号の赤や青が交錯する交差点、街角に漂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速度、路上に停められた車の影――それらすべてが、紙面の数字や地図上の印と結びつき、ニューヨークという巨大な都市の立体的な動線を彼女の思考に浮かび上がらせた。
無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、彼女の分析の網に吸い込まれ、時間と空間に配置される。どの瞬間に、どの場所で、人々の流れが変化したか。誰がどの建物に潜入した可能性があるか。交通の混雑状況と、観衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の推測誤差で現場の全貌を描く。
彼女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし微細な筋肉の緊張が、その奥に潜む危機意識を示していた。手元の地図の一点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や都市計画のデータを呼び出しながら、シナリオごとにリスクを計算する。都市の構造、観衆の密度、出口の配置――あらゆる要素を論理のグリッドに沿って並べ、想像されるすべての事態を仮定する。
ヴェロニカは資料の中の写真に目を留め、観衆の表情や警備員の配置、障害物の位置を詳細に分析した。その視線は冷徹でありながらも、微細な違和感や不自然さを見逃さず、都市の熱気に流されることなく、論理の網の中に全ての変数を捕らえようとしていた。
冷房の空気と夏の熱気が交錯するオフィス内で、彼女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速度を上げていく。次に何が起こりうるか、どのルートが安全で、どのルートが危険か。瞬間ごとの判断が、観衆の安全と候補者の命を左右する。論理は揺るぎなく、都市の複雑さを紐解く糸のように彼女の手の中で絡まり合った。
彼女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュータの画面や無線のディスプレイも並ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ヴェロニカの思考というフィルターを通すことで初めて意味を持つ。データと現実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の全体像を構築する作業は、夏の街の熱気の中でも冷たく静かに進行した。
外の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサイレンは、彼女の集中をかき乱すどころか、逆に現場の臨場感を補強し、頭の中のシミュレーションに奥行きを与えた。紙面の数字と街の実像が、冷たい理性の中で重なり合い、彼女は次の一手を論理的に導き出す準備を整えていった。
彼女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、都市の街路が脳内で立体的に浮かび上がり、建物の密度、通行人の流れ、監視カメラの視野、警備員の位置が、冷徹な論理の中で連鎖し、次の行動を示唆する。ヴェロニカは深く息を吸い、吐き出すと同時に、無言のうちに全ての変数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の核心へと視線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサイレンの音や車のクラクション、交差点で立ち止まる人々の足音が、彼女の頭の中ではパズルのピースとなり、論理的な流れの中に溶け込んでいった。都市は暑さに揺れ、光と影が乱反射するが、ヴェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過して事件の全体像を描き出していった。
ヴェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話器を手に取り、その冷たい樹脂の感触を指先で確かめながら、エリオット副特別捜査官を呼び出し、いった。
「シークレットサービスのジャックバンスにつないで」
「了解」
ーーーーーー
黒のSUVフォードは、夏の熱気を押し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るジャックの横顔には焦燥が張りつき、後部座席に身を寄せたアナは、子供たちを庇うように腕を伸ばしながら、それでも必死に声を張り上げた。
「前を見て、ジャック！」
車体の振動に身を揺らしながら、子供たちは歓声とも悲鳴ともつかぬ声をあげ、恐怖と興奮の境を知らぬままに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、言葉を失ったまま呆然としている。
背後では追撃の車が唸りを上げ、硝煙の匂いを残して弾丸がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったジャックの車体がコンクリート壁面に火花が散らせた。都市の皮膚を削るようにして銃声が響く。ジャックのフォードは信号も人波も無視し、歩道へと飛び込み、群衆の悲鳴を振り払うように疾走した。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
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「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
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Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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As anyone knows, I live for a good sunset... well, here is the only shots I was able to take of a sunset the entire 2 weeks I was in Kenya... and this was through the side window of the van I was being transported in. The only reasoning that I can come up with is that God wanted me to concentrate on others parts of his creation...
Enjoy
About five years ago, BNSF experimented with a rebuild program in association with Progress Rail. A total of 24 SD70MACs were give brand new electronics and traction motors. Their designation was changed from "SD70MAC" to "SD70MACe". Not sure the reasoning, but it appears those 24 units were the only ones to go through the program. BNSF 9730 is one of the two dozen units to receive the rebuild (and a fresh coat of paint, going from the Heritage 2 scheme to the New Image scheme).
©2021 ColoradoRailfan.com
Dark Souls (2011)
Parasitic Headgear. An egg implanted on the head by a type of parasite bearing eggs on its back. The nightmare begins with a slight itch on the head, and soon the parasite will be siphoning the souls of slain enemies.
Black Knight Halberd
DSfix
HD Textures
Hit L then F11 to view
Don Juan was about to start his explanation of the mastery of awareness, but he changed his mind and stood up. We had been sitting in the big room, observing a moment of quiet.
“I want you to try seeing the Eagle’s emanations,” he said. “For that you must first move your assemblage point until you see the cocoon of man.”
We walked from the house to the center of town. We sat down on an empty, worn park bench in front of the church, it was early afternoon; a sunny, windy day with lots of people milling around.
He repeated, as if he were trying to drill it into me, that alignment is a unique force because it either helps the assemblage point shift, or it keeps it glued to its customary position. The aspect of alignment that keeps the point stationary, he said, is will; and the aspect that makes it shift is intent. He remarked that one of the most haunting mysteries is how will, the impersonal force of alignment, changes into intent, the personalized force, which is at the service of each individual.
“The strangest part of this mystery is that the change is so easy to accomplish,” he went on. “But what is not so easy is to convince ourselves that it is possible. There, right there, is our safety catch. We have to be convinced. And none of us wants to be.”
He told me then that I was in my keenest state of awareness, and that it was possible for me to intend my assemblage point to shift deeper into my left side, to a dreaming position. He said that warriors should never attempt seeing unless they are aided by dreaming. I argued that to fall asleep in public was not one of my fortés. He clarified his statement, saying that to move the assemblage point away from its natural setting and to keep it fixed at a new location is to be asleep; with practice, seers learn to be asleep and yet behave as if nothing is happening to them.
After a moment’s pause he added that for purposes of seeing the cocoon of man, one has to gaze at people from behind, as they walk away. It is useless to gaze at people face to face, because the front of the egglike cocoon of man has a protective shield, which seers call the front plate, it is an almost impregnable, unyielding shield that protects us throughout our lives against the onslaught of a peculiar force that stems from the emanations themselves.
He also told me not to be surprised if my body was stiff, as though it were frozen; he said that I was going to feel very much like someone standing in the middle of a room looking at the street through a window, and that speed was of the essence, as people were going to move extremely fast by my seeing window. He told me then to relax my muscles, shut off my internal dialogue, and let my assemblage point drift away under the spell of inner silence. He urged me to smack myself gently but firmly on my right side, between my hipbone and my ribcage.
I did that three times and I was sound asleep. It was a most peculiar state of sleep. My body was dormant, but I was perfectly aware of everything that was taking place. I could hear don Juan talking to me and I could follow every one of his statements as if I were awake, yet I could not move my body at all.
Don Juan said that a man was going to walk by my seeing window and that I should try to see him. I unsuccessfully attempted to move my head and then a shiny egglike shape appeared, it was resplendent. I was awed by the sight and before I could recover from my surprise, it was gone. It floated away, bobbing up and down.
Everything had been so sudden and fast that it made me feel frustrated and impatient. I felt that I was beginning to wake up. Don Juan talked to me again and urged me to relax. He said that I had no right and no time to be impatient. Suddenly, another luminous being appeared and moved away. It seemed to be made of a white fluorescent shag.
Don Juan whispered in my ear that if I wanted to, my eyes were capable of slowing down everything they focused on. Then he warned me that another man was coming. I realized at that instant that there were two voices. The one I had just heard was the same one that had admonished me to be patient. That was don Juan’s. The other, the one that told me to use my eyes to slow down movement, was the voice of seeing.
That afternoon, I saw ten luminous beings in slow motion. The voice of seeing guided me to witness in them everything don Juan had told me about the glow of awareness. There was a vertical band with a stronger amber glow on the right side of those egglike luminous creatures, perhaps one-tenth of the total volume of the cocoon. The voice said that that was man’s band of awareness. The voice pointed out a dot on man’s band, a dot with an intense shine; it was high on the oblong shapes, almost on the crest of them, on the surface of the cocoon; the voice said that it was the assemblage point.
When I saw each luminous creature in profile, from the point of view of its body, its egglike shape was like a gigantic asymmetrical yoyo that was standing edgewise, or like an almost round pot that was resting on its side with its lid on. The part that looked like a lid was the front plate; it was perhaps one-fifth the thickness of the total cocoon.
I would have gone on seeing those creatures, but don Juan said that I should now gaze at people face to face and sustain my gaze until I had broken the barrier and I was seeing the emanations.
I followed his command. Almost instantaneously, I saw a most brilliant array of live, compelling fibers of light. It was a dazzling sight that immediately shattered my balance. I fell down on the cement walk on my side. From there, I saw the compelling fibers of light multiply themselves. They burst open and myriads of other fibers came out of them. But the fibers, compelling as they were, somehow did not interfere with my ordinary view. There were scores of people going into church. I was no longer seeing them. There were quite a few women and men just around the bench. I wanted to focus my eyes on them, but instead I noticed how one of those fibers of light bulged suddenly. It became like a ball of fire that was perhaps seven feet in diameter, it rolled on me. My first impulse was to roll out of its way. Before I could even move a muscle the ball had hit me. I felt it as clearly as if someone had punched me gently in the stomach. An instant later another ball of fire hit me, this time with considerably more strength, and then don Juan whacked me really hard on the cheek with his open hand. I jumped up involuntarily and lost sight of the fibers of light and the balloons that were hitting me.
Don Juan said that I had successfully endured my first brief encounter with the Eagle’s emanations, but that a couple of shoves from the tumbler had dangerously opened up my gap. He added that the balls that had hit me were called the rolling force, or the tumbler.
We had returned to his house, although I did not remember how or when. I had spent hours in a sort of semi-sleeping state. Don Juan and the other seers of his group had given me large amounts of water to drink. They had also submerged me in an ice-cold tub of water for short periods of time.
“Were those fibers I saw the Eagle’s emanations?” I asked don Juan.
“Yes. But you didn’t really see them,” he replied. “No sooner had you begun to see than the tumbler stopped you. If you had remained a moment longer it would have blasted you.”
“What exactly is the tumbler?” I asked.
“It is a force from the Eagle’s emanations,” he said. “A ceaseless force that strikes us every instant of our lives, it is lethal when seen, but otherwise we are oblivious to it, in our ordinary lives, because we have protective shields. We have consuming interests that engage all our awareness. We are permanently worried about our station, our possessions. These shields, however, do not keep the tumbler away, they simply keep us from seeing it directly, protecting us in this way from getting hurt by the fright of seeing the balls of fire hitting us. Shields are a great help and a great hindrance to us. They pacify us and at the same time fool us. They give us a false sense of security.”
He warned me that a moment would come in my life when I would be without any shields, uninterruptedly at the mercy of the tumbler. He said that it is an obligatory stage in the life of a warrior, known as losing the human form.
I asked him to explain to me once and for all what the human form is and what it means to lose it.
He replied that seers describe the human form as the compelling force of alignment of the emanations lit by the glow of awareness on the precise spot on which normally man’s assemblage point is fixated. It is the force that makes us into persons. Thus, to be a person is to be compelled to affiliate with that force of alignment and consequently to be affiliated with the precise spot where it originates.
By reason of their activities, at a given moment the assemblage points of warriors drift toward the left. It is a permanent move, which results in an uncommon sense of aloofness, or control, or even abandon. That drift of the assemblage point entails a new alignment of emanations. It is the beginning of a series of greater shifts. Seers very aptly called this initial shift losing the human form, because it marks an inexorable movement of the assemblage point away from its original setting, resulting in the irreversible loss of our affiliation to the force that makes us persons.
He asked me then to describe all the details I could remember about the balls of fire. I told him that I had seen them so briefly I was not sure I could describe them in detail.
He pointed out that seeing is an euphemism for moving the assemblage point, and that if I moved mine a fraction more to the left I would have a clear picture of the balls of fire, a picture which I could interpret then as having remembered them.
I tried to have a clear picture, but I couldn’t, so I described what I remembered.
He listened attentively and then urged me to recall if they were balls or circles of fire. I told him I didn’t remember.
He explained that those balls of fire are of crucial importance to human beings because they are the expression of a force that pertains to all details of life and death, something that the new seers call the rolling force.
I asked him to clarify what he meant by all the details of life and death.
“The rolling force is the means through which the Eagle distributes life and awareness for safekeeping,” he said. “But it also is the force that, let’s say, collects the rent. It makes all living beings die. What you saw today was called by the ancient seers the tumbler.”
He said that seers describe it as an eternal line of iridescent rings, or balls of fire, that roll onto living beings ceaselessly. Luminous organic beings meet the rolling force head on, until the day when the force proves to be too much for them and the creatures finally collapse. The old seers were mesmerized by seeing how the tumbler then tumbles them into the beak of the Eagle to be devoured. That was the reason they called it the tumbler.
“You said that it is a mesmerizing sight. Have you yourself seen it rolling human beings?” I asked.
“Certainly I’ve seen it,” he replied, and after a pause he added, “You and I saw it only a short while ago in Mexico City.”
His assertion was so farfetched that I felt obliged to tell him that this time he was wrong. He laughed and reminded me that on that occasion, while both of us were sitting on a bench in the Alameda Park in Mexico City, we had witnessed the death of a man. He said that I had recorded the event in my everyday-life memory as well as in my left-side emanations.
As don Juan spoke to me I had the sensation of something inside me becoming lucid by degrees, and I could visualize with uncanny clarity the whole scene in the park. The man was lying on the grass with three policemen standing by him to keep onlookers away. I distinctly remembered don Juan hitting me on my back to make me change levels of awareness. And then I saw. My seeing was imperfect. I was unable to shake off the sight of the world of everyday life.
What I ended up with was a composite of filaments of the most gorgeous colors superimposed on the buildings and the traffic. The filaments were actually lines of colored light that came from above. They had inner life; they were bright and bursting with energy.
When I looked at the dying man, I saw what don Juan was talking about; something that was at once like circles of fire, or iridescent tumbleweeds, was rolling everywhere I focused my eyes. The circles were rolling on people, on don Juan, on me. I felt them in my stomach and became ill.
Don Juan told me to focus my eyes on the dying man. I saw him at one moment curling up, just as a sowbug curls itself up upon being touched. The incandescent circles pushed him away, as if they were casting him aside, out of their majestic, inalterable path.
I had not liked the feeling. The circles of fire had not scared me; they were not awesome, or sinister. I did not feel morbid or somber. The circles rather had nauseated me. I’d felt them in the pit of my stomach. It was a revulsion that I’d felt that day.
Remembering them conjured up again the total feeling of discomfort I had experienced on that occasion. As I got ill, don Juan laughed until he was out of breath.
