The Society was never officially present on Ra’un. Forces were dispatched from sympathetic imperial remnants, or as ex-imperial mercenaries. Society leaders saw this campaign as an opportunity to get rid of uncontrollable experimental forces.

 

Unofficially however, the Society had sent a handful of elite agents. Rumors of a several force sensitive children in the local population, warranted sending in agents to secure and “evacuate” these individuals. The participation in the battle, and the heaps of expendable forces, was just a cover for the real operation. Operation Harvester.

 

///

 

The AT-ST was inspired by the concept art by Shane Molina (www.artstation.com/artwork/bzywv), and the head of the AT-ST is based on GolPlaysWithLego's AT-ST. Not a super stable build, but I'm happy with the result.

 

Something green today?

 

During the experimental detonation of a gamma bomb, scientist Robert Bruce Banner saves teenager Rick Jones who has driven onto the testing field; Banner pushes Jones into a trench to save him, but is hit with the blast, absorbing massive amounts of gamma radiation.

 

He awakens later seemingly unscathed, but that night transforms into a lumbering grey form. A pursuing soldier dubs the creature a "hulk". Originally, it was believed that Banner's transformations into the Hulk were caused by sunset and undone at sunrise, but later, after Rick witnessed Banner turn into Hulk at daytime following a failed attempt by Ross' men to shoot the Hulk into space, it was discovered to be caused by anger. Banner was cured, but chose to restore Hulk's powers with Banner's intelligence.

 

The gamma-ray machine needed to affect the transformation-induced side effects that made Banner temporarily sick and weak when returned to his normal state.

 

In September 1963, the Hulk became a founding member of the the Avengers, who would go on to become the premiere superhero team in the Marvel universe.

 

Soon, however, overuse of the gamma-ray machine rendered the Hulk as an uncontrollable, rampaging monster, subject to spontaneous changing.

 

In September 1964 the Hulk appeared as an antagonist for Giant-Man. It was established that stress was the trigger for Banner turning into the Hulk and vice versa.

 

It was during this time that the Hulk developed a more savage and childlike identity, shifting away from his original portrayal as a brutish but not entirely unintelligent figure.

 

Also, his memory, both long-term and short-term, would now become markedly impaired in his Hulk state. Tales to Astonish #64 (February 1965) was the last Hulk story to feature him speaking in complete sentences. In Tales to Astonish #77 (March 1966), Banner's and the Hulk's dual identity became publicly known when Rick Jones, mistakenly convinced that Banner was dead (when he actually had been catapulted into the future), told Major Glenn Talbot, a rival to Banner for the affections of Betsy Ross, the truth.

 

Consequently, Glenn informed his superiors and that turned Banner into a wanted fugitive upon returning to the present.

 

The 1970s saw Banner and Betty nearly marry in The Incredible Hulk #124 (February 1970). Betty ultimately married Talbot in issue #158 (Dec. 1972). The Hulk also traveled to other dimensions, one of which had him meet empress Jarella, who used magic to bring Banner's intelligence to the Hulk, and came to love him. The Hulk helped to form the Defenders.

 

In the 1980s, Banner once again gained control over the Hulk, and gained amnesty for his past rampages; however, due to the manipulations of supernatural character Nightmare, Banner eventually lost control over the Hulk.

 

It was also established that Banner had serious mental problems even before he became the Hulk, having suffered childhood traumas that engendered Bruce's repressed rage.

 

Banner comes to terms with his issues for a time, and the Hulk and Banner were physically separated by Doc Samson.

 

Banner is recruited by the U.S. government to create the Hulkbusters, a government team dedicated to catching the Hulk. Banner finally married Betty in The Incredible Hulk #319 (May 1986) following Talbot's death in 1981.

 

Banner and the Hulk were reunited in The Incredible Hulk #323 (Sep. 1986) and with issue #324, returned the Hulk to his grey coloration, with his transformations once again occurring at night, regardless of Banner's emotional state.

 

In issue #347 the grey Hulk persona "Joe Fixit" was introduced, a morally ambiguous Las Vegas enforcer and tough guy. Banner remained repressed in the Hulk's mind for months, but slowly began to reappear.

 

The 1990s saw the Green Hulk return. In issue #377 (Jan. 1991), the Hulk was revamped in a storyline that saw the various dissociative identities of Banner, Fixit, and Savage confront Banner's past abuse at the hands of his father Brian and a new "Guilt" identity.

 

Overcoming the trauma, the intelligent Banner, cunning Fixit, and powerful Savage identities merge into a new single entity possessing the traits of all three.

 

The Hulk also joined the Pantheon, a secretive organization of superpowered individuals. His tenure with the organization brought the Hulk into conflict with a tyrannical alternate future version of himself called the Maestro in the 1993 Future Imperfect miniseries, who rules over a world where many heroes are dead.

 

In 2000, Banner and the three Hulks (Savage, Fixit, and the "Merged Hulk", now considered a separate identity and referred to as the Professor) become able to mentally interact with one another, each identity taking over the shared body as Banner began to weaken due to his suffering from Lou Gehrig's disease.

 

During this, the four identities (including Banner) confronted yet another submerged identity, a sadistic "Devil" intent on attacking the world and attempting to break out of Banner's fracturing psyche, but the Devil was eventually locked away again when the Leader was able to devise a cure for the disease using genes taken from the corpse of Brian Banner.

 

In 2005, it is revealed that the Nightmare has manipulated the Hulk for years, and it is implied that some or all of the Hulk's adventures written by Bruce Jones may have been just an illusion.

 

In 2006, the Illuminati decide the Hulk is too dangerous to remain on Earth and send him away by rocket ship which crashes on Planet Sakaar ushering in the "Planet Hulk" storyline that saw the Hulk find allies in the Warbound, and marry alien queen Caiera, a relationship that was later revealed to have born him two sons: Skaar and Hiro-Kala.

 

After the Illuminati's ship explodes and kills Caiera, the Hulk returns to Earth with his superhero group Warbound and declares war on the planet in World War Hulk (2007).

 

However, after learning that Miek, one of the Warbound, had actually been responsible for the destruction, the Hulk allows himself to be defeated, with Banner subsequently redeeming himself as a hero as he works with and against the new Red Hulk to defeat the new supervillain team the Intelligencia.

 

In the 2010s, Hiro-Kala traveled to Earth to destroy the OldStrong Power wielded by Skaar, forcing Skaar and the Hulk to defeat and imprison him within his home planet.

 

During the 2011 Fear Itself storyline, the Hulk finds one of the Serpent's magical hammers associated with the Worthy and becomes Nul: Breaker of Worlds. As he starts to transform, the Hulk tells the Red She-Hulk to run far away from him.

 

Rampaging through South and Central America, Nul was eventually transported to New York City where he began battling Thor, with aid of the Thing, who was transformed into Angrir: Breaker of Souls.

 

After defeating the Thing, Thor stated that he never could beat the Hulk, and instead removed him from the battle by launching him into Earth orbit, after which Thor collapsed from exhaustion.