“You’re such an exaggerated fellow.” he said. “The rolling force is not that bad. It’s lovely, in fact. The new seers recommend that we open ourselves to it. The old seers also opened themselves to it, but for reasons and purposes guided mostly by self-importance and obsession.”
“The new seers, on the other hand, make friends with it. They become familiar with that force by handling it without any self-importance. The result is staggering in its consequences.”
He said that a shift of the assemblage point is all that is needed to open oneself to the rolling force. He added that if the force is seen in a deliberate manner, there is minimal danger. A situation that is extremely dangerous, however, is an involuntary shift of the assemblage point owing, perhaps, to physical fatigue, emotional exhaustion, disease, or simply a minor emotional or physical crisis, such as being frightened or being drunk.
“When the assemblage point shifts involuntarily, the rolling force cracks the cocoon,” he went on. “I’ve talked many times about a gap that man has below his navel. It’s not really below the navel itself, but in the cocoon, at the height of the navel. The gap is more like a dent, a natural flaw in the otherwise smooth cocoon. It is there where the tumbler hits us ceaselessly and where the cocoon cracks.”
He went on to explain that if it is a minor shift of the assemblage point, the crack is very small, the cocoon quickly repairs itself, and people experience what everybody has at one time or another: blotches of color and contorted shapes, which remain even if the eyes are closed.
If the shift is considerable, the crack also is extensive and it takes time for the cocoon to repair itself, as in the case of warriors who purposely use power plants to elicit that shift or people who take drugs and unwittingly do the same. In these cases men feel numb and cold; they have difficulty talking or even thinking; it is as if they have been frozen from inside.
Don Juan said that in cases in which the assemblage point shifts drastically because of the effects of trauma or of a mortal disease, the rolling force produces a crack the length of the cocoon; the cocoon collapses and curls in on itself, and the individual dies.
“Can a voluntary shift also produce a gap of that nature?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he replied. “We’re really frail. As the tumbler hits us over and over, death comes to us through the gap. Death is the rolling force. When it finds weakness in the gap of a luminous being it automatically cracks it open and makes it collapse.”
“Does every living being have a gap?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied. “If it didn’t have one it wouldn’t die. The gaps are different, however, in size and configuration. Man’s gap is a bowl-like depression the size of a fist, a very frail vulnerable configuration. The gaps of other organic creatures are very much like man’s; some are stronger than ours and others are weaker. But the gap of inorganic beings is really different. It’s more like a long thread, a hair of luminosity; consequently, inorganic beings are infinitely more durable than we are.”
“There is something hauntingly appealing about the long life of those creatures, and the old seers could not resist being carried away by that appeal.”
He said that the same force can produce two effects that are diametrically opposed. The old seers were imprisoned by the rolling force, and the new seers are rewarded for their toils with the gift of freedom. By becoming familiar with the rolling force through the mastery of intent, the new seers, at a given moment, open their own cocoons and the force floods them rather than rolling them up like a curled-up sowbug. The final result is their total and instantaneous disintegration.
I asked him a lot of questions about the survival of awareness after the luminous being is consumed by the fire from within. He did not answer. He simply chuckled, shrugged his shoulders, and went on to say that the old seers’ obsession with the tumbler blinded them to the other side of that force. The new seers, with their usual thoroughness in refusing tradition, went to the other extreme. They were at first totally averse to focusing their seeing on the tumbler; they argued that they needed to understand the force of the emanations at large in its aspect of lifegiver and enhancer of awareness.
“They realized that it is infinitely easier to destroy something,” don Juan went on, “than it is to build it and maintain it. To roll life away is nothing compared to giving it and nourishing it. Of course, the new seers were wrong on this count, but in due course they corrected their mistake.”
“How were they wrong, don Juan?”
“It’s an error to isolate anything for seeing. At the beginning, the new seers did exactly the opposite from what their predecessors did. They focused with equal attention on the other side of the tumbler. What happened to them was as terrible as, if not worse than, what happened to the old seers. They died stupid deaths, just as the average man does. They didn’t have the mystery or the malignancy of the ancient seers, nor had they the quest for freedom of the seers of today.”
“Those first new seers served everybody. Because they were focusing their seeing on the lifegiving side of the emanations, they were filled with love and kindness. But that didn’t keep them from being tumbled. They were vulnerable, just as were the old seers who were filled with morbidity.”
He said that for the modern-day new seers, to be left stranded after a life of discipline and toil, just like men who have never had a purposeful moment in their lives, was intolerable. Don Juan said that these new seers realized, after they had readopted their tradition, that the old seers’ knowledge of the rolling force had been complete; at one point the old seers had concluded that there were, in effect, two different aspects of the same force. The tumbling aspect relates exclusively to destruction and death. The circular aspect, on the other hand, is what maintains life and awareness, fulfillment and purpose. They had chosen, however, to deal exclusively with the tumbling aspect.
“Gazing in teams, the new seers were able to see the separation between the tumbling and the circular aspects,” he explained. “They saw that both forces are fused, but are not the same. The circular force comes to us just before the tumbling force; they are so close to each other that they seem the same.”
“The reason it’s called the circular force is that it comes in rings, threadlike hoops of iridescence – a very delicate affair indeed. And just like the tumbling force, it strikes all living beings ceaselessly, but for a different purpose. It strikes them to give them strength, direction, awareness; to give them life.”
“What the new seers discovered is that the balance of the two forces in every living being is a very delicate one,” he continued, “if at any given time an individual feels that the tumbling force strikes harder than the circular one, that means the balance is upset; the tumbling force strikes harder and harder from then on, until it cracks the living being’s gap and makes it die.”
He added that out of what I had called balls of fire comes an iridescent hoop exactly the size of living beings, whether men, trees, microbes, or allies.
“Are there different-size circles?” I asked.
“Don’t take me so literally,” he protested. “There are no circles to speak of, just a circular force that gives seers, who are dreaming it, the feeling of rings. And there are no different sizes either. It’s one indivisible force that fits all living beings, organic and inorganic.”
“Why did the old seers focus on the tumbling aspect?” I asked.
“Because they believed that their lives depended on seeing it,” he replied. “They were sure that their seeing was going to give them answers to age-old questions. You see, they figured that if they unraveled the secrets of the rolling force they would be invulnerable and immortal. The sad part is that in one way or another, they did unravel the secrets and yet they were neither invulnerable nor immortal.”
“The new seers changed it all by realizing that there is no way to aspire to immortality as long as man has a cocoon.”
Don Juan explained that the old seers apparently never realized that the human cocoon is a receptacle and cannot sustain the onslaught of the rolling force forever. In spite of all the knowledge that they had accumulated, they were in the end certainly no better, and perhaps much worse, off than the average man.
“In what way were they left worse off than the average man?” I asked.
“Their tremendous knowledge forced them to take it for granted that their choices were infallible,” he said. “So they chose to live at any cost.”
Don Juan looked at me and smiled. With his theatrical pause he was telling me something I could not fathom.
“They chose to live,” he repeated. “Just as they chose to become trees in order to assemble worlds with those nearly unreachable great bands.”
“What do you mean by that, don Juan?”
“I mean that they used the rolling force to shift their assemblage points to unimaginable dreaming positions, instead of letting it roll them to the beak of the Eagle to be devoured.”
The Death Defiers
I arrived at Genaro’s house around 2:00 p. m. Don Juan and I became involved in conversation, and then don Juan made me shift into heightened awareness.
“Here we are again, the three of us, just as we were the day we went to that flat rock,” don Juan said. “And tonight we’re going to make another trip to that area.”
“You have enough knowledge now to draw very serious conclusions about that place and its effects on awareness.”
“What is it with that place, don Juan?”
“Tonight you’re going to find out some gruesome facts that the old seers collected about the rolling force; and you’re going to see what I meant when I told you that the old seers chose to live at any cost.”
Don Juan turned to Genaro, who was about to fall asleep. He nudged him.
“Wouldn’t you say, Genaro, that the old seers-were dreadful men?” don Juan asked.
“Absolutely,” Genaro said in a crisp tone and then seemed to succumb to fatigue.
He began to nod noticeably. In an instant he was sound asleep, his head resting on his chest with his chin tucked in. He snored.
I wanted to laugh out loud. But then I noticed that Genaro was staring at me, as if he were sleeping with his eyes open.
“They were such dreadful men that they even defied death,” Genaro added between snores.
“Aren’t you curious to know how those gruesome men defied death?” don Juan asked me.
He seemed to be urging me to ask for an example of their gruesomeness. He paused and looked at me with what I thought was a glint of expectation in his eyes.
“You’re waiting for me to ask for an example, aren’t you?” I said.
“This is a great moment,” he said, patting me on the back and laughing. “My benefactor had me on the edge of my seat at this point. I asked him to give me an example, and he did; now I’m going to give you one whether you ask for it or not.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, so frightened that my stomach was tied in knots and my voice cracked.
It took quite a while for don Juan to stop laughing. Every time he started to speak, he’d get an attack of coughing laughter.
“As Genaro told you, the old seers were dreadful men,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “There was something they tried to avoid at all costs: they didn’t want to die. You may say that the average man doesn’t want to die either, but the advantage that the old seers had over the average man was that they had the concentration and the discipline to intend things away; and they actually intended death away.”
He paused and looked at me with raised eyebrows. He said that I was falling behind, that I was not asking my usual questions. I remarked that it was plain to me that he was leading me to ask if the old seers had succeeded in intending death away, but he himself had already told me that their knowledge about the tumbler had not saved them from dying.
“They succeeded in intending death away,” he said, pronouncing his words with extra care. “But they still had to die.”
“How did they intend death away?” I asked.
“They observed their allies,” he said, “and seeing that they were living beings with a much greater resilience to the rolling force, the seers patterned themselves on their allies.”
“The old seers realized,” don Juan explained, “that only organic beings have a gap that resembles a bowl. Its size and shape and its brittleness make it the ideal configuration to hasten the cracking and collapsing of the luminous shell under the onslaughts of the tumbling force. The allies, on the other hand, who have only a line for a gap, present such a small surface to the rolling force as to be practically immortal. Their cocoons can sustain the onslaughts of the tumbler indefinitely, because hairline gaps offer no ideal configuration to it.”
“The old seers developed the most bizarre techniques for closing their gaps,” don Juan continued. “They were essentially correct in assuming that a hairline gap is more durable than a bowl-like one.”
“Are those techniques still in existence?” I asked.
“No, they are not,” he said. “But some of the seers who practiced them are.”
For reasons unknown to me, his statement caused a reaction of sheer terror in me. My breathing was altered instantly, and I couldn’t control its rapid pace.
“They’re still alive to this day, isn’t that so, Genaro?” don Juan asked.
“Absolutely,” Genaro muttered from an apparent state of deep sleep.
I asked don Juan if he knew the reason for my being so frightened. He reminded me about a previous occasion in that very room when they had asked me if I had noticed the weird creatures that had come in the moment Genaro opened the door.
“That day your assemblage point went very deep into the left side and assembled a frightening world,” he went on. “But I have already said that to you; what you don’t remember is that you went directly to a very remote world and scared yourself pissless there.”
Don Juan turned to Genaro, who was snoring peacefully with his legs stretched out in front of him.
“Wasn’t he scared pissless, Genaro?” he asked.
“Absolutely pissless,” Genaro muttered, and don Juan laughed.
“I want you to know that we don’t blame you for being scared,” don Juan continued. “We, ourselves, are revolted by some of the actions of the old seers. I’m sure that you have realized by now that what you can’t remember about that night is that you saw the old seers who are still alive.”
I wanted to protest that I had realized nothing, but I could not voice my words. I had to clear my throat over and over before I could articulate a word. Genaro had stood up and was gently patting my upper back, by my neck, as if I were choking.
“You have a frog in your throat,” he said.
I thanked him in a high squeaky voice.
“No, I think you have a chicken there,” he added and sat down to sleep.
Don Juan said that the new seers had rebelled against all the bizarre practices of the old seers and declared them not only useless but injurious to our total being. They even went so far as to ban those techniques from whatever was taught to new warriors; and for generations there was no mention of those practices at all.
It was in the early part of the eighteenth century that the nagual Sebastian, a member of don Juan’s direct line of naguals, rediscovered the existence of those techniques.
“How did he rediscover them?” I asked.
“He was a superb stalker, and because of his impeccability he got a chance to learn marvels,” don Juan replied.
He said that one day as the nagual Sebastian was about to start his daily routines – he was the sexton at the cathedral in the city where he lived – he found a middle-aged Indian man who seemed to be in a quandary at the door of the church.
The nagual Sebastian went to the man’s side and asked him if he needed help.
“I need a bit of energy to close my gap,” the man said to him in a loud clear voice. “Would you give me some of your energy?”
Don Juan said that according to the story, the nagual Sebastian was dumbfounded. He did not know what the man was talking about. He offered to take the Indian to see the parish priest. The man lost his patience and angrily accused the nagual Sebastian of stalling.
“I need your energy because you’re a nagual,” he said. “Let’s go quietly.”
The nagual Sebastian succumbed to the magnetic power of the stranger and meekly went with him into the mountains. He was gone for many days. When he came back he not only had a new outlook about the ancient seers, but detailed knowledge of their techniques. The stranger was an ancient Toltec. One of the last survivors.
“The nagual Sebastian found out marvels about the old seers,” don Juan went on. “He was the one who first knew how grotesque and aberrant they really were. Before him, that knowledge was only hearsay.”
“One night my benefactor and the nagual Elias gave me a sample of those aberrations. They really showed it to Genaro and me together, so it’s only proper that we both show you the same sample.”
I wanted to talk in order to stall; I needed time to calm down, to think things out. But before I could say anything, don Juan and Genaro were practically dragging me out of the house. They headed for the same eroded hills we had visited before.
We stopped at the bottom of a large barren hill. Don Juan pointed toward some distant mountains to the south, and said that between the place where we stood and a natural cut in one of those mountains, a cut that looked like an open mouth, there were at least seven sites where the ancient seers had focused all the power of their awareness.
Don Juan said that those seers had not only been knowledgeable and daring but downright successful. He added that his benefactor had showed him and Genaro a site where the old seers, driven by their love for life, had buried themselves alive and actually intended the rolling force away.
“There is nothing that would catch the eye in those places,” he went on. “The old seers were careful not to leave marks. It is just a landscape. One has to see to know where those places are.”
He said that he did not want to walk to the faraway sites, but would take me to the one that was nearest. I insisted on knowing what we were after. He said that we were going to see the buried seers, and that for that we had to stay until it got dark under the cover of some green bushes. He pointed them out; they were perhaps half a mile away, up a steep slope.
We reached the patch of bushes and sat down as comfortably as we could. He began then to explain in a very low voice that in order to get energy from the earth, ancient seers used to bury themselves for periods of time, depending on what they wanted to accomplish. The more difficult their task, the longer their burial period.
Don Juan stood up and in a melodramatic way showed me a spot a few yards from where we were.
“Two old seers are buried there,” he said. “They buried themselves about two thousand years ago to escape death, not in the spirit of running away from it but in the spirit of defying it.”
Don Juan asked Genaro to show me the exact spot where the old seers were buried. I turned to look at Genaro and realized that he was sitting by my side sound asleep again. But to my utter amazement, he jumped up and barked like a dog and ran on all fours to the spot don Juan was pointing out. There he ran around the place in a perfect mime of a small dog.
I found his performance hilarious. Don Juan was nearly on the ground laughing.
“Genaro has shown you something extraordinary,” don Juan said, after Genaro had returned to where we were and had gone back to sleep. “He has shown you something about the assemblage point and dreaming. He’s dreaming now, but he can act as if he were fully awake and he can hear everything you say. From that position he can do more than if he were awake.”
He was silent for a moment as if assessing what to say next. Genaro snored rhythmically. Don Juan remarked how easy it was for him to find flaws with what the old seers had done, yet, in all fairness, he never tired of repeating how wonderful their accomplishments were. He said that they understood the earth to perfection. Not only did they discover and use the boost from the earth, but they also discovered that if they remained buried, their assemblage points aligned emanations that were ordinarily inaccessible, and that such an alignment engaged the earth’s strange, inexplicable capacity to deflect the ceaseless strikes of the rolling force.
Consequently, they developed the most astounding and complex techniques for burying themselves for extremely long periods of time without any detriment to themselves. In their fight against death, they learned how to elongate those periods to cover millennia.
It was a cloudy day, and night fell quickly. In no time at all, everything was in darkness. Don Juan stood up and guided me and the sleepwalker Genaro to an enormous flat oval rock that had caught my eye the moment we got to that place. It was similar to the flat rock we had visited before, but bigger. It occurred to me that the rock, enormous as it was, had deliberately been placed there.
“This is another site,” don Juan said. “This huge rock was placed here as a trap, to attract people. Soon you’ll know why.”
I felt a shiver run through my body. I thought I was going to faint. I knew that I was definitely overreacting and wanted to say something about it, but don Juan kept on talking in a hoarse whisper. He said that Genaro, since he was dreaming, had enough control over his assemblage point to move it until he could reach the specific emanations that would wake up whatever was around that rock. He recommended that I try to move my assemblage point, and follow Genaro’s.
He said that I could do it, first by setting up my unbending intent to move it, and second by letting the context of the situation dictate where it should move.
After a moment’s thought he whispered in my ear not to worry about procedures, because most of the really unusual things that happen to seers, or to the average man for that matter, happen by themselves, with only the intervention of intent.
He was silent for a moment and then added that the danger for me was going to be the buried seers’ inevitable attempt to scare me to death. He exhorted me to keep myself calm and not to succumb to fear, but follow Genaro’s movements.
I fought desperately not to be sick. Don Juan patted me on the back and said that I was an old pro at playing an innocent bystander. He assured me that I was not consciously refusing to let my assemblage point move, but that every human being does it automatically.
“Something is going to scare the living daylights out of you,” he whispered. “Don’t give up, because if you do, you’ll die and the old vultures around here are going to feast on your energy.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I pleaded. “I really don’t give a damn about getting an example of the old seers’ grotesqueness.”
“It’s too late,” Genaro said, fully awake now, standing by my side. “Even if we try to get away, the two seers and their allies on the other spot will cut you down. They have already made a circle around us. There are as many as sixteen awarenesses focused on you right now.”
“Who are they?” I whispered in Genaro’s ear.
“The four seers and their court,” he replied. “They’ve been aware of us since we got here.”
I wanted to turn tail and run for dear life, but don Juan held my arm and pointed to the sky. I noticed that a remarkable change in visibility had taken place. Instead of the pitch-black darkness that had prevailed, there was a pleasant dawn twilight. I made a quick assessment of the cardinal points. The sky was definitely lighter toward the east.
I felt a strange pressure around my head. My ears were buzzing. I felt cold and feverish at the same time. I was scared as I had never been before, but what bothered me was a nagging sensation of defeat, of being a coward. I felt nauseated and miserable.
Don Juan whispered in my ear. He said that I had to be on the alert, that the onslaught of the old seers would be felt by all three of us at any moment.
“You can grab on to me if you want to,” Genaro said in a fast whisper as if something were prodding him.
I hesitated for an instant. I did not want don Juan to believe that I was so scared I needed to hold on to Genaro.
“Here they come!” Genaro said in a loud whisper.
The world turned upside down instantaneously for me when something gripped me by my left ankle. I felt the coldness of death on my entire body. I knew I had stepped on an iron clamp, maybe a bear trap. That all flashed through my mind before I let out a piercing scream, as intense as my fright.
Don Juan and Genaro laughed out loud. They were flanking me no more than three feet away, but I was so terrified I did not even notice them.
“Sing! Sing for dear life!” I heard don Juan ordering me under his breath.
I tried to pull my foot loose. I felt then a sting, as if needles were piercing my skin. Don Juan insisted over and over that I sing. He and Genaro started to sing a popular song. Genaro spoke the lyrics as he looked at me from hardly two inches away. They sang off-key in raspy voices, getting so completely out of breath and so high out of the range of their voices that I ended up laughing.
“Sing, or you’re going to perish,” don Juan said to me.
“Let’s make a trio,” Genaro said, “We’ll sing a bolero.”
I joined them in an off-key trio. We sang for quite a while at the top of our voices, like drunkards. I felt that the iron grip on my leg was gradually letting go of me. I had not dared to look down at my ankle. At one moment I did and I realized then that there was no trap clutching me. A dark, headlike shape was biting me!
Only a supreme effort kept me from fainting. I felt I was getting sick and automatically tried to bend over, but somebody with superhuman strength grabbed me painlessly by the elbows and the nape of my neck and did not let me move. I got sick all over my clothes.
My revulsion was so complete that I began to fall in a faint. Don Juan sprinkled my face with some water from the small gourd he always carried when we went into the mountains. The water slid under my collar. The coldness restored my physical balance, but it did not affect the force that was holding me by my elbows and neck.
“I think you are going too far with your fright,” don Juan said loudly and in such a matter-of fact tone that he created an immediate feeling of order.
“Let’s sing again,” he added. “Let’s sing a song with substance – I don’t want any more boleros.”
I silently thanked him for his sobriety and for his grand style. I was so moved as I heard them singing “La Valentina” that I began to weep.
Because of my passion, they say
that ill fortune is on my way.
It doesn’t matter
that it might be the devil himself.
I do know how to die
Valentina, Valentina.
I throw myself in your way.
If I am going to die tomorrow,
why not, once and for all, today?
All of my being staggered under the impact of that inconceivable juxtaposition of values. Never had a song meant so much to me. As I heard them sing those lyrics, which I ordinarily considered reeking with cheap sentimentalism, I thought I understood the ethos of the warrior.
Don Juan had drilled into me that warriors live with death at their side, and from the knowledge that death is with them they draw the courage to face anything. Don Juan had said that the worst that could happen to us is that we have to die, and since that is already our unalterable fate, we are free; those who have lost everything no longer have anything to fear.
I walked to don Juan and Genaro and embraced them to express my boundless gratitude and admiration for them.
Then I realized that nothing was holding me any longer. Without a word don Juan took my arm and guided me to sit on the flat rock.
“The show is just about to begin now,” Genaro said in a jovial tone as he tried to find a comfortable position to sit. “You’ve just paid your admission ticket. It’s all over your chest.”
He looked at me, and both of them began to laugh.
“Don’t sit too close to me,” Genaro said. “I don’t appreciate pukers. But don’t go too far, either. The old seers are not yet through with their tricks.”
I moved as close to them as politeness permitted. I was concerned about my fate for an instant, and then all my qualms became nonsense, for I noticed that some people were coming toward us. I could not make out their shapes clearly but I distinguished a mass of human figures moving in the semidarkness. They did not carry lanterns or flashlights with them, which at that hour they would still have needed. Somehow that detail worried me. I did not want to focus on it and I deliberately began to think rationally. I figured that we must have attracted attention with our loud singing and they were coming to investigate. Don Juan tapped me on the shoulder. He pointed with a movement of his chin to the men in front of the group of others.
“Those four are the old seers,” he said. “The rest are their allies.”
Before I could remark that they were just local peasants, I heard a swishing sound right behind me. I quickly turned around in a state of total alarm. My movement was so sudden that don Juan’s warning came too late.
“Don’t turn around!” I heard him yell.
His words were only background; they did not mean anything to me. On turning around, I saw that three grotesquely deformed men had climbed up on the rock right behind me; they were crawling toward me, with their mouths open in a nightmarish grimace and their arms outstretched to grab me.
I intended to scream at the top of my lungs, but what came out was an agonizing croak, as if something were obstructing my windpipe. I automatically rolled out of their reach and onto the ground.
As I stood up, don Juan jumped to my side, at the very same moment that a horde of men, led by those don Juan had pointed out, descended on me like vultures. They were actually squeaking like bats or rats. I yelled in terror. This time I was able to let out a piercing cry.
Don Juan, as nimbly as an athlete in top form, pulled me out of their clutches onto the rock. He told me in a stern voice not to turn around to look, no matter how scared I was. He said that the allies cannot push at all, but that they certainly could scare me and make me fall to the ground. On the ground, however, the allies could hold anybody down. If I were to fall on the ground by the place where the seers were buried, I would be at their mercy. They would rip me apart while their allies held me. He added that he had not told me all that before because he had hoped I would be forced to see and understand it by myself. His decision had nearly cost me my life. The sensation that the grotesque men were just behind me was nearly unbearable. Don Juan forcefully ordered me to keep calm and focus my attention on four men at the head of a crowd of perhaps ten or twelve. The instant I focused my eyes on them, as if on cue, they all advanced to the edge of the flat rock. They stopped there and began hissing like serpents. They walked back and forth. Their movement seemed to be synchronized. It was so consistent and orderly that it seemed to be mechanical. It was as if they were following a repetitive pattern, aimed at mesmerizing me.
“Don’t gaze at them, dear,” Genaro said to me as if he were talking to a child.
The laughter that followed was as hysterical as my fear. I laughed so hard that the sound reverberated on the surrounding hills.
The men stopped at once and seemed to be perplexed. I could distinguish the shapes of their heads bobbing up and down as if they were talking, deliberating among themselves. Then one of them jumped onto the rock.
“Watch out! That one is a seer!” Genaro exclaimed.
“What are we going to do?” I shouted.
“We could start singing again,” don Juan replied matter-of-factly.
My fear reached its apex then. I began to jump up and down and to roar like an animal. The man jumped down to the ground.
“Don’t pay any more attention to those clowns,” don Juan said. “Let’s talk as usual.”
He said that we had gone there for my enlightenment, and that I was failing miserably. I had to reorganize myself. The first thing to do was to realize that my assemblage point had moved and was now making obscure emanations glow. To carry the feelings from my usual state of awareness into the world I had assembled was indeed a travesty, for fear is only prevalent among the emanations of daily life.
I told him that if my assemblage point had shifted as he was saying it had, I had news for him. My fear was infinitely greater and more devastating than anything I had ever experienced in my daily life.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “Your first attention is confused and doesn’t want to give up control, that’s all. I have the feeling that you could walk right up to those creatures and face them and they wouldn’t do a thing to you.”
I insisted that I was definitely in no condition to test such a preposterous thing as that.
He laughed at me. He said that sooner or later I had to cure myself of my madness, and that to take the initiative and face up to those four seers was infinitely less preposterous than the idea that I was seeing them at all. He said that to him madness was to be confronted by men who had been buried for two thousand years and were still alive, and not to think that that was the epitome of preposterousness.
I heard everything he said with clarity, but I was not really paying attention to him. I was terrified of the men around the rock. They seemed to be preparing to jump us, to jump me really. They were fixed on me. My right arm began to shake as if I were stricken by some muscular disorder. Then I became aware that the light in the sky had changed. I had not noticed before that it was already dawn. The strange thing was that an uncontrollable urge made me stand up and run to the group of men.
I had at that moment two completely different feelings about the same event. The minor one was of sheer terror. The other, the major one, was of total indifference. I could not have cared less. When I reached the group I realized that don Juan was right; they were not really men. Only four of them had any resemblance to men, but they were not men either; they were strange creatures with huge yellow eyes. The others were just shapes that were propelled by the four that resembled men.
I felt extraordinarily sad for those creatures with yellow eyes. I tried to touch them, but I could not find them. Some sort of wind scooped them away.
I looked for don Juan and Genaro. They were not there. It was pitch-black again. I called out their names over and over again. I thrashed around in darkness for a few minutes. Don Juan came to my side and startled me. I did not see Genaro.
“Let’s go home,” he said. “We have a long walk.”
Don Juan commented on how well I had performed at the site of the buried seers, especially during the last part of our encounter with them. He said that a shift of the assemblage point is marked by a change in light. In the daytime, light becomes very dark; at night, darkness becomes twilight. He added that I had performed two shifts by myself, aided only by animal fright. The only thing he found objectionable was my indulging in fear, especially after I had realized that warriors have nothing to fear.
“How do you know I had realized that?” I asked.
“Because you were free. When fear disappears all the ties that bind us dissolve,” he said. “An ally was gripping your foot because it was attracted by your animal terror.”
I told him how sorry I was for not being able to uphold my realizations.
“Don’t concern yourself with that.” He laughed. “You know that such realizations are a dime a dozen; they don’t amount to anything in the life of warriors, because they are canceled out as the assemblage point shifts.”
“What Genaro and I wanted to do was to make you shift very deeply. This time Genaro was there simply to entice the old seers. He did it once already, and you went so far into the left side that it will take quite a while for you to remember it. Your fright tonight was just as intense as it was that first time when the seers and their allies followed you to this very room, but your sturdy first attention wouldn’t let you be aware of them.”
“Explain to me what happened at the site of the seers,” I asked.
“The allies came out to see you,” he replied. “Since they have very low energy, they always need the help of men. The four seers have collected twelve allies.
“The countryside in Mexico and also certain cities are dangerous. What happened to you can happen to any man or woman. If they bump into that tomb, they may even see the seers and their allies, if they are pliable enough to let their fear make their assemblage points shift; but one thing is for sure: they can die of fright.”
“But do you honestly believe that those Toltec seers are still alive?” I asked.
He laughed and shook his head in disbelief.
“It’s time for you to shift that assemblage point of yours just a bit,” he said. “I can’t talk to you when you are in your idiot’s stage.”
He smacked me with the palm of his hand on three spots: right on the crest of my right hipbone, on the center of my back below my shoulder blades, and on the upper part of my right pectoral muscle.
My ears immediately began to buzz. A trickle of blood ran out of my right nostril, and something inside me became unplugged. It was as if some flow of energy had been blocked and suddenly began to move again.
“What were those seers and their allies after?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he replied. “We were the ones who were after them. The seers, of course, had already noticed your field of energy the first time you saw them; when you came back, they were set to feast on you.”
“You claim that they are alive, don Juan,” I said. “You must mean that they are alive as allies are alive, is that so?”
“That’s exactly right,” he said. “They cannot possibly be alive as you and I are. That would be preposterous.”