 

Landing in Romania, Nul immediately began heading for the base of the vampire-king Dracula. Opposed by Dracula's forces, including a legion of monsters, Nul was seemingly unstoppable.

 

Only after the intervention of Raizo Kodo's Forgiven was Nul briefly slowed. Ultimately, Nul makes his way to Dracula's castle where the timely arrival of Kodo and Forgiven member Inka, disguised as Betty Ross, is able to throw off the effects of the Nul possession. Throwing aside the hammer, the Hulk regains control, and promptly leaves upon realizing "Betty's" true nature.

 

With the crisis concluded, the Hulk contacted Doctor Doom for help separating him and Banner for good in return for an unspecified favor. Doom proceeded to perform brain surgery on the Hulk, extracting the uniquely Banner elements from the Hulk's brain and cloning a new body for Banner.

 

When Doctor Doom demands to keep Banner for his own purposes, the Hulk reneges on the deal and flees with Banner's body, leaving his alter ego in the desert where he was created to ensure that Doctor Doom cannot use Banner's intellect.

 

When Banner goes insane due to his separation from the Hulk, irradiating an entire tropical island trying to recreate his transformation- something he cannot do as the cloned body lacks the genetic elements of Banner that allowed him to process the gamma radiation- the Hulk is forced to destroy his other side by letting him be disintegrated by a gamma bomb, prompting the Hulk to accuse Doom of tampering with Banner's mind, only for Doom to observe that what was witnessed was simply Banner without the Hulk to use as a scapegoat for his problems.

 

Initially assuming that Banner is dead, the Hulk soon realizes that Banner was somehow "re-combined" with him when the gamma bomb disintegrated Banner's body, resulting in the Hulk finding himself waking up in various strange locations, including helping the Punisher confront a drug cartel run by a mutated dog, hunting sasquatches with Kraven the Hunter, and being forced to face Wolverine and the Thing in an old SHIELD base.

 

Banner eventually leaves a video message for the Hulk in which he apologizes for his actions while they were separate, having come to recognize that he is a better person with the Hulk than without, the two joining forces to thwart the Doombots' attempt to use the animals on Banner's irradiated island as the basis for a new gamma army using a one-of-a-kind gamma cure Banner had created to turn all the animals back to normal.

 

Following this, Bruce willingly joined the spy organization S.H.I.E.L.D., allowing them to use the Hulk as a weapon in exchange for providing him with the means and funding to create a lasting legacy for himself.

 

After the Hulk had suffered brain damage upon being shot in the head by the Order of the Shield- the assassin having been carefully trained to target Bruce at just the right part of the brain to incapacitate him without triggering a transformation- Iron Man used the Extremis to cure the Hulk.

 

This procedure also increased Banner's mental capacity, which gave him the intelligence to tweak the Extremis virus within him and unleash a new persona for the Hulk: the super-intelligent Doc Green.

 

During the 2014 "Original Sin" storyline, Bruce Banner confronted by the eye of the murdered Uatu the Watcher. Bruce temporarily experienced some of Tony Stark's memories of their first meeting before either of them became the Hulk or Iron Man. During this vision, Bruce witnessed Tony modifying the gamma bomb to be more effective prompting Bruce to realize that Tony was essentially responsible for him becoming the Hulk in the first place.

 

Subsequent research reveals that Tony's tampering had actually refined the bomb's explosive potential so that it would not disintegrate everyone within the blast radius, with the result that Tony's actions had actually saved Bruce's life.

 

In the 2014 "AXIS" storyline, when a mistake made by the Scarlet Witch causes various heroes and villains to experience a moral inversion, Bruce Banner attended a meeting between Nick Fury Jr. and Maria Hill of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers who refused to turn over Red Skull.

 

Later when he sided with Edwin Jarvis and tried to prevent his teammates from executing the Red Skull, the Hulk was thrown aside by Luke Cage.

 

The Hulk's sorrow at his friends' betrayal awakened a new persona known as the bloodthirsty Kluh (described as the Hulk's Hulk, being the ruthless part of himself that even the Hulk repressed) with this new version easily defeating the Avengers, sneering that the Hulk they knew was nothing more than a "sad piece of 'Doc Green's' ID." Kluh then leaves to wreak havoc, with Nova attempting to stop him after witnessing his rampage with the remaining good heroes.

 

As with the other inverted Avengers and X-Men, Kluh was restored to Hulk when Brother Voodoo was summoned back to life by Doctor Doom so that Daniel Drumm's ghost can possess the Scarlet Witch and undo the inversion.

 

With his newfound intellect, Doc Green came to the conclusion that the world was in danger by Gamma Mutates and thus needed to be depowered. He developed a serum made from Adamantium nanobites that absorbed gamma energy.

 

He used these to depower Red Leader, Red She-Hulk, Red Hulk, Skaar, Gamma Corps, and A-Bomb, but decided to 'spare' She-Hulk as he concluded that she was the one gamma mutation whose life had been legitimately improved by her mutation. At the close of the storyline, Doc Green discovered that he was beginning to disappear as the result of the Extremis serum wearing off. He ultimately allowed himself to fade away, returning to his normal Hulk form, as he feared that remaining at his current intellectual level would lead to him becoming the Maestro.

 

During the 2015 "Secret Wars" storyline, the Hulk took part in the incursion between Earth-616 and Earth-1610. The Hulk used the "Fastball Special" with Colossus to destroy the Triskelion.

 

As part of the 2015–2018 All-New, All-Different Marvel branding, Amadeus Cho becomes the new Hulk. Flashbacks reveal that the Hulk had absorbed a dangerous new type of radiation while helping Iron Man and the Black Panther deal with a massive accident on Kiber Island. Fearing the Hulk's meltdown would kill countless innocents, Cho was able to use special nanites to absorb the Hulk from Banner and take it into himself to become his own version of the Hulk, leaving Banner normal and free from the Hulk.

 

He is then rescued from a bar fight by Amadeus, who tells him that he is cured. Having confirmed that he can no longer transform or sense the Hulk, Bruce spends some time traveling across America taking various risks such as driving at high speeds, running away from a bear, or gambling in Las Vegas, until he is confronted by Tony Stark out of concern that Bruce has a death wish. Bruce instead acknowledges that he still harbors guilt and rage over how so many of the Hulk's rampages were provoked by various agencies refusing to leave him alone.

 

During the 2016 "Civil War II" storyline, the vision of the Inhuman Ulysses shows a rampaging Hulk standing over the corpses of the superheroes. Meanwhile, Bruce Banner is shown to have set up a laboratory in Alpine, Utah, where he is approached by Captain Marvel, followed by Tony Stark, the rest of the Avengers, the X-Men, and the Inhumans.

 

The confrontation leads to the Beast hacking into Banner's work servers and the revelation that he had been injecting himself with dead gamma-irradiated cells. S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Maria Hill places him under arrest. Banner gets infuriated at all these events, when suddenly, Hawkeye shoots Banner with an arrow to the head and then to the heart, apparently killing him, much to the dismay and horror of the superheroes, especially Tony Stark.