He went on to explain that the ancient seers’ concern with death made them look into the most bizarre possibilities. The ones who opted for the allies’ pattern had in mind, doubtless, a desire for a haven. And they found it, at a fixed position in one of the seven bands of inorganic awareness.
The seers felt that they were relatively safe there. After all, they were separated from the daily world by a nearly insurmountable barrier, the barrier of perception set by the assemblage point.
“When the four seers saw that you could shift your assemblage point they took off like bats out of hell,” he said and laughed.
“Do you mean that I assembled one of the seven worlds?” I asked.
“No, you didn’t,” he replied. “But you have done it before, when the seers and their allies chased you. That day you went all the way to their world. The problem is that you love to act stupid, so you can’t remember it at all.
“I’m sure that it is the nagual’s presence,” he continued, “that sometimes makes people act dumb. When the nagual Julian was still around, I was dumber than I am now. I am convinced that when I’m no longer here, you’ll be capable of remembering everything.”
Don Juan explained that since he needed to show me the death defiers, he and Genaro had lured them to the outskirts of our world. What I had done at first was a deep lateral shift, which allowed me to see them as people, but at the end I had correctly made the shift that allowed me to see the death defiers and their allies as they are.
Very early the next morning, at Silvio Manuel’s house, don Juan called me to the big room to discuss the events of the previous night. I felt exhausted and wanted to rest, to sleep, but don Juan was pressed for time. He immediately started his explanation. He said that the old seers had found out a way to utilize the rolling force and be propelled by it. Instead of succumbing to the onslaughts of the tumbler they rode with it and let it move their assemblage points to the confines of human possibilities.
Don Juan expressed unbiased admiration for such an accomplishment. He admitted that nothing else could give the assemblage point the boost that the tumbler gives.
I asked him about the difference between the earth’s boost and the tumbler’s boost. He explained that the earth’s boost is the force of alignment of only the amber emanations, it is a boost that heightens awareness to unthinkable degrees. To the new seers it is a blast of unlimited consciousness, which they call total freedom.
He said that the tumbler’s boost, on the other hand, is the force of death. Under the impact of the tumbler, the assemblage point moves to new, unpredictable positions. Thus, the old seers were always alone in their journeys, although the enterprise they were involved in was always communal. The company of other seers on their journeys was fortuitous and usually meant struggle for supremacy.
I confessed to don Juan that the concerns of the old seers, whatever they may have been, were worse than morbid horror tales to me. He laughed uproariously. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
“You have to admit, no matter how disgusted you feel, that those devils were very daring,” he went on. “I never liked them myself, as you know, but I can’t help admiring them. Their love for life is truly beyond me.”
“How can that be love for life, don Juan? It’s something nauseating,” I said.
“What else could push a man to those extremes if it is not love for life?” he asked. “They loved life so intensely that they were not willing to give it up. That’s the way I have seen it. My benefactor saw something else. He believed that they were afraid to die, which is not the same as loving life. I say that they were afraid to die because they loved life and because they had seen marvels, and not because they were greedy little monsters. No. They were aberrant because nobody ever challenged them and they were spoiled like rotten children, but their daring was impeccable and so was their courage.”
“Would you venture into the unknown out of greed? No way. Greed works only in the world of ordinary affairs. To venture into that terrifying loneliness one must have something greater than greed. Love, one needs love for life, for intrigue, for mystery. One needs unquenching curiosity and guts galore. So don’t give me this nonsense about your being revolted. It’s embarrassing!”
Don Juan’s eyes were shining with contained laughter. He was putting me in my place, but he was laughing at it.
Don Juan left me alone in the room for perhaps an hour. I wanted to organize my thoughts and feelings. I had no way to do that. I knew without any doubt that my assemblage point was at a position where reasoning does not prevail, yet I was moved by reasonable concerns. Don Juan had said that technically, as soon as the assemblage point shifts, we are asleep. I wondered, for instance, if I was sound asleep from the stand of an onlooker, just as Genaro had been asleep to me.
I asked don Juan about it as soon as he returned.
“You are absolutely asleep without having to be stretched out,” he replied. “If people in a normal state of awareness saw you now, you would appear to them to be a bit dizzy, even drunk.”
He explained that during normal sleep, the shift of the assemblage point runs along either edge of man’s band. Such shifts are always coupled with slumber. Shifts that are induced by practice occur along the midsection of man’s band and are not coupled with slumber, yet a dreamer is asleep.
“Right at this juncture is where the new and the old seers made their separate bids for power,” he went on. “The old seers wanted a replica of the body, but with more physical strength, so they made their assemblage points slide along the right edge of man’s band. The deeper they moved along the right edge the more bizarre their dreaming body became. You, yourself, witnessed last night the monstrous result of a deep shift along the right edge.”
He said that the new seers were completely different, that they maintain their assemblage points along the midsection of man’s band. If the shift is a shallow one, like the shift into heightened awareness, the dreamer is almost like anyone else in the street, except for a slight vulnerability to emotions, such as fear and doubt. But at a certain degree of depth, the dreamer who is shifting along the midsection becomes a blob of light. A blob of light is the dreaming body of the new seers.
He also said that such an impersonal dreaming body is more conducive to understanding and examination, which are the basis of all the new seers do. The intensely humanized dreaming body of the old seers drove them to look for answers that were equally personal, humanized.
Don Juan suddenly seemed to be groping for words.
“There is another death defier,” he said curtly, “so unlike the four you’ve seen that he’s indistinguishable from the average man in the street. He’s accomplished this unique feat by being able to open and close his gap whenever he wants.”
He played with his fingers almost nervously.
“The ancient seer that the nagual Sebastian found in 1723 is that death defier,” he went on. “We count that day as the beginning of our line, the second beginning. That death defier, who’s been on the earth for hundreds of years, has changed the lives of every nagual he met, some more profoundly than others. And he has met every single nagual of our line since that day in 1723.”
Don Juan looked fixedly at me. I got strangely embarrassed. I thought my embarrassment was the result of a dilemma. I had very serious doubts about the content of the story, and at the same time I had the most disconcerting trust that everything he had said was true. I expressed my quandary to him.
“The problem of rational disbelief is not yours alone,” don Juan said. “My benefactor was at first plagued by the same question. Of course, later on he remembered everything. But it took him a long time to do so. When I met him he had already recollected everything, so I never witnessed his doubts. I only heard about them.”
“The weird part is that people who have never set eyes on the man have less difficulty accepting that he’s one of the original seers. My benefactor said that his quandaries stemmed from the fact that the shock of meeting such a creature had lumped together a number of emanations. It takes time for those emanations to separate themselves.”
Don Juan went on to explain that as my assemblage point kept on shifting, a moment would come when it would hit the proper combination of emanations; at that moment the proof of the existence of that man would become overwhelmingly evident to me.
I felt compelled to talk again about my ambivalence.
“We’re deviating from our subject,” he said. “It may seem that I’m trying to convince you of the existence of that man; and what I meant to talk about is the fact that the old seer knows how to handle the rolling force. Whether or not you believe that he exists is not important. Someday you’ll know for a fact that he certainly succeeded in closing his gap. The energy that he borrows from the nagual every generation he uses exclusively to close his gap.”
“How did he succeed in closing it?” I asked.
“There is no way of knowing that,” he replied. “I’ve talked to two other naguals who saw that man face to face, the nagual Julian and the nagual Elias. Neither of them knew how. The man never revealed how he closes that opening, which I suppose begins to expand after a time. The nagual Sebastian said that when he first saw the old seer, the man was very weak, actually dying. But my benefactor found him prancing vigorously, like a young man.”
Don Juan said that the nagual Sebastian nicknamed that nameless man “the tenant,” for they struck an arrangement by which the man was given energy, lodging so to speak, and he paid rent in the form of favors and knowledge.
“Did anybody ever get hurt in the exchange?” I asked.
“None of the naguals who exchanged energy with him was injured,” he replied. “The man’s commitment was that he’d only take a bit of superfluous energy from the nagual in exchange for gifts, for extraordinary abilities. For instance, the nagual Julian got the gait of power. With it, he could activate or make dormant the emanations inside his cocoon in order to look young or old at will.”
Don Juan explained that the death defiers in general went as far as rendering dormant all the emanations inside their cocoons, except those that matched the emanations of the allies. In this fashion they were able to imitate the allies in some form.
Each of the death defiers we had encountered at the rock, don Juan said, had been able to move his assemblage point to a precise spot on his cocoon in order to emphasize the emanations shared with the allies and to interact with them. But they were all unable to move it back to its usual position and interact with people. The tenant, on the other hand, is capable of shifting his assemblage point to assemble the everyday world as if nothing had ever happened.
Don Juan also said that his benefactor was convinced – and he fully agreed with him – that what takes place during the borrowing of energy is that the old sorcerer moves the nagual’s assemblage point to emphasize the ally’s emanations inside the nagual’s cocoon. He then uses the great jolt of energy produced by those emanations that suddenly become aligned after being so deeply dormant.
He said that the energy locked within us, in the dormant emanations, has a tremendous force and an incalculable scope. We can only vaguely assess the scope of that tremendous force, if we consider that the energy involved in perceiving and acting in the world of everyday life is a product of the alignment of hardly one-tenth of the emanations encased in man’s cocoon.
“What happens at the moment of death is that all that energy is released at once,” he continued. “Living beings at that moment become flooded by the most inconceivable force. It is not the rolling force that has cracked their gaps, because that force never enters inside the cocoon; it only makes it collapse. What floods them is the force of all the emanations that are suddenly aligned after being dormant for a lifetime. There is no outlet for such a giant force except to escape through the gap.”
He added that the old sorcerer
This is one of, if not the oldest Publix in Gainesville, having opened way back in the late 1960's. I'm sure it has been remodeled numerous times since then, but this store looks like it's sort of stuck in the mid to late 90's. I keep hearing rumors of this store eventually closing, being torn down, and rebuilt complete with a parking garage on top! I'll believe it when I read it in the Gainesville Sun. I heard the reasoning for the stalling of this project has to do with the fact that the Checkers Fast Food Restaurant in the northwest corner of this plaza refuses to relocate.
Spotmatic II | Sears 135mm | Arista Edu Ultra 100
All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event — in the living act, the undoubted deed — there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there's naught beyond. But 'tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him.
Roll #133, Frame 32. f/8.
Dev: D-76 (1:1, 225mL), 8 min @ 18°C (EI 50). 10 sec rolling agit / min.
(I don't have photoshop yet, so all manipulations are done using microsoft picture manager, pixeasy and similar programs. after that there's manual retouching using different kinds of paper and sometimes watercolor or pencil)
Clickers is the nickname given to humans in the third stage of the Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis infection. They have had prolonged exposure to the fungus and are completely blind. Navigation is still possible using an adaptive echolocation, similar to that of most bats. This makes an eerie clicking sound, thus earning Clickers their nickname. Their appearance is less human than that of Runners, with their faces being skewed and scarred by fungus. Clickers are comparatively more aggressive than Runners and no longer resist the fungus. They aren't bound by morality or reasoning anymore, having lost their humanity long ago. They will always attack upon sound (or allegedly smell).
From the IGN wikis. I used pink Blu-Tac and old Lego flower peices on the head to try to simulate the fungal growth around the head ( I edited out the central hole in the flowers, and the teeth as well). Initially another 8x8 vignette, I went for a more cinematic effect for this one. From what I can tell clickers are usually found indoors where their echolocation works better, so maybe it needs a different backdrop.
As I walk out into the streets, I see the man dressed in red and black. Noble. Brave. But not responsible. No... He hasn't earned that yet. Peter Parker learned those principles early. This man just stops the crime, under any circumstance. Not thinking what will happen.
Something unexpected happened though. A strange alien jumped out of a window. A.... a demon. I feel the heat from under the fake skin that is shown on the outside. It burns like paper, and floats away in the wind. My eyes fall out, and all that's left is the devil's crony. I walk to the thing, and see the man follow after me.
He looks at me, confused, and then looks at the creature again. An interesting mind.
I grab the creature, and drain the liquid organism from his blood. I feel it in me. It's rage. It's feelings.
I quickly burn it in my body. I hear it scream. It pleasures me.
The man in red and black just stares as I do this. The man the creature possessed looked dazed. I raise my hand, and fire surrounds him. He is quickly transported to Hell. The "hero" looks me in the eyes, and leaps at me. I only grab his throat and throw him to the ground. I easily send him to Hell. He's done many unjust things.
I follow them down to the underworld, and find the hero. He tries reasoning with me, saying he's not supposed to be here. Then he argues.
"Who do you think you are?" he asks.
"That's a good question."
It's 1968. One year after the Rider was born. I walk the streets of Washington, waiting for the King to arise. It's April 3rd and the streets are crowded. I walk into Mason Temple, and see the King himself. He's getting ready.
"Thank you very kindly my friends..."
I sit down in one of the booths. I sign with the father, the son, and the holy spirit.
"Something is happening in Memphis..."
A woman sits next to me, and after signing, kneels. She is elderly, in her 80's. She will never see the day where whites and blacks become equal.
"I would see Plato, Aristotle, Socrates...."
She begins to cry. I only stare with blank eyes. Emotion does not come easily to me. She stands up, possibly hoping to see the King himself.
"The Nation is sick."
She walks out of the booth, and through the front door. I sign, and follow, to hear the words, "We want to be free."
Once outside I see her on the steps. She's ready. She's seen death in the face. But so has the King. That's why I'm here. The King was to fall. But this woman.... she was not destined to. Yet, here she was on the steps.
She leans forward, allowing herself to be beat up by the grueling stairs. Men and women rush around me, to see the woman at the edge of the steps. She never touched the ground.
The King comes out of the church, as he is finished with his speech. He sees the woman on the steps, and closes his eyes. He mumbles words, and walks on. He brushes my shoulder, and stops to say his word. I agree it was an accident, and I wish him good fortune. This will not come.
April 4th, 1968 Martin Luther King was assassinated. I was there to show him the steps to heaven.
The speech had gotten to me. "We all want to be free." I wanted freedom. Yet, for years, decades, centuries, I was trapped. While in Mason Temple, I felt free. Free, and with people around me who felt the same. I couldn't even remember my name then. It had been to long, without using it. Who am i?
The hero mumbles more words at me. I just do as I am told, and tell him his destiny. He looks as if he has seen a ghost, and turns to wipe a tear.
I transport him to the world from where he came from, and watch him walk off.
I decided to do the same. Walk away, that is. Discover who I am. Who I was. I started my course, and walked down the steps.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ye, as you can tell there is a lot of symbolism and themes in here. This is more of my "literature" stories I guess. Oh well.
On our way back down to the valley post-holing was unavoidable. Luckily, the famous “this is only for a short section” reasoning was for once true.