 

At an Avengers-presided tribunal, Hawkeye states that Bruce Banner had approached him and ordered him to kill him if he ever showed signs of turning into the Hulk again. At the funeral, Korg of the Warbound stated how Hulk wanted to be left alone and how his allies that he made along the way have become his family. In his video will, Bruce leaves various items to other heroes and his allies including leaving Doctor Strange his notes on the Hulk's ability to perceive ghosts and an egg-timer for the various former/current other Hulks (based on one of Bruce's more successful attempts to control himself as he would sit down for three minutes doing nothing before making a particularly big decision and then decide if he still wanted to do it).

 

Following the funeral of Bruce Banner, the Hand in allegiance with Daniel Drumm's ghost steal Bruce Banner's body in order to use the dead to bolster their ranks. When the reassembled Uncanny Avengers went to Japan and attempted to enlist Elektra for help in stopping the Hand, the ritual that the Hand performed has been completed as the Uncanny Avengers are attacked by a revived Hulk who is wearing samurai armor.

 

The Uncanny Avengers were able to contain Hulk's rampage and sever his mystical link to the Beast of the Hand. Afterward, Hulk regressed back to Bruce Banner and returned to the dead.[93]

 

During the 2017 "Secret Empire" storyline, Arnim Zola used an unknown method to temporarily revive Bruce Banner, and the Hydra Supreme version of Captain America persuades his Hulk side to attack the Underground's hideout called the Vault. He fought Thing and Giant-Man's A.I.Vengers until the temporary revival started to wear off and caused Hulk to die again.

 

During the "No Surrender" arc, the exiled Elder of the Universe Challenger revives Hulk to be his ace in the hole during a contest between his Black Order and Grandmaster's Lethal Legion.

 

Hulk participated since he knew that Earth will be destroyed either way while his Bruce Banner suspects that Hulk's revivals were a manifestation of Hulk's immortality. While defeating Cannonball and Living Lightning, breaking Vision, and draining the gamma energy out of Robert Maverick's Hulk Plug-In, Wonder Man successfully reasoned with him as Hulk destroyed the Pyarmoid in Voyager's possession. After feeling remorse for what happened, Bruce Banner became Hulk and faced off against Challenger. After Challenger sent Hulk into Earth's orbit, Hulk was pleased that he managed to hurt Challenger.

 

While maintaining a low profile, Bruce Banner was shot by Tommy Hill of the Dogs of Hell biker gang during a robbery that also claimed the lives of Sandy Brockhurst and Josh Alfaro. He came back to life and turned into Hulk where he badly beat up Tommy Hill. The witnesses in the Dogs of Hell told Detective Gloria Mayes of the attacker as she and reporter Jackie McGee have a suspicion that it was Hulk even though Banner is believed to be dead.

 

During the events of "Absolute Carnage," the Venom Symbiote takes Bruce as its host to fight Carnage. Inside of Bruce's mind, Bruce converses with the Venom Symbiote as the other Hulk identities such as Joe Fixit and Savage add their opinions about their current situation.

 

Devil (in his more traditional-looking reptilian form) is against the symbiote's presence in Bruce and says it should be removed immediately, saying they have more important matters to deal with. In the end, Bruce, Fixit, and Savage agree to collaborate with the Venom Symbiote and Devil storms off, saying they are making a mistake. As Bruce states that the vote is three to one with two abstentions, he welcomes the Venom symbiote to the family.

 

Powers and abilities

 

Bruce Banner

 

Considered to be one of the greatest scientific minds on Earth, Banner possesses "a mind so brilliant it cannot be measured on any known intelligence test."

 

Norman Osborn estimates that he is the fourth most-intelligent person on Earth. Banner holds expertise in biology, chemistry, engineering, medicine, physiology, and nuclear physics.

 

Using this knowledge, he creates advanced technology dubbed "Bannertech", which is on par with technological development from Tony Stark or Doctor Doom. Some of these technologies include a force field that can protect him from the attacks of Hulk-level entities, and a teleporter.

 

After becoming a fugitive from the law, Banner is forced to go on the run and over the years learns various skills in order to both survive and remain under radar of those who are hunting him.

 

Banner’s most frequent method of travel includes hitchhiking, train hopping or simply just walking as he is unable to travel legally via planes, passenger ships or buses due to being in several travel watchlists.

 

Banner is generally on the move and rarely ever stays in one place for very long and only does so if there’s a possibility of curing himself. He will only ever stay in one place for an extended period of time if it provides him with complete solitude and privacy where the Hulk can do little to no harm.

 

To avoid being tracked, Banner does not use cell phones, debit or credit cards and will only use payphone’s or cash. He will often use fake identities when staying at motels or working jobs that require identification.

 

Having been on the run for years, Banner can normally tell when he is being followed and will generally make a run for it when he is discovered. Having traveled across the globe, Banner is able to sneak over borders without being detected and can get by, by either knowing or learning the local language. Often traveling light, Banner has little to no possessions that he carries in either a satchel or backpack.

 

Often losing everything he owns after transforming into the Hulk, Banner avoids keeping anything of personal value to him so that he can easily replace the items and clothes that were lost or destroyed.

 

To support himself financially, Banner will work quick part time jobs and will only accept payments in cash. These jobs have varied from simply working in low pay diners to working as local doctor.

 

Banner’s work ethic as well as his vast knowledge and skillset in science, medicine and engineering often help him get hired rather quickly. Unless desperate, Banner will generally avoid jobs that are high stress due to the potential danger of transforming into the Hulk.

 

During his travels, Banner has developed several different techniques to help suppress or control his transformations when he becomes a little angry or upset.

 

Among the techniques he’s learned over the years include meditation and hypnotherapy. While they have helped him to better understand and suppress his transformations, none of techniques Banner has learned have helped him to gain full control over the Hulk.

 

The Hulk possesses the potential for seemingly limitless physical strength that is influenced by his emotional state, particularly his anger.

 

This has been reflected in the repeated comment "The madder Hulk gets, the stronger Hulk gets." The cosmically powerful entity known as the Beyonder once analyzed the Hulk's physiology, and claimed that the Hulk's potential strength had "no finite element inside."

 

Hulk's strength has been depicted as sometimes limited by Banner's subconscious influence; when Jean Grey psionically "shut Banner off", Hulk became strong enough to overpower and destroy the physical form of the villain Onslaught.

 

Writer Greg Pak described the Worldbreaker Hulk shown during World War Hulk as having a level of physical power where "Hulk was stronger than any mortal—and most immortals—who ever walked the Earth" and depicted the character as powerful enough to completely destroy entire planets.

 

His strength allows him to leap into lower Earth orbit or across continents, and he has displayed superhuman speed.

 

Exposure to radiation has also been shown to make the Hulk stronger. It is unknown how he gains biomass during transformation but it may be linked to subatomic black matter.

 

His durability, regeneration, and endurance also increase in proportion to his temper. Hulk is resistant to injury or damage, though the degree to which varies between interpretations, but he has withstood the equivalent of solar temperatures, nuclear explosions, and planet-shattering impacts.

 

Despite his remarkable resiliency, continuous barrages of high-caliber gunfire can hinder his movement to some degree while he can be temporarily subdued by intense attacks with chemical weapons such as anesthetic gases, although any interruption of such dosages will allow him to quickly recover.

 

He has been shown to have both regenerative and adaptive healing abilities, including growing tissues to allow him to breathe underwater, surviving unprotected in space for extended periods, and when injured, healing from most wounds within seconds, including, on one occasion, the complete destruction of most of his body mass.

 

His future self, the "Maestro", was even eventually able to recover from being blown to pieces. As an effect, he has an extremely prolonged lifespan.

 

He also possesses less commonly described powers, including abilities allowing him to "home in" to his place of origin in New Mexico; resist psychic control, or unwilling transformation; grow stronger from radiation or dark magic; punch his way between separate temporal or spatial dimensions; and to see and interact with astral forms.

 

Some of these abilities were in later years explained as being related; his ability to home in on the New Mexico bomb site was due to his latent ability to sense astral forms and spirits, since the bomb site was also the place where the Maestro's skeleton was and the Maestro's spirit was calling out to him in order to absorb his radiation.

 

He is also shown to have a separate memory to Bruce Banner - when Spider-Man has the knowledge of his secret identity erased during Spider-Man: One More Day, the Hulk later asks how Peter is doing, not Spider-Man; upon questioning, he enigmatically states "Banner forgot. But I don't forget."

 

⚡ Happy 🎯 Heroclix 💫 Friday! 👽

_____________________________

A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.

 

Secret Identity: Robert Bruce Banner

 

Publisher: Marvel

 

First appearance: The Incredible Hulk #1 (May 1962)

 

Created by: Stan Lee (Writer)

Jack Kirby (Artist)

 

“I used to believe, although I don't now, that growing and growing up are analogous, that both are inevitable and uncontrollable processes. Now it seems to me that growing up is governed by the will, that one can choose to become an adult, but only at given moments...”

― Nick Hornby, Fever Pitch

Esta es la primera de una serie de fotos tomadas desde el Coffee Costa, en New Oxford St., Londres. Había varias limitaciones que fueron un aliciente. Utilicé el agujero del respaldo de una de las sillas como marco, en el cristal había una estrella navideña, y un cartón entraba y salía de campo movido por el viento. El azar, ese elemento incontrolable y mágico, puso el resto. Tomé 253 imágenes entre sorbo y sorbo de un buen café. A Miriam, gracias por su amor y paciencia.

En esta colección de Los pasos perdidos iré mostrando algunas de esas imágenes.

 

This is the first of a photos serial taken from the Coffee Costa in New Oxford St., London. There were several limitations which became an incentive. I used the hole in of one of the chairs as a framework, the glass had a Christmas star sticked on it, and a cardboard entered and left the frame moved by the wind. Fate, uncontrollable and magical element, put the rest.

I took 253 pictures from sip to sip of coffee.

In this collection called "The lost steps" ("Los pasos perdidos"), I'll be showing some of those images.

To Miriam, thank you for your love and patience.

 

500px / Twitter

it totally goes with this song. really. bwahaha!!!

 

and how funny when a couple comes traipsing by and the man gives me Thee most horrified look when they find out I'm taking a self portrait...

and I was actually in a friendly chatty mood that evening but explanations just seemed to make it worse which cracked me up no end. Pretty sure they were telepathically telling each other to "make sure not to make eye contact with her. Remember what we've heard about Californian's..."

free o' charge folks! I make random appearances all around these parts. muahahaha!!!

 

oh and when it came to editing the light on the rock/cave entrance? Agony! I'm still unsure as to what exactly I did wrong but I suspect I might've (totally a word!) overexposed it. Yeah okay thinking about it a little harder that makes sense. SOB though!!!

 

love y'all

and a very lovely good night :)

xo

Yes, I'm afraid it's another Flight shot...!!!

 

As you know, Pied Stilts are not big birds, and nor is their wing span especially large. So how did this bird manage to remain in the air with its wings in this configuration???

 

And how, seconds after this shot was taken, did she or he manage to land without cartwheeling uncontrollably into the tidal pond it was aiming for???

 

All too often, we tend to look at the birds and creatures around us, and think that we're the smarter ones... But are we???

  

Thanks for visiting Folks, and thanks for taking the time and trouble to leave a Comment. It's always nice to hear from you...!

  

Night falling.... on another day.

Some wonderfully crisp cumulus cloud builds in the late afternoon. I thought this shot fit right in with the rest of my photos as I seem to have an uncontrollable urge to photograph the skies above!

 

Please view large by pressing "L" on your keyboard

Involuntary and uncontrollable

 

Did you know you cannot make yourself blush? I wish I could make myself NOT blush.

 

Although I have years of public speaking and performing experience, I still find myself blushing when unexpectedly asked to speak up in a group. I only make it worse by blushing about blushing. There’s no hiding the pink on my pale skin.

 

Blazer, Caslon (thrifted). Tank, Gembera. Skirt, Topshop. Loafers, Doc Marten. Earrings and scarf, gifts. Bag, Pom Pom London.

 

We are a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for us to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

 

This shot has a lot of meaning to me. I took this in the morning of July, 1994, in Yosemite National Park. We had spent the night camped out here, at about 10,000 feet, but it had not been a good night for me. Having hiked nearly 30 miles over the previous couple of days, I was suffering from a combination of altitude sickness and exhaustion.

 

In the middle of the night, I woke up shaking uncontrollably (shivering); I could not stop. I viewed this as a very bad sign, health-wise, and needed to get to a lower elevation.

 

The next morning, feeling awful and unable to drink the iodine-infused water, I got this picture (on 35mm color film) before hiking down to Tanaka Lake.

 

The memory is unforgettable; I had wondered if I would make it out of there at all. Fortunately, I did. My memories of Yosemite will always include this perilous experience, as well as the beautiful scenes.

 

(This image was scanned from the 4x6 photo and then edited to reduce noise. If 1994 qualifies as "vintage", then this is vintage!)

 

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

When I was looking for some new textures today (always looking!!), I came across this postcard on SophieG* www.flickr.com/photos/-smallfish-/ site and I just loved it.

 

I've only included a small part of the text on the photo but what was important to me was the CHERIE AMIE.

 

So this is for all my darling friends who:

 

Bring me Protea's

 

Who make me laugh uncontrollably

 

Who are incredibly generous

 

Who share my pain and sorrow

 

Who let me talk on and on and on !!!!!

 

Who let ME be ME

 

Where would I be without you all!!!!!