Learn to see what you are looking at because what is important is not what you hear said, it's what you observe. All perceiving is also thinking, all reasoning is also intuition, all observation is also invention. Never trust to general impressions but concentrate yourself upon details
People love to stand in front of Van Cortlandt Manor at the Great Jack O' Lantern Blaze and take selfies or photos of the house itself while it's all lit up for Halloween. This year, I noticed that the vast majority of people I saw taking pictures were using their cell phones rather than regular cameras. This surprised me very much and made me wonder at their reasoning. Are they simply trading quality for simplicity or is it something more? I take a lot of pictures with my cell phone since it's very quick and easy but it can never replace my "real" camera. What does everyone else think about using a cell phone for photography versus an actual camera?
"From the moment when I stood on the Serengeti plains holding the fossilized bones of ancient creatures in my hands to the moment when, staring into the eyes of a chimpanzee, I saw a thinking, reasoning personality looking back. You may not believe in evolution, and that is all right. How we humans came to be the way we are is far less important than how we should act now to get out of the mess we have made for ourselves."
~Jane Goodall
Firestorm is a nuclear-powered super-hero with the ability to transmute elements. The Firestorm Matrix is a composite of multiple people bonded together, originally high school student Ronnie Raymond controlling the body and nuclear physicist Professor Martin Stein giving direction as an additional consciousness. Mikhail Arkadin became a later Firestorm, Stein took control at one point, and Lorraine Reilly was also part of the matrix for a period.
Jason Rusch takes over the identity after the death of Raymond during Identity Crisis, and goes through several partners including Mick Wong and his girlfriend Gehenna.
In an interview Gerry Conway discussed his reasoning and influences while creating the character "I always loved the idea of the hair on fire, I think it goes back to Johnny Storm, The Human Torch, an entire flaming character, of course."
Conway further elaborated, "I’d been playing around with the idea of a teenage superhero for DC, who could sort of fill the hole that had been left in my heart by leaving Spider-Man behind. I’d been thinking about the tropes — one of which was the meek, mild alter ego, the brainy kid who, in wish fulfillment, gets superpowers, is extremely powerful… able to do things that he hadn’t been able to do before. That was, I think, the major motivating force—I wanted to play on that trope.
To do that, I wanted to flip it around: create a guy who wasn’t the brightest guy in the room, the not-terribly-smart guy who became a superpowered character. The way I’d make that work: I’d bring him into contact with the smarter person, who would also share the powers. This led to… the multiple-people-in-one, Professor Stein/ Ronnie Raymond dynamic."
Jack Kirby's 1971 design for Lightray's costume influenced the look of artist Al Milgrom's creation of Firestorm in 1978. In an interview from 2019, Milgrom admitted: "The facemask on Firestorm, the way it comes around the chin, was probably inspired by Lightray more than anything... I liked the [Lightray] head-covering thing; I said, "I'm stealin' it!"
Aliases
Ronnie Raymond / Martin Stein
The original Firestorm was distinguished by his integrated dual identity. High school student Ronnie Raymond and Nobel Prize-winning physicist Martin Stein were caught in an accident that allowed them to fuse into Firestorm the Nuclear Man.
Due to Stein being unconscious during the accident, Raymond was prominently in command of the Firestorm form with Stein a voice of reason inside his mind, able to offer Raymond advice on how to use their powers without actually having any control over their dual form.
Banter between the two was a hallmark of their adventures. Stein was initially completely unaware of their dual identity, leaving him concerned about his unusual disappearances and blackouts, but Ronnie was eventually able to convince him of the truth, allowing them to bond as separate individuals rather than as parts of a whole.
Ronnie Raymond / Martin Stein / Mikhail Arkadin
When Conway left the series in 1986, John Ostrander (with artist Joe Brozowski) began writing the Firestorm stories. His first major story arc pitted Firestorm against the world as the hero, acting on a suggestion from a terminally ill Professor Stein, demanded that the United States and the Soviet Union destroy all of their nuclear weapons.
After confrontations with the Justice League and most of his enemies, Firestorm faced the Russian nuclear superhero Pozhar in the Nevada desert, where an atomic bomb was dropped on them. A new Firestorm resulted, a fusion of the two heroes: this new Firestorm was composed of Ronnie Raymond and the Russian Mikhail Arkadin but controlled by the disembodied amnesiac mind of Martin Stein.
Fire Elemental
The Firestorm with Arkadin proved to be a transitional phase, as in 1989 Ostrander fundamentally changed the character of Firestorm by revealing that Firestorm was a "Fire Elemental".
Firestorm now became something of an environmental crusader, formed from Ronnie Raymond, Mikhail Arkadin, and Svarozhich, a Soviet clone of the previous Firestorm, but with a new mind. Professor Stein, no longer part of the composite at all, continued to play a role, but the focus was on this radically different character.
New artist Tom Mandrake would create a new look to match. It was during this phase that Firestorm met and befriended Sango and the Orishas, the elemental gods of Nigeria. He also met their chief deity and Sango's older brother Obatala, Lord of the White Cloth.
By the series' 100th issue, Stein learned that he was destined to be the true Fire Elemental and would have been being it not for Raymond also being there by circumstance. Raymond and Arkadin were returned to their old lives, and Stein as Firestorm was accidentally exiled to deep space in the process of saving the Earth. He thereafter spent many years traveling through space as a wanderer, returning to Earth only rarely.
After the transition to the elemental Firestorm, all of the main characters from the series vanished from the comics for some time after the cancellation of the Firestorm comic in 1990.
Raymond eventually returned in the pages of Extreme Justice.
Raymond, at the time undergoing treatment for leukemia, regained his original powers after a chemotherapy session. It took the combined might of the Justice League led by Captain Atom, and the returned elemental Firestorm, to restore Ronnie's health. Firestorm began to appear regularly in a number of DC titles, though lacking the guidance and knowledge necessary to use his skills wisely.
Firestorm was drafted by Batman into a "replacement" Justice League that was commissioned in case something befell the original team (in this case, being stranded in the distant past in "The Obsidian Age" storyline).
After the original team returned, Firestorm stayed on as a reserve member and participated in events such as a team-up with the Justice Society of America (in JLA/JSA: Virtue and Vice) and the intercompany crossover JLA/Avengers. He was also briefly a member of the Power Company.
Jason Rusch
In 2004, DC revived the Firestorm comic for the second time, with writer Dan Jolley and artist Chris Cross, but instead of the original Firestorm, Ronnie Raymond, there was a new protagonist; the teenager Jason Rusch.
Jason was a 17-year-old living in Detroit who wanted nothing more than to escape his home city. He lived with his father, who had turned abusive after he lost his hand in an industrial accident. His mother left the family sometime after the accident.
With the loss of a job he needed for college tuition, Jason turned to a local thug for money, accepting a job as a courier. It was on that job that he encountered the Firestorm Matrix, searching for a new host after Ronnie Raymond's death. In the aftermath, Jason struggled to cope with his new identity and powers—a struggle that led to the death of the man who had hired him.
Jason Rusch / Martin Stein
In the 2006 miniseries Infinite Crisis, it was revealed that Martin Stein, alive in space as the "Elemental Firestorm", had sensed the presence of Jason Rusch within the Firestorm Matrix, but was unaware of Ronnie Raymond's death. When Jason, as Firestorm, was gravely wounded in the line of duty, Stein linked with him in a variation of the merge, promising Jason a new Firestorm body to let him return into battle (although Martin had been unable to save Mick) and asking him about Ronnie's fate.
Accepting Martin's proposal, Jason asked Stein to become the permanent second member of the Firestorm Matrix. Sensing his "errors" (including Mick's death) were the result of his youth and lack of experience, he sought the experience and maturity of Stein. Stein refused at first, but later accepted Jason's request, thus ensuring both a new Firestorm body and the reconstruction of human bodies for both Rusch and Stein.
It was revealed in Infinite Crisis that if the Multiverse had survived up to the present, Jason would have been a native of Earth-Eight.
Jason Rusch / Firehawk
As the storyline jumped ahead one year (and the series itself was now re-titled as Firestorm the Nuclear Man from issue #23 on), Professor Stein has mysteriously vanished, and Jason Rusch has been merging with Firehawk to become Firestorm, allowing him to use her powers as well.
The two decided to look for Stein together. Stein had been kidnapped and tortured by the Pupil, a former teaching assistant of Stein's. Flanked by the D.O.L.L.I.s, a group of cyborg soldiers of limited cognitive ability, the Pupil (formerly known as Adrian Burroughs) questioned the nearly dead Stein about the secrets of the universe.
Jason and Lorraine, along with the mysterious teleporter Gehenna, freed the captured Stein and restored him to full health. Jason is a college freshman at New York City's Columbus University and seems to have ties with Dani Sharpe, a member of the senior staff at LexCorp.
The Firestorm team of Jason and Firehawk made several appearances across the DC Comics Universe before the search for Martin Stein ended. This included dealing with the latest OMAC and teaming up with Superman in the "Back in Action" story arc in Action Comics.
Firehawk later introduced Jason to Pozhar, a Russian superhero who was once a part of the Firestorm Matrix; together, the trio takes on a newly reborn Tokamak. This series ended with Firestorm the Nuclear Man #35 (April 2007).
Jason Rusch / Ronnie Raymond
In the 2009–2010 Blackest Night miniseries, Ronnie Raymond is called by a black power ring to join the Black Lantern Corps. Like other Black Lanterns, the undead Firestorm mimics the personality of Ronnie Raymond, often wisecracking and exhibiting other stereotypical teenage behavior.
In the 2010–2011 Brightest Day miniseries, Ronnie Raymond arrives at Jason Rusch's apartment with Professor Stein and Ray Palmer to attend Gehenna's funeral.
When Ronnie is actually unable to remember Gehenna's name, Jason angrily lashes out and punches him in the face. This causes the two young men to merge into Firestorm, and they begin arguing inside the Matrix.
Palmer manages to separate Jason and Ronnie, but not before the Firestorm matrix causes a huge explosion. It is revealed that Deathstorm intends to create enough emotional instability between Ronnie and Jason that the Matrix will trigger another Big Bang, thereby destroying all life in the universe. Ronnie and Jason must find a way to contain their Firestorm matrix from the explosion in less than 90 days.
After the events of the 2011 Flashpoint storyline, The New 52 reality altered Firestorm's personal history to the point of it being completely restarted. Ronnie Raymond is now introduced as a high school senior and the captain of the football team. During a terrorist attack on their school, classmate Jason Rusch produces a vial given to him by Professor Stein, which contains the "God Particle", one of Stein's creations.
The God Particle transforms both Jason and Ronnie into Firestorm, and the two teens briefly battle each other before accidentally merging into a hulking creature known as the Fury.
Sharing the identity of Firestorm, with Ronnie being the brawn and Jason being the brains, Firestorm is considered for recruitment into the Justice League along with several other heroes.
DC Rebirth
In the Watchmen sequel Doomsday Clock, Firestorm becomes a subject of controversy after claims arise stating that he was created by the American government. Firestorm profanely denounces the "Superman Theory" and insults his Russian counterpart Pozhar, much to the dismay of Martin Stein.
Firestorm subsequently becomes embroiled in a fight with several Russian superheroes before appearing to inadvertently turn a crowd of civilian protesters into a glass (a feat previously deemed beyond his capabilities). Firestorm flees with the body of an affected child and is found in hiding at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine by Superman.
With Superman's encouragement, Firestorm returns the child to normal. Firestorm and Superman return to the affected crowd and are engaged by the Russian military. The area then becomes engulfed in an explosion of blue light. Subsequent discoveries reveal that the 'Superman Theory' is actually partially correct, as Stein deliberately engineered the creation of Firestorm to make himself a superhuman, even if Raymond genuinely had no idea of this until recently.
Powers and abilities
Firestorm has the ability to rearrange molecular or particle structures of any substance into most anything else, creating different atomic structures of equal mass. He can transmute the basic composition of an object (e.g., transmuting lead into gold) and can also change its shape or form at will. Much like Green Lantern's limitations, Firestorm can only create items whose workings are understood by the "driver" of the Firestorm Matrix, through he can make more complex sentient constructs out of the Matrix's energies. Unlike Green Lantern's creations, Firestorm's alterations are permanent unless he reverses them.
Initially, he could not affect organic matter without painful, even lethal, feedback (i.e., fatal biophysical disruption or even localized particle motion phenomena like extreme changes in the weather). It was later revealed that Firestorm could always change organic matter, but opted not to. As Jason Rusch became Firestorm, however, this weakness appeared to have dissipated. With old and new variations, the organic limitation does not extend to his own person, as its users can molecularly change their driver self at will, allowing them to regenerate lost or damaged bodily tissue, boost immune systems, shape-shift, increase physical capabilities and survive indefinitely without food, sleep, water or air.
Capacities as such produce superhuman levels of strength, durability, stamina and resistance to injury great enough to challenge the New Gods—the likes of Orion, Lashina, or an empowered Kalibak—or surviving the rigors of outer space and sitting near the inner corona above the sun's photosphere without discomfort.
Firestorm's power has been stated by Prof. Stein to be theoretically infinite, harnessing the spark of creation, the Big Bang itself. However, infinite power runs the risk of burning out its host.
While the Firestorm Matrix can be utilized by a singular host driver—as was the case with Ronnie, Stein, and Rusch—it is not recommended. The Matrix functions best with two people, a pilot and secondary, to comprehend and master it. Martin instructed Rusch on how to study current and potential powers available to them within the Matrix and to manually adjust them on the fly at a later date. Its main source of energy stemmed from the ambient stellar energies of native stars and suns but could also use its co-pilot as a power source, though they will burn out over time and genetically disintegrate if not properly adjusted to its power.
The merging aspect of the Matrix can enable outside fusions which assimilate any inherent abilities these others might possess. However, this can diminish its effectiveness and stability. Rusch has shown he can spontaneously warp himself and others he had previously merged with to his specific location, triggering the neural pathway connection and allowing the gestalt to access each other's knowledge and memories to better utilize Firestorm's capabilities.
Users of the Firestorm Matrix can access a type of ancestral memory from the continuum of past Matrix users, allowing them to access the latest knowledge of the atoms comprising it. This also translates into a form of time-space sight in which the Matrix user can glimpse the past, present, future, and alternate lives of every other Firestorm throughout reality using a collective of subatomic wormholes which exist as a part of the Matrix. This power is too complex to properly control; thus, it has been highly unreliable as an ability.
The driver can fly at supersonic speeds in an atmosphere and reach escape velocities. The driver can also adjust the driver's body's size or pull and enlarge others from the subatomic universe at will, Rusch having once dragged Ray Palmer from his microscopic size to the natural world while on Apokolips. Manipulation of the self at the subatomic level allows the driver to become intangible and pass through solid objects. This allowed Rusch to communicate with John Stewart and sift through his mind telepathically after he had been taken over by the void beast. Firestorm is also adept at absorbing and redistributing radiation or energy both harmlessly and productively (such as in Green Lantern: Circle of Fire #7, having both absorbed Zeta Radiation from Adam Strange's body and repurposed it to turn a universe-destroying quasar back onto itself and absorb the fallout from a massive nuclear detonation).) He can generate destructive or concussive blasts of nuclear energy, through which he can also channel his transmogrification powers.