 

SNEAKED INTO EXPLORE #490 12TH SEPTEMBER

The Beast of Self Doubt -

In comics, the evil one is often depicted as a cleft hoofed creature with pointy tail holding a pitchfork. A fateful afternoon, the brute I never wish to meet cross my path without invite. Strangely, he was teeny, had deflated horns without air and his countenance was as blackened tar pit yet with sheen. Obviously, this Beelzebub that dwells on trees is cut from a different cloth. The mischievous imp began to twirl around his green broomstick rhythmically, ecstatically. The most terrible obstacles always lie within and I realized too late that I was about to be hit with a heavy dose of uncertainty. With a voice of gravels and nails, I feel a sniggering coming on as he fiddles an unfamiliar tune:

 

“Have you locked the gates before you leave? An open door tempts thieves with ease. Childhood play things are worth a fortune now, you know? What about the whistling kettle sitting on the gas stove, are the flames still stoking? An absent mind and a running tap can cause serious damage at times. Are you really sure, the stopper is unplugged from the kitchen sink? By the time you return, the house could be completely submerged. HEe-hee-hee!”

 

Hmm, the most expensive thing in the house… oops, my favorite Monopoly Game in limited edition! “Well, I’m pretty sure about that… I, um… won’t forget to remember… I, ahem… should be… maybe…,” my voice grew weak and faint. His blood buzz eyes stares me down. Hesitance began to tie my tongue in knots, until I couldn’t speak or even nod my head.

 

Sob! I shouldn’t been listening to his violin call, instead of answers he threw me doubts. To the right and to the left uncontrollably, my wayward feet ambled willingly in his beat. I cried a frustrated tear because I can’t cast out my adversary with malignant capabilities. In the middle of nowhere, I must now abandon my hike and hurry home to check things. In my book, only fools believe the devil does not exist.

When we last left Mark of Falworth he was facing off against a horde of loathsome Outlaws!

 

The first warriors who came within reach of Mark's sword were speedily cut down. Mark charged furiously into the great mass of men!

Mark slashed and chopped and parried and stabbed in an uncontrollable surge of adrenaline and rage!

After a dozen had fallen before his sword, the Outlaws paused in sheer disbelief. Fighting 12 opponents at a time, he still drove them back and held his own!

The respite was momentary, as the Outlaws were burning for vengeance against years of disastrous crusades (Some instigated by Mark). More and more fell, and Mark was thought to have fallen dead more then once, but then he would erupt from a pile of struggling bandits and rain down his deadly blows faster then ever!

For 7 long hours the carnage raged, and nigh a hundred Outlaws had died trying to bring down the knight of the everlasting smile and perfect hair (which still remained perfect despite the intense action).

 

But even the bravest cannot fight beyond his own strength, and each wave of opponents was getting harder and harder for Mark to drive back...

The Outlaws gathered together shoulder to shoulder for a final rush towards their target. Their war-cries grew stronger as Mark's strength faded.

 

But just before they could deliver the death blows, a tremendous, eardrum-bursting roar shook the entire battlefield!

 

Every warrior stopped and looked to the heavens from whence the rumble came.

 

Lo and behold, a colossal black creature descended on the mass of men. Fangs glistening, enormous wings spreading forth in terrible glory. It was none other then the fearsome dragon Cyricus the Mighty!

 

The great host of Outlaws fled like mice before a lion.

 

The Dragon landed with immense impact, feet away from the exhausted Mark.

 

He had no energy left to run, or even to raise his weapon. His voice had long since dissipated.

 

He looked straight into the jaws of death, and smiled. At last his time had come.

 

The massive claws and teeth shrieked towards him as he fell senseless to the ground...

 

To be Continued...

NEXT YEAR!! :D

 

_____________________

 

Be sure to check out the Part 2 Video!

 

This is really just a test to see how many cliffhangers you guys can take. But don't worry! You'll find out what happens sometime next year. ;)

 

I've actually been planing this story line since before BFVA the Iron Builder really put us in for a loop and I haven't got around to it until now.

 

Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed my last build for the year.

TFVAHAGD!

Thanks for viewing and have a great day! :)

I rarely eat ice cream but I had this uncontrollable craving for it today...it was da bomb : )

Tiger Tiger Fading Bright Part 5

The Hunter in the Red PVC Cap is still giving an impromptu rock and roll guitar rendition on his knee. Don't miss that.

 

the situation on the Tiger front has been grim for quite sometime. The Planet Earth is slowly relinquising its flora and fauna as humankind expands in uncontrollable numbers and fritters away Nature and its resources in a headlong dive to extinction for almost all.

 

Continuing the series

 

Tiger Tiger, Fading Bright !

The tigers in India are facing the toughest odds and are on the brink of being wiped out. There is a big industry based on tiger claws and bones etc that drives up the demand for the killing of this beautiful beast.

 

Men will buy a enlargement (is enhancement the right choice of word ?) of libido anytime anywhere but Chinese men will pay top dollars for tiger remains to increase theirs.

 

If you wonder why all the grand conservation efforts to save the tiger are failing, go no further then the politics of funding tiger conservation. It has been known for years that it is allegedly a big sham with mega bucks and mega publicity but almost nil results.

 

If you have the time it would be interesting to read some interesting thoughts and the current day reality on the tigers in an exchange between Thatzme and Aditya Singh from Rajasthan.

 

One can only hope that one sees a tiger in the wild in one's life time as the future generation may not have that privilege anytime soon. So if you are young and in India, head out and go see the elusive tiger before it is too late.

 

India has only 1150 - 1600 tigers that are available in the wild as per the Minister of Environment Jairam Ramesh.

 

Pervez 183A in one of his earlier comments on this series had mentioned >>>

 

"why don't the Chinese just try Viagra...???...it might make them dance on one leg...!!!"

Will Viagra be the Saviour of the Indian Tiger ?

 

This is an enactment of the situation at a Kerala street show during Onam in Thrippunithra near Cochin on the Atthachamayam day.

  

DSC_0842 jpeg via ACR

The most complex object in mathematics, the Mandelbrot Set ... is so complex as to be uncontrollable by mankind and describable as 'chaos'.

 

— Benoit Mandelbrot

 

Second one from yesterday.

 

Starblitz 3000 BTS on minimum power fired at 'fractal' background from around 20cm. Background 20 cm from water droplets, A3 size with A4 Mandelbrot in the middle.

 

When I came up with the idea of the Honor Locos, this is one of the things I had in mind. Reaching out to communities and attempting to gain support and understanding how a railroad works. One thing that always bothered me, and still does, is how communities view railroads. Of course, some things are uncontrollable, and the railroads don't help themselves some days. None the less, there is value in making something everyone can enjoy. Unfortunately, some people that lead CSX didn't see the value in it.

I brought the CSXT 1776 and 911 to Chicago for a presentation for the STB Members. (Which they all loved them). But the day prior I had to do some touch up work on the locos to get them ready. A nearby community, Crete, IL, is lead by their Mayor Michael Einhorn, and is a fan of railroads. And don't take that too mean he is a railfan. He understands the value railroads bring to the table. He heard about the locos being in town, and we decided to do an impromptu photo shoot with his truck and a couple of CSXT Policeman. Here they pose at Forrest Hill (75th Street) on July 31, 2019.

 

© Eric T. Hendrickson 2019 All Rights Reserved

C-GFBR, an Antonov An-2PD-5, not long after crashing at Greenbank Airport (CNP8) in Uxbridge, Ontario.

 

Soon after taking off at 0940 local, the aircraft experienced a serious oil leak that coated the cockpit windows and negated visibility. Thankfully, the sliding side windows in the cockpit were operable and allowed the highly skilled pilot to return the airplane to the 2,700-foot-long grass strip.

 

Upon landing at 0953, the aircraft slid uncontrollably (thanks to oil coated tires) off the runway and into a culvert before slamming against the embankment.

 

The 1,000 horsepower radial engine was separated from the big biplane's firewall.

 

Details about the accident are available here:

asn.flightsafety.org/wikibase/408705

To Entice a Thief

 

A Prologue:

 

“I’m so glad you gave up your life of crime!”

She said to me as we danced, a wicked little smile creeping up upon her face.

  

It was a signal to me that she was ready to leave the reception...and that she was feeling amorous.

 

“Brilliant”. I thought as I let my eyes drift down to soak in the enticement of her sparkling necklace, before crafting an answer in character.

 

“Yes, and I owe it all to you and your lovely friends for being here this evening to help me rehabilitate.”

 

£££££££££££££££££££££££££

 

The Enticing Tale Unfolds:

 

We were attending a black-tie reception that evening to celebrate the re-opening of a local theatre that had undergone a 2-year refurbishing, the first in almost 75 years of its 300-year existence.

 

I was in a full black tux with a green cummerbund.

 

My wife Ginny was wearing a slick thin satin sheath gown, short scalloped sleeved shoulders with a cowled neckline. It was dyed a vivid shade of emerald green which set off nicely, both her let down long ginger hair and mesmerizing green eyes.

 

My wife’s jewellery was also quite mesmerizing.

 

Long dangling rhinestone earrings that flowed and shimmered from her ears and dangled playfully in and out of her hair whenever she flung her head back.

Her nearly 45-millimeter wide necklace was also set with rhinestones, hanging down just below her gowns’ cowled neckline, where it sparkled alluringly as it moved against the luxurious green satin. She was also wearing her favorite rhinestone bracelet around her right wrist. The bracelet was a right cracker. The outer strands are made up of 1 carat round stones with a full 3-carat pear-shaped collection of “ice” set in the surrounding middle strand. She also, in addition to her wedding rings, was wearing an emerald diamond cocktail ring on her right index finger.

 

The posh reception had been a lot of fun, I really enjoy drinking and hanging with Ginny’s mates. A collection of artists of varying talents, including her fellow local actors and actresses.

 

We had been sharing a table with two other couples. Ginny’s fellow actor friend Tad and his wife Mareid, along with our married friends Heather and Merrick.

 

Tad and Merrick were in stiff tuxes like mine. Tad was wearing a black cummerbund, while Merrick wore a shiny dark blue vest with his.

 

Reserved Mareid was wearing a black velvet v necked dress.

Her jewels consisted of a diamond journey necklace with matching earrings. Alsong with her wedding rings she wore a small diamond pinkie ring.

 

Jovial Heather had poured her petite figure into a repurposed bridesmaid A-line taffeta gown of shiny sapphire blue with short white satin gloves on her hands.

She wore a dazzling necklace of blue sapphire stones surrounded by rhinestone diamonds. A large center stone dangled just above her snugly held cleavage with a series of smaller stones going up either side of the silver chain. Earrings and a bracelet had been added that matched her necklace. Along with her wedding rings, she sports a brace of matching blue sapphire cocktail rings.

 

As the evening, and the drinking wore on, our conversation became more lively, running through a myriad of topics before touching on the upcoming theatre production Tad, Mareid and Ginny were preparing for. A mystery play entitled “Shear the Black Sheep” by David Dodge.

 

It was Heather, while thoughtfully fingering her necklace, who chirped in about Dodge’s novel “To Catch a Thief.”

 

As we all looked at her, I studied her pretty attire, thinking that she would have fit right in with the story.

 

“Hell, we all would .” I thought eyeing Ginny and the rest of our table mates.

 

Ginny caught me eyeballing her and smirked as she dipped her head down to adjust her bracelet, her earrings doing their thing.

 

Heather reached over and gently laid her fingers over Ginny’s handsome bracelet, gently fingering it as she spoke further.

 

“That is such a pretty bracelet Ginny...”

 

Heather lifted her eyes up from it and looked around the table at us.”

 

“I remember hearing that David Dodge wrote his story after a jewel thief had broken into the French villa next store. As the dinner guests were gathered for a cocktail party on the terrace in front, the thief broke into the back and looted the master and guest bedrooms of valuables. “

 

“How awful!” Mareid spoke with a shudder.

 

Heather comfortingly placed her hand on Mareid’s bare arm. Her eyes wide as she ran wild with the thought.

“It was, darling, but at least he didn’t get any of the jewels the ladies like us were wearing at the party.”

 

“Unless they had chosen not to wear any...” I thought but kept it to myself as Heather went on talking to Mareid...

 

“And just think! The thief may have been there previously as a guest, how else did he know what jewels were there for the taking if he had not seen the ladies wearing theirs out ?”

 

“Was he ever caught I wonder ?” Questioned Merrick with a wink at me.

 

“I don’t believe so, got away clean away with all them lovely jewels he nicked,” Heather admitted, as both she and Mareid squirmed a bit in their seats.

 

Ginny meanwhile was not squirming but was giving me a meaningful look over after catching me in the act of doing the same to her.

 

I was, I’ll admit, also squirming a bit at Heather's remarks, so I decided to pipe in with...

 

“So Heather dear, ever wonder, if he had been there previously, as a guest, what would have been going through his mind as he mingled? Better yet, say he was here in our midsts tonight, if we were to pretend the jewels you ladies are wearing were real?”

 

“Mine are!” Said unimaginative Mareid with a bit of worry in her voice.

 

Tad chuckled. “ So they are darling, but any jewel thief worth his salt would also be salivating over the pretty baubles that Heather and Ginny are so winningly sporting this evening.”

 

Merrick chimed in...

“Spoken like a true thief laddie. And he would also be wanting a dance so he could have a closer look over of their sparklers.”

 

He stood up and offered a hand to his wife.

 

“Shall we, my dear?”

 

Heather gleefully rose and the pair went off to the dance floor. Closely followed by the rest of our table.

 

£££££££££££££££££££££££££

 

Once this new series of long dances were over we all cheerfully headed back to our tables.

 

Without sitting, Tad and Mareid informed us they were calling it an early evening, having promised to have the babysitter (their young niece Veriety) home early.

 

We said our goodbyes and after they left, Merrick and I seated our ladies, then headed in the opposite direction to the bar for another round of drinks.