While the Matrix grants the fusers unique powers, it can also accidentally bestow them on individuals caught in the Matrix by mistake. One example is Nanette Phaedon, wife of the late Allen Phaedon, who gained the ability to change her quantum state for size-shifting and flight by her own will. Following Raymond's resurrection during Brightest Day, Firestorm gained the ability to switch "drivers" between Ronnie and Jason at will; before that, only the active driver was in control, with the dormant consciousness only able to advise the other on what action to take. One of the faults of a Firestorm fusion is that the stronger psyche will have dominance of the Matrix's power, such as when Jason fused with Luis Salvador who overpowered him from the passenger seat of the Matrix.
During The New 52, the Firestorm Matrix could be shared through multiple users at a time. Users could fuse and become stronger, but more unstable. The entity formed between Ronnie and Jason when using the Matrix in tandem created a nuclear being called "the Fury". It was also shown that The Matrix shares a kinship to the Quantum Field in some way, enabling Firestorm users to derive its power for subatomic transmutation and manipulation. Some believe it is key to the fabled God particle theory. Its merging properties can place a large burden on the user; Firestorm runs the risk of reaching critical mass and detonating. At worst, the fusion of too many users in the Matrix could trigger a second Big Bang.
⚡ Happy 🎯 Heroclix 💫 Friday! 👽
_____________________________
A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.
Secret Identities:
Ronald Roy "Ronnie" Raymond
Dr. Martin Stein
Dr. Mikhail Denisovitch Arkadin
Jason Thomas Rusch
Publisher: DC
First appearance: Firestorm the Nuclear Man #1 (March 1978)
Created by: Gerry Conway (Writer)
Al Milgrom (Artist)
Sounds like the title of a dodgy film doesn't it?
Just been having a look back over my photos and it would seem that I don't really know who I am or who I want to be at any one given time! Well I know who I want to be but that's another story.
When I first started getting a little more serious about being who I am it was suggested that I shouldn't change my look rapidly from day to day because people like to see a constant and would take me more seriously if I present one image all the time. I can see the reasoning behind that advice honest I can but I just love playing different characters.
Not sure Helen is the kind of girl who would ever stop surprising she is one of those girls who likes to keep people on their toes. One day she is a saint the next she is a sinner (not really), one day she is the neighbour next door the following day she is a princess.
Most of the time she just a girl/woman trapped in a world that can't see her or won't see her.
So in order to be seen I am wearing this gold/yellow satin dress. Think I will stand out in this one and that makes this girl happy.
Please indulge me here:
Many people are either in love with themselves
or they hate themselves-which is just another form of self love, but we can call that self absorption or self indulgence.
There is little middle ground here!
There is only you in the world and everyone else is either out to lower or raise your self esteem.
Other people are either our makers or breakers.
--------------------------------
As people/human organisms we mostly want obedience, loyalty, UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, UNDERSTANDING, GRATITUDE, AFFECTION, ACCEPTANCE.
We want our asses kissed, our flaws overlooked, our attitudes accepted our negativity applauded, our way of making coffee the best ,
We crave the best homes, gardens, cars, children, kitchens, bathrooms
basically .......... the best of everything!
And the MYTH that only America is great, all other countries are filled with ignorant morons who kill and hate and beg and have no money and dont strive and lack ambition and are dying to come to AMERICA but arent as good as Americans and basically AMERICA is the greatest thing since oral sex
well... is truly a MYTH!
Many of us think we are interesting.
Not true at all.
MEDIOCRE is the word for most Humans and
IGRAM and Youtube are prime examples saturated with MEDIOCRITY.
The DEMOCRATIZATION OF talentless talent!?
Many of us want an audience, fame and applause without actually making the effort.
Many of us are Narcissists, self aggrandizing and want clones of ourselves.
Materialism justifies our entire existence & it leaves us empty & poor in the soul and deceived because its illusory, ephemeral and basically just crap put together until its replaced by version 2.0
We dont want to work at relationships.
We want the relationship one way
our way
with our values
our opinions matter
our decisions are always the right ones.
What we say goes. Its our way or no way. We want it ALL our way.
THE LOYALTY OF THE DOG THAT ONLY A DOG GIVES IS WHAT We WANT .................. a DOG.
MANS BEST FRIEND.
SMACK A DOG,
CURSE IT,
THROW ROCKS AT IT,
POKE ITS EYES
KICK IT
REFUSE ITS AFFECTION
ABUSE IT
THROW IT DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS
MAKE IT AN OBJECT THAT HAS NO FEELINGS AND MAKE IT ENDURE AS MUCH VENOM YOU GOT FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD....
A DOG WILL ALWAYS BE LOVING AND OBEDIENT.
IT WILL NEVER ABANDON YOU.
IT WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.
IT WILL WAG ITS TAIL AND JUMP ON YOU AT THE DOOR UPON ARRIVAL AND CRY WHEN YOU LEAVE IT.
EVEN AFTER A SEVERE BATTERING.
MANS BEST FRIEND ....
----------------------------------------------
We treat,
evaluate
and judge others like we were treated as a child.
some call this PROJECTION for you psychology nuts.
If uncorrected or unanalyzed ( most human beings ) we pass all this crap on to our offspring, thus
a generation of drug addiction, hopelessness, you get it...
OUR VIEWS are " DOGMA "
a principle or set of principles laid down by an authority as incontrovertibly true.
Our opinions are rarely unchangeable, we are rigid, we are so full of our childhood traumas we dont even know they are traumas. We find others to convince that youre reasoning is the right reasoning and they should join forces with you.
We want universal unconditional non negotiable unmitigated floridly wholeheartedly 100 percent edly acceptance. Yes basically........ we want DOGS!
ruff ruff.................
Dr Losack ......
Photography’s new conscience
Greco-Buddhism and Modern Rovingian Animism - Parallels in the Fusion of Traditions by Daniel Arrhakis (2026)
Greco-Buddhism and Modern Rovingian Animism - Parallels in the Fusion of Traditions
Greco-Buddhism: an encounter between Greek and Asian traditions
Greco-Buddhism was a cultural syncretism developed in the ancient region of Gandhara (present-day Pakistan and Afghanistan). This phenomenon fused Indian spiritual philosophy with Hellenistic aesthetics and reasoning, disseminated after the conquests of Alexander the Great.
Artistic Fusion (Gandharian Art)
The most striking evidence of this intersection is visual. Before Greek influence, the Buddha was not represented in human form; he appeared primarily symbolically, for example: footprints, an empty throne or a wheel (dharmachakra).
The legacy of this encounter between East and West remains visible in Buddhist art and iconography, with influences extending throughout Central Asia and reaching China, Korea, and Japan.
Rovingian Modern Animism: A Contemporary Spiritual Fusion
Just as Greco-Buddhism illustrates the fusion of cultures, rites, and spiritualities over millennia, Rovingian modern animism presents itself as a synthesis of ancient shamanic traditions, modern ecology and Asian references.
It draws inspiration from: the ancestral animistic vision, the Dharmic traditions of Asia, especially Buddhism and Hinduism, Chinese and Japanese traditions, such as Taoism, Confucianism, Shintoism and Modern Ecology.
In line with many Asian currents and animism, and unlike Abrahamic religions, this perspective tends to be non-theistic, favoring personal enlightenment and lived practice over theocentric worship.
Without intending to contest other interpretations, Rovingian animism defends the immortality of the soul through successive reincarnations. This continuity is understood in a universal and timeless way: the evolution of consciousness occurs in symbiosis with matter and can acquire planetary and cosmic scales.
In this view, all elements participate in some degree of consciousness and relationship—living beings (animals and plants), natural elements (rocks, rivers, mountains), and even human creations. Everything exists in interdependence, in a network equilibrium, where matter and spirit co-evolve and no element subsists in isolation from the Whole.
Pillars of the fusion of traditions
The legacy of Greco-Buddhism
Pioneering syncretism: united Indian cosmological thought with Hellenistic philosophy, including the impulse for anthropomorphism.
Breaking of dogmas: helped translate the representation of the invisible (symbols) into tangible forms (Gandarian art).
Spiritual “Globalization”: showed that spiritual paths are not static and can expand across diverse geographies and cultures.
The paradigm of modern Rovingian animism
Non-theistic approach: focuses on self-enlightenment and lived experience, rejecting Abrahamic theocentrism.
Cosmic panpsychism: attributes consciousness to living beings, natural elements, and artificial objects.
Transdimensional evolution: proposes reincarnations that operate in symbiosis with matter on a universal scale and in relative time.
Radical interdependence: understands reality as a web in which matter and spirit co-evolve in a network.
Similarities with the concept of Pratītyasamutpāda
In Buddhism, the concept of Pratītyasamutpāda (dependent co-origination) states that all phenomena arise in dependence on multiple causes and conditions: “If this exists, that exists; if this ceases, that ceases.”
This metaphysical view presents relevant similarities with the structure of modern Rovingian animism:
Rejection of existential isolation: In Buddhism, there is no independent "self" or isolated static soul (empty of intrinsic existence). In Rovingian animism, individual consciousness integrates itself into the cosmic equilibrium in such a way that the evolution of the soul occurs "in symbiosis with matter," depending on the environment and the universal ecosystem.
Networked causality (cosmic web): The Pratītyasamutpāda does not operate as a straight line of cause and effect, but as a network of mutually conditioning factors. Similarly, the Rovingian view describes a radical interdependence in which biotic (living) and abiotic (rocks, rivers, artificial objects) elements simultaneously influence the equilibrium of the global system.
Multidimensional cycle and continuity: Dependent co-origination describes the cycle that perpetuates existence by generating new states (samsara). In the Rovingian model, "successive reincarnations with a timeless dimension" reflect a continuous flow of energy and consciousness that transforms and expands, acquiring planetary and cosmic proportions in relative time.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Greco-budismo e Animismo Moderno Rovingiano - Paralelismos Na Fusão de Tradições
Greco-budismo: encontro entre tradições gregas e asiáticas
O greco-budismo foi um sincretismo cultural desenvolvido na antiga região de Gandara (atual Paquistão e Afeganistão). Este fenómeno fundiu a filosofia espiritual indiana com a estética e o raciocínio helenísticos, difundidos após as conquistas de Alexandre, o Grande.
Fusão artística (arte gandariana)
A evidência mais marcante desta intersecção é visual. Antes da influência grega, o Buda não era representado sob forma humana; surgia, sobretudo, de modo simbólico, por exemplo: pegadas, um trono vazio, uma roda (dharmachakra).
O legado deste encontro entre Oriente e Ocidente permanece visível na arte e na iconografia budistas, com influências que se estenderam pela Ásia Central e chegaram à China, Coreia e Japão.
Animismo Moderno Rovingiano: uma fusão espiritual contemporânea
Tal como o greco-budismo ilustra a fusão de culturas, ritos e espiritualidades ao longo de tempos milenares, o animismo moderno rovingiano assume-se como uma síntese de tradições xamânicas ancestrais, ecologia moderna e tradições asiáticas.
Inspira-se: nas tradições xamânicas ancestrais, nas tradições dármicas (ou religiões índicas) da Ásia, em especial o Budismo e o Hinduísmo, em tradições chinesas e japonesas, como o Taoísmo, o Confucionismo, o Xintoísmo e a Ecologia Moderna.
Em linha com muitas correntes asiáticas e com o animismo, e ao contrário das religiões abraâmicas, esta perspetiva tende a ser não-teísta, privilegiando a iluminação pessoal e a prática vivida em detrimento de uma adoração teocêntrica.
Sem pretender contestar outras leituras, o animismo rovingiano defende a imortalidade da alma através de reencarnações sucessivas. Essa continuidade é entendida de forma universal e intemporal: a evolução da consciência dá-se em simbiose com a matéria e pode adquirir escalas planetárias e cósmicas.
Nesta visão, todos os elementos participam de algum grau de consciência e relação — seres vivos (animais e plantas), elementos naturais (rochas, rios, montanhas) e até criações humanas. Tudo existe em interdependência, num equilíbrio em rede, onde matéria e espírito coevoluem e nenhum elemento subsiste isoladamente do Todo.
Pilares da fusão de tradições
O legado do greco-budismo
Sincretismo pioneiro: uniu o pensamento cosmológico indiano à filosofia helenística, incluindo o impulso para o antropomorfismo.
Quebra de dogmas: ajudou a traduzir a representação do invisível (símbolos) em formas tangíveis (arte gandariana).
“Globalização” espiritual: mostrou que caminhos espirituais não são estáticos e podem expandir-se por geografias e culturas diversas.
O paradigma do animismo moderno rovingiano
Abordagem não-teísta: centra-se na autoiluminação e na vivência, rejeitando o teocentrismo abraâmico.
Panpsiquismo cósmico: atribui consciência a seres vivos, elementos naturais e objetos artificiais.
Evolução transdimensional: propõe reencarnações que operam em simbiose com a matéria à escala universal e tempo relativo.
Interdependência radical: entende a realidade como uma teia em que matéria e espírito coevoluem em rede.
Semelhanças com o conceito de Pratītyasamutpāda
No Budismo, o conceito de Pratītyasamutpāda (co-originação dependente) afirma que todos os fenómenos surgem em dependência de múltiplas causas e condições: “Se isto existe, aquilo existe; se isto cessa, aquilo cessa”.
Esta visão metafísica apresenta semelhanças relevantes com a estrutura do animismo moderno rovingiano:
Rejeição do isolamento existencial: no Budismo, não existe um “eu” independente nem uma alma estática isolada (vazio de existência intrínseca). No animismo rovingiano, a consciência individual integra-se de tal forma no equilíbrio cósmico que a evolução da alma acontece “em simbiose com a matéria”, dependendo do meio e do ecossistema universal.
Causalidade em rede (teia cósmica): o Pratītyasamutpāda não opera como uma linha reta de causa e efeito, mas como uma rede de fatores mutuamente condicionantes. De modo semelhante, a visão rovingiana descreve uma interdependência radical em que elementos bióticos (vivos) e abióticos (rochas, rios, objetos artificiais) influenciam simultaneamente o equilíbrio do sistema global.
Ciclo multidimensional e continuidade: a co-originação dependente descreve o ciclo que perpetua a existência ao gerar novos estados (samsara). No modelo rovingiano, as “reencarnações sucessivas com dimensão intemporal” refletem um fluxo contínuo de energia e consciência que se transforma e se expande, adquirindo proporções planetárias e cósmicas no tempo relativo.
Conservative arrives in shades of navy and cream
With matching suitcases and fine cuisine
Appraising the violation of violet hair
With offerings of love and inquisitive reasoning
Reminiscing leads to a sideways shunt
With silver clouds the seaside comes beckoning
Surprise seizes at an appropriate location
With arms crossed and collars adorned
Lilac locks are no longer so livid
With cobalt, cherry and lime surrounding
Blackpool 2008
©Camera Poetry
What If I Am Father?
Comedian W.C. Fields was reading the Bible one afternoon when a friend asked him what he was doing. The actor responded wryly, “Looking for loopholes.”