 

Returning to our table we saw that the girls were embroiled in a deep conversation, which they ended up on our approach, looking up at us like the cats who had gotten the canaries.

 

We served the pretty ladies their drinks, and after taking a rather unladylike slurp of her’s, Heather looked at Merrick and me with questioning eyes before asking, with a rather horsey dry throated tone of voice...

 

“Now then, what were you lads thinking as we danced?”

 

“A...bout?” Asked Merrick teasing, for he believes we both knew, but wanted her to come out with it.

 

“ Our jewels, sillies. Were you coveting them, thinking of ways to steal them from us? Inquiring minds want to know?”

 

With an astounding expression, I asked.

 

“Heather Luv, are you calling your husband snd I jewel thieves?!”

 

Both Heather and Ginny chortled as Heather said cheerfully...

 

“Well, reformed thieves then, you’ve given up a life of crime, but, you know, you can take the boy out of the city, but not the city out of the boy. So let’s have it, each of you have to say something, that’s my challenge...”

“And no coping out of it either you two. I know you have imaginations. Especially you, she finished, drilling her blue eyes into mine...”

 

Merrick gave me a nudge. “I think your first mate.”

 

£££££££££££££££££££££££££

 

I took a long sip of my bourbon, whilst gathering my thoughts. I freely eyed Ginny, then Heather up and down for effect. Their pretty dresses would have been noticed first, followed by the thief eyeing their expensive appearing jewels. This is going to be easy I thought, before starting in, pausing in-between thoughts for further effect.

 

“I was a jewel thief who was taken under wing by a wealthy socialite who felt it was her duty to reform me. As part of this task, she has brought me here surrounded by ladies in fancy jewels, to teach me how to overcome my desires.”

 

“I would have selected out a promising lady, Ginny here, and asked for a dance.”

 

“I would then have started out dancing at a modest distance to get the full picture. Then I would have asked if she knew who the tart in the blue taffeta dress and sapphires was?”

 

“Hey, that’s not very nice!” Heather scolded me, as we all laughed.

 

I continued, reaching over and fingering my wife’s bracelet.

 

“Then as Ginny looked over at you Heather. I would have had a window opened to closely study her earrings and necklace, then as she looked back over to me I would lift her right-hand and have her swirl around in a circle as I gave the same attention to her bracket and ring. Then I would again talk about the pretty lady in blue, I had I kindly called a tart, finding out where she(and her jewels ) were spending the evening. “

 

“Hah”! Said Heather triumphantly. “So you are not reformed, and I am not surprised you would prefer your wife’s jewels over my own. They are very pretty “

 

I shook my head no.... as I reached over and stroked my fingers along Heather’s necklace.

 

“Of course I am not reformed, and I would be very interested in the jewels you both are wearing.”

 

“So I would then maneuver Ginny close to Merrick, and tapping him on the shoulder as to change partners.”

 

“Then I would repeat my performance on You. Looking over this necklace your flaunting, calling out to be nicked, and as I study it, asking where your friend the redhead was staying. “

 

I finished up with...

 

“As we finished the dance and had gone back to the table I would make an excuse to leave. Then as you two ladies were enjoying your evening here, I would be breaking into your bedrooms, stealing your jewels.”

 

“Devious ...I like it, “ Heather said with a delicious shudder before turning he attention to Merrick and challenging...

 

“Your turn my love...”

 

Yes, I would love to hear it also...” My Ginny said with encouragement.

 

Merrick, a bit red-faced, began. And I was pleasantly pleased that he had obviously been giving it some thought.

 

“Well, I um, would wait until you were alone during the evening and come up to offer dance, or to put my name on your dance card. Then as we danced I would say how pretty your dress was and how lovely your jewels were. Then as you told me about your dress and jewellery I would listen and watch. I would think how dazzling you looked wearing them, and that it would be a shame I had to steal them. I would keep an eye on you the rest of the evening, follow you home, and as you slept take them from you.”

 

Heather sighed deeply, then asked.

“Would you watch me make sure I was sleeping before starting?”

 

Merrick nodded, “That and to make sure you were not still wearing any of them.”

 

“Nice Merrick!” I thought to myself as his wife pretty much was now swooning.

 

I was watching Heather as Merrick was spinning his tale. I could tell she was more than thrilled at what he was saying, becoming even more turned on about her view of the jewel thief subject she had broached.

 

But I knew that poor clueless Merrick was missing that point over his wife’s yearning desire for him to at least try acting out upon the theme. He had told his story and that to him appeared to be the end of his Wife’s challenge.

 

Pity, for it was all ever so obvious that Heather was into this. Albeit alcohol may have also been a driving factor.

 

£££££££££££££££££££££££££

 

It was all finally winding down, when, as we again were dancing, Ginny, had come up with her thief remark that I mention at the beginning of this tale.

 

As the dance ended I looked my wife lovingly in her eyes with a look in mine that told her I was up to something.

 

“Let’s do it properly,” I said, nodding towards the table where we had been sitting, watching as Heather was being reseated by Merrick after they had left the dance floor ahead of us.

 

You girls go to the loo while I have a chat with Merrick.

 

“Game on...” Ginny said with joyful conviction.

 

And so it was that some twenty minutes later, and another round of drinks, found us back on the dance floor.

 

But this time around I was with Heather and Merrick was dancing with Ginny.

 

£££££££££££££££££££££££££

 

As we danced I talked to Heather in a low, conspiracy-laden tone of voice.

“You know Heather, you sometimes need to tease someone into wanting to steal your jewels, spell it out what you think he would do. Like Ginny and I are going to do before leaving. “

 

“Oooh, what’s going to happen ?” She asked with deep interest:

 

“You’ll see soon enough, Ginny is going to play the character of another lady here this evening. The one your husband is dancing with. That will be our game. You need to focus on yours. Speaking of which..”

 

“Yes?” Asked Heather with deep curiosity.

 

I tapped her on the nose... then lifted her necklace going into my character...

 

“Remember, coming from a reformed thief, your jewels are far safer in your room than to trust some mischievous bugger of a weasel-faced hotel desk clerk to lock them up for you in a hotel safes vault.”

 

Ohh my, Heather really liked me saying that, for she had no clue to its meaning, but believed heart and soul that Merrick would!

 

Then she went into her character...

 

“I am so glad you are looking out for me and my jewels. Here I have been foolishly listening to hotel clerks and letting them put my pretties in the hotel safe.”

 

Placing a hand on either side of her face I lifting her silky hair up to properly view her dangling earrings, before answering Heather in the voice of my character...

 

“Best not to take chances. Make sure you keep all your jewelry with you in your suite this evening.”

 

Heather giggled...

“ Oh, I had not thought of that. What a brilliant suggestion. You are truly my knight in shining armor!”

 

With that, she gave me a peck on the chin...

 

I chuckled before breaking character to give pretty Heather some further instructions...

 

“Now listen, we are going to switch partners soon, this is what you need to do with Merrick.