Somewhere within the intended humor of this statement probably lies a revealing glimpse of our often-ironic approach to God. That is, if God is real, there is something irrational about thinking in terms of an entity that can be manipulated; if there is such a thing as truth, there is something ridiculous about defining it to suit ourselves. But we do this regularly.
Author A.J. Jacobs always assumed that religion “would just wither away and we’d live in a neo-Enlightenment world.”(1) When this did not happen, he figured he should examine whether he was missing something essential to being a human or whether half the human population was simply deluded by the existence of God. So he decided to follow literally every command in the Bible for a year—including not trimming his beard and making tassels on the corners of his garments. In his book A Year of Living Biblically, he describes his experiment, which he admits held a bit of irreverence. In the end, nonetheless, he draws the conclusion, “I now believe that whether or not there’s a God, there is such a thing as sacredness.”(2)
Many, including Jacobs, point out the irony of his experiment—namely, deciding to follow the Bible literally is hardly the same thing as deciding to follow God. Yet the popular approach to theological inquiry is not much different and is often equally suited to our own interests, the difference perhaps being that we rarely point out our own incongruous thinking. Truth is comfortably understood in terms of preference, and God is readily comprehended as one who must prepare a defense for our own thunderous line of questioning, even as we question this God’s very existence. Somehow we have arrived at a state of mind where we can live in anger with God for existing, where we can each choose our own brand of reasoning and be frustrated with life for being unreasonable—and see none of the contradictions in our words. Or else we simply choose to overlook them—along with the desperate love of the one crouched at our feet.
The prophet Malachi screamed of crisis during a time when people were asleep to their own incongruous thoughts. Malachi’s message came at the end of a thousand year period of God’s revelation to the people of Israel. The next voice to be heard centuries later was that of John the Baptist preparing the way for the Messiah. Yet historically, the people of Malachi’s day were standing in a period of almost eerie stillness. There was no looming threat to be addressed, no extraordinary prospering to be consumed by, no real reason to be moved by much of anything. Whether for lack of excitement or for excess of ease, the hearts of the people had grown cold and weary. Their worship was tired. Their complaints had no end. It was Malachi who pointedly voiced the irrationality of their half-hearted approach to God, the sheer irony of finding the almighty God wearisome.
Through Malachi, we hear a series of distinctive questions and answers in a dialogical fashion, and we get an eye-opening glimpse of the often-cynical, often-illogical cries of humanity in light of the cries of a Father’s heart in response to his children.
The opening lines of the closing book read powerfully, “I have loved you, says the Lord. Yet you say, ‘In what way have you loved us?’… A son honors his father, and a servant his master. But if I am a father, where is the honor due me? If I am a master, where is the respect due me?”(3) The inquiry is both direct and personal, referencing a great story of pursuit and belonging, embrace and subtle or not-so-subtle rejection. If I am Father, why am I the one being questioned? While you have grown cold and weary, I have loved you. Yet you ask, “In what way?”
In these words, in the midst of whatever inconsistency we may or may not see in ourselves, I believe a loving Father still beckons. This declaration of love, which could easily be spoken in anger, voiced as one taking back the words and years of care, is not spoken in terms of retreat. On the contrary, spoken in perfect tense, the phrase “I have loved you” signals past actions, but present implications. The immense history of God’s pursuit and care is indeed called to mind, but the sentiment remains unscathed, present and active. It is as if God is saying through a crippling lament that remembers every costly act on our behalf, and yet still hopes to assure: You don’t know what you’re saying or doing. I have loved you. I have loved you. I have loved you.
Similar words would be spoken even closer centuries later as God stood among humanity as one of us. “And when they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left. But Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.'”(4)
What if God is dissatisfied by empty worship, not out of greed or arrogance or self-preoccupation, but because God’s love is so far from empty itself? What if God is grieved by barren, distant images of abstract religion, not out of legalism or fastidiousness, but because God lives so much nearer than we know? What if God laments our self-consumed inquiries as to divine love and character simply because the statement is far truer than we have imagined: “‘I have loved you,’ says the Lord.”
How do we respond to this love? For one, there is really no need for loopholes. And if we will remember the immense demonstration of this love in history, there is also no reason to ask “in what way?”
Jill Carattini is managing editor at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
I read in an article recently that those three parallel horizontal stripes on many American school buses are more than decorative, that they actually indicate something. The bottom one is supposed to coincide with the floor. The middle one indicates where the tops of the seats are and the top line indicates the tops of the seat backs. The reasoning given was that if needed during an accident, rescuers would have a visual indication of where to open the bus bodywork to access trapped passengers.
But I also read another article that stated that those black stripes in the shape of channels simply reinforce the structural integrity of the body which is essentially made of just flat pieces of sheet metal.
Smokey and the Bandit.
When ‘Smokey and the Bandit’ was released on 29th July 1977 in Los Angeles the stage was set for what would become a cult movie.
But just who was or were the real stars of the movie?
Was it Burt Reynolds who played role of Bo "The Bandit" Darville, perhaps it Jackie Gleason who played the role of Bufford T Justice aka Smokey Bear or was the real star of the movie is the (several) 1976 Firebird Trans Am Special Edition’s that were modified units provided to the film producers by Pontiac.
Which goes to prove you just cannot believe anything that comes out of Hollywood.
In fact the movie makers were given a total of four modified cars which were to be used for filming however of the four cars three were totally wrecked during filming and as for the fourth and surviving car it is simple – whereabouts unknown.
Now to get into the technical side of the matter and this for the purists and not so purists how do we differentiate and determine what is a 1976 or a 1977 model?
Other mods included a bumper replacement on the ’76 model with a new one of a 1977 model.
In addition the hood scoop was swapped out with a ’77 model scoop the reason being that the ’76 model scoop used cubic inches to measure the engine size callouts on the scoop whereas the ’77 model switched over to litres as its unit of measurement.
The easiest means is to look into the eyes as the eyes have it, the 1976 model was manufactured with two large round headlights whereas the 1977 model was built with quad rectangular assemblies.
Ponitac’s reasoning for supplying the 1976 Firebird Trans Am Special Edition for the movie is simple.
Smokey and the Bandit was in production in 1976 and at that time Pontiac were still poring over the drawing boards designing and redesigning the 1977 Trans Am and as such could not even spare one 1977 model let alone four cars so the 1976 model underwent a quick cosmetic transformation to imitate the 1977 version.
Smokey and the Bandit has come and gone but the memory of the Pontiac Trans Am has failed to fade and Pontiac still today attributes the movie to its popularity and sales.
Just think originally Pontiac were not prepared to associate their name with the movie and if that had occurred it could well have been a Chevy Camaro who became the leading actor.
Today of course there are tribute cars that have been dedicated to Smokey and the Bandit and one such car was on display at the annual All American Car Display which was held at Macarthur Square Shopping Centre.
Campbelltown, New South Wales, Australia.
The X40 has been revised to no longer serve ARI Bus Port daytime hours with only the hourly evening service which is linked to the 4 at the bus port still serving it.
The reasoning is to make the X40 a faster more direct service into the city with the aim of attracting more passengers. The risk is that the loss of passengers who catch the bus from ARI will outweigh any increase from Kingswells as First have hinted the X40 will go hourly from Kingswells if the numbers do not increase.
Artic 10161 loops round the bus port in the last week of the link.
Yes, we got the message Leica, but we will not go away without a bang, so that it is clear that we can beat you at your own game. This seems the reasoning for the last luxury L39 rangefinder from Canon. Often called the dream lens, the Canon 50/0,95 was for 40 years the unchallanged queen of high speed 50 mm for 24 x 36. The camera is still based on th Canon P, but it is far bigger, heavier and complicated. The shutter speed sports another position for T and there is a built-in sellenium meter, coupled if you may. The viewfinder is commanded by a disc on top where you manually change the frame lines according to the lens in use and each frame is labelled. The viewfinder is not Leica M bright, but much better than anything coming from Russia. The time for these rangefinders was over, but Canon managed to sell about 130.000 units of these, largely because there was no competition anymore, except for Leica.
This is a class act camera, there isn't one single bit of plastic to be seen, the fit and finish are better than my Leica M6 TTL (ok, no great compliment, I admit!). The camera is all about the "feeling", it is heavy, gives you confidence, it is a serious tool, do something serious too, not happy snapshots.
“I believe in a long, prolonged derangement of the senses to attain the unknown.
Our pale reasoning hides the infinite from us.”
(Jim Morrison - American Poet and Singer, member of The Doors, 1943-1971)
This is the ceiling of the Sas-Bahu temple (mother-in-law and daughter-in-law temple) located in Gwalior, in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh.
This temple, initially dedicated to Vishnu, was built in red sandstone during the rule of the Kachchhapaghatas in the 10th century.
I was alone lying on the ground in the center of the temple, allowing all my senses to be free and for a while I felt that I was attaining something close to what I could name the unknown...
It was a strange and warm sensation provided by the architecture of this sophisticated game of spheres making a passage to the infinite...
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House of Rastafari is the traditional reference point in the festival for all people interested in getting closer to the Rasta culture or just curious about it. A space dedicated to reflect and deepen on this topic.
Among the proposals in this area are Nyabinghi songs, Reasoning Grounds, art and photography exhibitions, as well as solidarity activities to support projects in Ethiopia and Jamaica.
House of Rastafari es el tradicional punto de referencia en el festival para todas las personas interesadas en aproximarse a la cultura rasta o simplemente sienten curiosidad sobre ella. Un espacio dedicado a reflexionar y profundizar acerca de este tema.
Entre las propuestas de este área hay cantos Nyabinghi, Reasoning Grounds, exposiciones de arte y fotografía, así como actividades solidarias de apoyo a proyectos en Etiopía y Jamaica.
Rototom SunSplash 27º European Reggae Festival.
Benicàssim 16-22 August 2022 (Spain)
We may never know if Queen Victoria — Alexandrina Victoria, or 'Drina as opposed the the possible Vicky — ever said "We are not amused". She kept things close, like marrying her maternal first cousin, a matter which, among other things, makes it easier to draw her family tree.
With fair reason it is adjudged that, in Australia, there are more statues of animals than there are of women. I would argue from casual observation that among those statues which are of flesh and blood women, Queen Victoria is in the majority. Here she sits on a royal pedestal outside her eponymous building on the corner of George and Druitt Streets in the Sydney CBD.
Keeping it all in the family, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary (Betty) Windsor married Philip Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg (Phil the Greek, later Philip Mountbatten after a little contretemp in Europe). They shared 'Drina as their 2x great grandmother.
There's always been a whiff of scandal about the British Royals, and before that the English Monarchy. We have Queen Anne and the Acts of Union 1707 for ending the (insert gender here) Monarch of England, and to some that's scandal enough. Her earlier Act of Settlement 1701 nailed the succession to the descendants of a lassie in Germany, because she was Protestant, and neither a Catholic, nor married to one. Primogeniture was restricted to the masculine gender before, and until, as a consequence of 'Drina's assertion that The Crown was indivisible, all the realms of the Crown agreed to change via the Succession to the Crown Act which would allow a girl to get a go on the bike, or a Monarch to marry a Catholic. That matter was put in train in 2011, but Australia was a hold out, delaying the passage of legislation until 2015. No wonder there are so few statues! It must be noted that Australia had three Prime Ministers over the intervening time, all male, all troubled, and the last one, who presided over the changes here, a former Chair of the Australian Republican Movement who wanted them gone anyway. The Establishment really and demonstrably has a women problem!!
Stop chuckling! After Prince Albert died, 'Drina took comfort from her friendship with John Brown, a ghillie at Balmoral. Following his sudden death in 1883, she commissioned a statue of him for erection at Balmoral. She's often painted as dour, a prude. But it was her son and successor, King Edward VII, who couldn't wait for her to be cold in people's memories, before he had John Brown despatched to the woods. We should note that Betty did nothing to restore great great granny's preference.
I'm a keen royal watcher, but one with a sceptical eye. Dieu et mon droit has never kept me in thrall, nor the circular reasoning that an anointing by a church whose head is the anointed one, made the position more sacred, more sacrosanct than any other British Civil Servant. Like the Emperor's new clothes, that pedestal is an architectural device, and now, in the era of mass communication, remarkably transparent. But The Firm, the King, his heirs and successors, now find themselves in a position to borrow those apocryphal words from Queen Victoria as they reflect on the beasts their ancestors created.
Out of interest, and an aside, after many years absence I ventured into the once dignified and beautiful QVB. Now, in that same mass communication era, it is a tourist destination where very few of the visitors have fealty to the Crown, and a silly, undignified, pose or a screaming, running child is far too common for such a place. We are not amused!
Bragging still, but telling the truth still, . . . during all this time I was getting A’s and B’s in high school, mainly because I used to cut class at least once a week, to play hookey that is, just so I could go to the Lowell Public Library and study by myself at leisure such things as old chess books with their fragrance of scholarly thought, their old bindings, leading me to investigate other fragrant old books . . . loving books and the smell of the old library and always reading in the rotunda part of the back where was a bust of Ceasar in the bright morning sun . .
When I read this paragraph in the book thought to myself “wow, where was this book when I was in High School” ?!! My last two years my schedule consisted mostly of AP classes & bunch of electives and honestly I cut them often. Most of the time just to read other books or go to work. Not even just to go out or socialize. I was never that social to cut classes just for that.
Maybe it is good that I never came across this book in HS. Remembering myself as a teenager I am sure that that page would be in my school bag religiously to present it to my teachers and deans when got caught.
One time in HS my poetry teacher didn’t let me stay (I believe in English Department) . . . “Don’t worry” I thought to myself “wait till I get to your class . . . guess where I’m gonna catch up on my New York Times” . . . Anyone who thinks he / she is stubborn should try me . . . I can be the most flexible person ever but if someone rubs me the VERY wrong way . . . I can turn into irreversible stone head !
If I knew that Jack Kerouac did something similar back then I would go out of my way to get that book for him.
Thank God I didn’t know !!!
Of course today I would never behave that way. I would come up and say “Look, I understand your reasoning but I have a substitute teacher and class will loud and it will give me a headache. Please understand that I don’t mean to disrespect anyone. Just don’t want to waste 45 minutes of my time.”
The C&O bought the South Shore back in either 1966 or 1967 and found out that the interurban needed diesels to help move the freight. I think there might have been a customer who didn't want electric locos or the catenary on the property. I don't know the reasoning, but the C&O furnished several old first generation EMDs, mainly high nose GP7s. They primarily were used to haul the NORX coal trains from Burnham, IL to Michigan City. They came in the classic Enhancement Blue with a couple showing up in Chessie colors. When the GP38-2's came on the property, the old veterans were returned to Chessie and were placed in service on the B&OCT. I had the misfortune to ride one on one of my dispatcher road trips, something I"ll never forget. I thought the poor beast was going to fall apart. It rattled so badly that I couldn't hear the engineer or head brakeman; I just hung on for dear life. What we see here is a sharp set of four, looks can be deceiving, headed west after meeting an eastbound MU. They're probably on their way to pick up a NORX train and take it to the generating plant at Michigan City. The coal trains still run today, only the power is about a zillion times better..
This is a REAL instance of ice even without vaccines and it's not the Trump ICE lockup and covid super-spreader site for migrants and kids in Denver. A while back, I grabbed more Clover Basin ditch shots down at Willow Farm when I hauled my D700 back down even though the sky was blank blue. I therefore had no choice but to point the camera downward for captures and keep the sky from the shots. Just like today and tomorrow and tomorrow! I decided that I needed some better originals to edit! I liked this view as well as the other. I got few real duds in my "action" takes of the ditch but I do have several NORMAL shots of the ditch now (they call it Willow Brook) but I call it a ditch. It's not much of one either. Let's face it, most of the St. Vrain stream and ditch flows have been ripped by the towns and cities to water blue grass instead of agriculture.
I can't figure why anyone would cut a ditch this darn squirrely. Drunk diggers, probably, though Longmont was a temperate colony at the time. Not so now When I first saw it, It was nearly impossible to follow the reasoning for this ditch but it does seem that the floods scoured this ditch somewhat. I think I noticed the colors of the reflections and contrasts and decided to take advantage. They seemed to oversaturate in this case but that's about everything posted on Flickr. The water course was a bit torn up but there must have been no serious flooding here.
We hit the end of autumn then and the chills came through but we hit the 60s after Christmas - so no coat. I won't go down to shoot ice today - it hit the 67 degrees in early December and await the 80s later in the week. No Coats in the 60s, no Clarks either. I've still got a lot of captures in the temp directory in today's stretch of no skies. I found Willow Farm on Google maps when searching for a barn I glimpsed and made some trips down there and added some more weird captures to temp stash. This is a shot of Willow Creek, another ditch, IMHO. I went back down with my D700 to see if I could capture some shot of the barn. I may go out soon if we can retrieve some skies and clouds at all.
Here is a normal, if not fairly slow hand held exposure. I already posted other shots that were "action" shots and they were the better shots. I grabbed a couple of slices in Lightroom and dropped them into Photoshop to see what might appear.
Red Herrings :
Act Four - Deliverance
It was not until late Sunday afternoon that the first real break came in the case.
The sergeant detective with the constable in tow had arrived at the directors London town house.
Even though a search warrant was still forthcoming, they joined forces with the London constable and tried the doors and windows, only to find them all securely fastened.
The three policemen were all huddled at the back of the house when they heard a car pull up on the graveled drive way. Going around they saw a late model green jaguar parked, and a tall, thin bearded man in his fifties pulling a suitcase out of the boot as he was eyeing the collection of police cars in the driveway.
Immediately the unsuspecting chap found himself surrounded by police officials waving identification cards in his face.
He identified himself, and turned out to indeed be the director of the test filming that had been taken at St. David’s. He was taken inside for a quick questioning as to where the film crew and his female assistant could be found, along with the were bouts of the van could be found. The quite flabbergasted director gave them all the information without hesitation.
This information was relayed back to Eastminster police CID and officials were dispatched to collect the wayward members of the film crew, equipment and the van …
As the London detective stayed to search the directors house, the director was placed, sputtering, into the back of the police detective sergeants car, along with all of his luggage, and driven back to headquarters to be interviewed.
The officers had not talked about the case, and the director on the drive back appeared to know nothing of it, and appeared( or feigned) ignorance as to why he was being treated like a common criminal!
Once they arrived, he was hustled into an interview room, where the Chief inspector interviewed him personally.
The director demanded to know what the purpose of all this was. But his request was ignored and he was asked to explain his activities over the weekend.
The director, his assistant and the two camera men had driven from London on Friday evening and had occupied a townhouse of a friend’s. It was a well-known fact that when away on a shoot he always stayed at friends or rented a private home, detesting hotels as filthy public places!
Leaving their cars parked at the townhouse, the director and his assistant had driven down early Saturday morning in the van. They had gone up and scouted the area, took some shots, figured out camera placement and angles, before going back into town for supper. Afterwards they had driven right to the hotel, met the limo picking up the two actors he had hired, and left for the function.
They had had to take a shortcut due to construction, and the limo had suffered a flat trye along the rather deserted country lane they found themselves taking. Changing the flat had caused them to arrive much later than anticipated.
Then after the filming, and the impromptu autograph session, the limo had driven the actors back, and they had taken the van back to the townhouse. Where the had spent the evening and some of the morning editing the film. Then after a late lunch, they had all split up and headed home.
No, nothing unusual was seen on the film.
I need to see that film sir, where is it?
Unfortunately, it had been collected that morning, , The director had been able to give the description. It was the red-haired assistant to the producer who had picked it up. She had been wearing driving gloves, black leather jacket over a green frock, dark glasses, and her hair was done up and covered with a long green scarf.
He was asked to tell his story from the beginning, as the Chief Inspector silently cursed that the film was not yet in their possession…
The director was first contacted a month ago by a dark skinned young man wearing dark tinted glasses, looking in appearance like a young harry Belafonte with a smartly trimmed beard, and a thick Scottish accent.
The description closely resembled that of the Romeo in the fancy tux who was suspected as being light fingered.
Accompanying him was his red headed secretary with thick glasses that gave her an almost owl like appearance.
He had said he was form a small independent studio and offered £ 25000 for a test shoot, £ 15000 before, £ 10000 after the film and negatives were received by his secretary. He told them the avenue for the test film had to be done in the chamber and garden pagoda at St Davids…
No, they had not met at his London townhouse. The meeting had taken place at a restaurant. He had received a contract the next day by post. Kept his copy, signed and returned the other. No he had not kept the envelope, or noticed the postal mark. Yes he could have his assistant produce the contract if needed. A money order for £ 15000 was received the following day.
The Detective Chief Inspector had a notion, and after asking a few pertinent questions, the producer realized that it had been the man who had suggested the figure to offer the bishop..
Didn’t you find it odd, asked the Chief Inspector, that he wanted the film right away? He wanted to see it raw, didn’t want to pay anything extra for editing or such the director answered, if you work in the industry ling enough, request like that are anything but out of the ordinary, its the nature of the beast one must simply accept it as such and just as told.
But you said you did edit some of the film. Yes, the director admitted, just curious as to how it all came out. And, again, no one saw anything out of the ordinary? inquired the Chief Inspector.
No, as I told you, answered the director, a puzzled look on his face, just what is all this on about anyway?
But the Chief Inspector saw no reason as of yet to enlighten the director on that matter, instead he rose, and had the director taken to a cell and held as a material witness; someone still suspected as playing a role in the whole affair.
Soon after the director had been processed, news came that the two cameramen and the secretary had been rounded up and were in interview rooms.
The van had been also recovered and was being towed to an impound yard.
The Chief inspector interviewed the two camera men separately.
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The first one, a rather burley chap in his forties, sat with a smug look plastered upon his rather doggish mug.
As a witness to the occurrence, the Chief Inspector found that he was not going to be much help.
He was the much more experienced of the team, and when filming his focus was on the director’s direction and the action taking place. He was not paid to watch everything else going on round about him, especially fancy dressed prats with more money than sense in their wee pointed heads!
So you like money, the Chief Inspector asked him?
Why the cameraman asked him?
No Reason The Chief Inspector answered, figuring the gents expression looked innocent enough.
Did he remember talking to a lady in red satin?
No , as I told ye, I don’t mingle, no time if I am going to get the filming done.
Ask my partner, he fancies emself the ladies’ man!
The rest of the cameraman’s story jived with what the director had told him earlier.
The Chief Inspector finished up, and also had the man placed in a cell as a material witness under suspicion.
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The second cameraman was a bit younger, slender with a rather ragged beard upon his quite handsome mug.
Unlike the first cameraman, he had noticed a bit more, at least where the ladies were concerned.
He was able to describe several of the ladies he had observed dancing, and at least one matched the suspected light fingered darker haired lass in green satin.
The Chief inspector asked if he had noticed anyone of her dance partners. He thought a bit, and mentioned two.
The first one he described did not match anyone the Chief Inspector had seen or interviewed.
The second he thought may have been her brother, a man with the same dark complexion wearing a fancy suit. But he had only caught a brief look as they had danced.
Yes he remembered the priest who had greeted them at the door, but he had not seen him atoll the rest of the evening. Wait a minute he said, and the Chief Inspector could feel his hairs rise, as they did when he sensed a clue coming forthwith ( a feeling that he had as yet to have previously since starting this case) .
Apparently he had caught a glimpse of the priest talking to the lady who had those sparkling earrings, as both watched the dance scene being filmed..…
He described a slender lady in a long rather pretty dress that been wearing a pair of quite sparkly earrings that had played the devil with his camera during the second shoot. During the third shoot he had noticed her again in the crowd, but without the earrings. He just assumed the director had had her removed them to prevent the camera glares he must have noticed. Yes she had been dancing both times with the same bloke, the rather smarmy bloke in a fancy tux, rather dark that he had seen earlier with the lady in green…
His description matched the girl who had discovered her earrings missing at the chamber
Do you remember seeing the dark skinned lad wearing the fancy tux at any other time?
The Chief Inspector asked the cameraman.
After a long minutes ponderance his face brightened, jolly right, while they was signing autographs.. He had come u to me with a question. was with a lady in red, asking me about the actor, she was interested in meeting up with him, in private.
Describe the lady please
Fair skinned blonde wearing a rather tight fitting shiny red gown, lots of sparklers, poshy snob if you ask me!
Did you take them to the actor?
I could give then no help, I did not know the gent.
He had the constable remove the second camera man , musing that he at last had a sighting of one of the 3 missing girls, and all tied in with 3 of the suspected thieves.
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The Chief Inspector than entered the room where the Directors assistant was being held,,,
She was a lady in her mid-forties, thick glasses, severely bobbed hair, and a rather school teacher’ish stern look upon her face.
She rather tartly stated that she had been busy helping the director help set up the cameras, and film the scenes. She had also selected the extras for the dance floor, and had helped keep the on lookers back.
She had remembered the priest, but did not know of him. She had only seen him when he had escorted them in, and when he had helped set up with the autographs.
The cameraman, the younger one, did you remember seeing him talking to a couple during the autograph session.
She thought a moment, pursing her lips, which did nothing to help her rather homely looks.
Yes, her face brightened a bit, a rather poshy boy and a lady in red with all these diamonds just dripping off her. They were talking to him, not sure what about. They walked off after a few minutes, and met up with the priest who was with a lady in green
What Priest, the Chief inspector asked, this time his hair did more than just prickle?
The one who had met us at the door! She rather snapped her answer back at him.
Thought you said you only saw him twice.
Yes she said, when he met us and at the autographs.
But you never mention him meeting up with the couple.
Why would that be of any importance, she again snapped, priests are always meeting and helping people , that’s their job is it not!!
Describe the lady he was with please
Black hair, shiny green dress and matching gloves.
And she wore this diamond tiara! I remembered her because she was with the crowd that wanted to be an extra, but I felt the tiara would be far too distracting and out of place.
Was she alone with the priest? he asked Quite she said, though her husband was probably pretty close by, I know I wouldn’t let anyone stray too far flaunting jewels like hers!!
The Millionaires wife and one of the twins, all seen together with the priest and the dark skinned Romeo…..! The Detective Chief Inspector though to himself.
The Chief Inspector gave a long sigh.
That is, what it is, he murmured dejectedly to himself… daylight was finally being spotted at the end of the tunnel, but none of it was making any sense…..
He released the personal secretary from more questions, having her also detained until the whole matter cleared itself.
At 10 pm a report on the van was received
The vans interior was quite taken apart in hopes of a clue being found to prove that the whole filming was a sham, and only done as a front operation to hide the thieves real intent. Though It was clean, its tyre marks matched those of the caste taken near the gardens….
******************
He recalled the first cameraman who had been driving the van and asked him about it.
He had seen the headlights of two cars coming down the road as he was leaving and had swerved to go around them, going off road for a bit.
Did you get a look at the cars the Chief Inspector asked.
No, it was too dark, and they swerved off a bit on the other side, so his eyes had been mainly kept on the road.
Would you say they were in a hurry the chief Inspector asked.
Not particularly, it was more that they had appeared out of nowhere.
No more questions, the Chief Inspector indicated to the guard, who took the cameraman back to the holding cell…
The Chief inspector than went back to his off to go over the facts so far…
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
There was not a single clue yet unearthed to connect the director on his crew with the crime that had been committed Saturday evening at St. Davids’ Chambre…. All avenues appeared to be leading to the ring of pickpockets that had been suspected to be working amongst the guests at the event. But as of yet there had been no sighting of them outside that evening.
Could the filming have been all an elaborate ruse set up by the ring of thieves for their own nefarious gain? Leaving a trail of wriggling red herrings scattered about to be followed to as many cold dead ends while they got clean away snickering amongst themselves?
Bloody cheeky of them if it was!
But what part had the missing Ladies played?
That they had been last seen in the company of the thieves, there was no doubt… Could they have been held captive in the automobiles that had passed the cameraman’s van. But why? Certainly not as hostages, for they had apparently gotten clean away. If they had been kidnapped, than certainly the ransom notes would have been delivered by now! There could be darker reasons for the disappearance, but doubtful…
He decided to keep the Director and his crew overnight, and release them in the morning if nothing new developed…
Another report came in, interrupting his line of reasoning…
From an detective inspector whose team had been given Interpol’s list of suspected jewel thieves operating in the area recently.
Only three were tracked down, and all three had alibis. Though one of those alibis proved to be because that evening he was burgling the country of a wealthy Lady. This confession was given light when he was caught red handed with the jewels as the police had come knocking at the door. One of the few bright spots of the investigation, though the Chief Inspectors superior failed to see it that way!
It twas a quite battered and beaten down chief detective who put a call in in to his superior at 10 pm on Sunday to repot the progress that had been made. He, to put it nicely, had his head chewed off and handed back to him on a platter.
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Early on Monday morning a detective sergeant escorted the director back to the Eastminster townhouse where he had spent the weekend in. Going inside to look for any clues that the mysterious secretary may have left. Even though the director had said she had been wearing driving gloves.
The envelope that had held the money had been recovered, and it was placed in a bag for evidence, the detective noting that the envelope was embossed with the seal and address of the Diocese of Eastminster, and had never been posted, or Witten upon.
As they were searching the basement a knock was heard on the door.
The detective opened it and looked down upon a smallish, puckish older lady with grey hair and pince-nez glasses. She identified herself as a neighbor ( snooper he thought unkindly) and excitedly asked the detective if he was investigating a murder, like those in Agatha Christie ! (her eyes lit up at this).
She was disappointed when informed that no, it was not any type of murder investigation!
Oh! I see, she said, sorry to bother, and turning, stated to walk away.
Then, before the detective had had time to go back inside, she stopped . Turning back around she timidly held up a tattered old notebook, don’t suppose you would be interested in me notes than ,, she innocently asked fully expecting to be disappointed again.…..
The startled Detective Sargent took the steps down to her three at a time……….
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End of Act 4
“Quand on rencontre un mystère, on croit généralement être scélérats cachés “
Author Unknown
To be Continued and Ended in Act 5 ( The Pygmalion Ring)