 

As I maneuvered my pretty partner over towards her husband and my wife, I explained the role she would play for the remaining 30 minutes till midnight, at which time the reception was officially over. If she played it right, further adventures awaited her at home afterwards!

 

I had finished my advice by the time we reached them.

 

I had one hand holding around Heather’s silken-covered waist, the other was holding her hand. I let go of her hand and tapped Merrick on the shoulder.

 

“Change partners?” I questioned as he looked me in the eye.

 

Merrick looked at Ginny,

 

“Do you mind?”

 

He said to her, and with the manner had said that I knew that Ginny had been successful in bringing Merrick up to speed on playing his wife’s game.

 

“I would love to.”

 

Ginny said and still dancing to the music, we, in turn, switched our partners.

 

£££££££££££££££££££££££££

 

I took Ginny up in my arms, she felt like heaven as my fingers slipped around the satin waistline of her green gown.

 

“I’m so glad you gave up your life of crime!”

She said to me with that wicked little smile of hers lighting up her face.

 

I smiled back...

 

“Yes, and I owe it all to the efforts of my benefactor and her lovely friends., like you. So glad you all have faith in me.”

 

Meanwhile, I was working my fingers carefully up the backside of her scintillating gown.

 

Ginny sighed happily...

 

“ I will admit I had some reservations over my friend bringing a thief here. What if you had found all these jewels we are wearing too much of a temptation?

 

My fingers had finally made it up to her ‘diamond’ necklaces’ clasp as I answered soothingly...

 

“That's why she told all of her friends to wear their best jewelry tonight. To test me. I am so glad you listened to her. I feel no strong desires to steal jewels any more.”

 

Ginny smiled at me...

 

“I’m glad, for I do so love wearing my diamonds out. And no worries, I totally trust you around them...”

 

With that Ginny lay her head down lovingly upon my shoulder as I looked around. No one was paying us any heed. Except Heather, who was was snuggled into Merrick, with an eye open upon us.

 

Ginny and I danced in that position for some time before I made my move and began to work open the ‘diamond’ necklace’s jeweled clasp.

 

On cue, Ginny said into my shoulder.

 

“I can tell you are having a lovely time this evening.”

 

I looked into Ginnys face, her swinging earrings giving off a frenzied sparkle.

 

“Oh, I am Lass, that I most certainly am having a lovely time. I am thoroughly enjoying dancing with pretty ladies like yourself. And may add that your earrings are something special.”

 

Ginny raised her head smiling at me...which now made my job a lot easier.

 

“Thank you, that means a lot to me. But they are heavy, and I'm afraid that I have a bad habit of taking them off, then leaving them behind at the table...”

 

I was smiling, listening intently to her, while my fingers finally managing to unclasp her necklace, letting the ends hang freely down before I made a lying comment...

 

“No worries luv if I were to see you do that, I would point it out to you.”

 

She sighed, then happily snuggled back into my chest.

 

“ I knew you were reformed, and saying what you just did proves it.”

 

My hand at her waist gripped in harder as she snuggled in closer. With her hot figure pressing into mine, my free hand was busy working her shimmery ‘diamonds’ free from around her satin gown’s cowled neckline.

 

“You truly have no idea how much I am appreciating this trust you are giving me tonight.” I murmured while I worked on reliving her of the ‘diamonds’ she was so obtainabley wearing.

 

And then it smoothly came away easy peasy, and I found myself in full possession of her diamonds. I quickly whisked it over her satin-clad shoulder and secreted it away inside my pocket.

 

Ginny pulled away, smiling up into my face, her eyes searching into mine as she fully played her role of the rich social worker’s wealthy friend, who agreed that thieves just needed to be shown trust to be let back into society.

 

And what better way to show your trust in a thief, than by taking the him to a dress-up with your jewel-laden friends of course?

 

I smiled back at her.

 

Then looking over at Heather, elegant in her blue gown and quite shimmering collection of sapphires, her eyes wide open over seeing what my ‘thief’ had been up to...

 

I asked...

 

And your friend Heather? Is she still staying at the Seville Hotel this evening?

 

“Oh yes, but without her husband, the poor thing is going to be all alone this evening.”

 

“Poor thing,” I said full-heartedly agreeing, with wicked intent.

  

£££££££££££££££££££££££££

 

As we gathered back at our table Heather (and Merrick) kept quiet about Ginny's missing necklace. But I could tell Heather was bursting over it, for it was both exciting to her and killing her at the same time to keep mum over.

 

But she stayed in her character.

 

As did we all.

 

We stayed at our table finishing up our drinks and making small talk, as we waiting for the stroke of Midnight before leaving.

 

At one point I saw Ginny lean over to Heather, and pointing over at Merrick who was standing next to me as we chatted with one of our mates from the dart league, mouth in a whisper ...

 

“ Be careful Lass, I don’t trust that one. “

 

Heather smiled, eating it up, whispered back..,

 

“No worries, I know what I’m doing...”

 

Ginny, after running her fingers along the length of her earrings, began to straighten her bracelet, continued...

 

“I’m sure you do Luv, I have every bit of faith in your abilities.”

 

Heather chortled back, unable to keep a straight face as she eyed the now necklace bare cowled neckline of Ginny’s shiny green gown, whilst playing with the sapphires still dangling down the front of hers. She said to Ginny...

 

“And I am so glad you have been so successful in having your thief give up his errant jewelry stealing ways, my darling ...”

 

Both girls began giggling uncontrollably. As Merrick and I turned to watch.

 

Soon after, the remaining quests were nicely shown the door to leave.

 

As we stood by our autos, Ginny and Heather hugged as Merrick and I firmly shook hands with each other, and I added a slap on the back.

 

Then Ginny hugged and kissed Merrick goodbye as Heather did the same for me.

 

As she perkily enveloped me in a hug, Heather whispered a thank you, then scolded that she was a little shocked finding my thief had not also nicked her fancy necklace as we danced...

 

“Wish I had, Raincheck then?” I whispered playfully back.

 

That made her smile winningly at me.

  

“Rain check it is.” she agreed, before reaching up to reward me with a quick kiss goodbye.

 

We then went out separate ways.

 

Heather off to teasingly entertain her ‘reformed’ jewel thief, later to lose her jewels as she “fell asleep” wearing them in her ‘hotel’ room...

 

Ginny was off to take a stroll in the woods behind our cottage, where no one but her ‘reformed’ thief knew the mischief that would befall her there.

 

And as I started the engine, seeing Heather’s necklace dangling down with a shimmer as she was being helped inside her car by Merrick, I knew there was another chapter to tonight's story waiting in the wings...

 

One where a lady resplendent in a blue gown and sparkling sapphires, would be destined to have a fateful dance with a jewel coveting thief.

 

And as we talked about it much later, Ginny said she would be game to playing a dress up part in that chapter also!

 

Fini.

 

And a thank you to David Dodge for telling someone the story behind the scenes of his.

 

lestuff.wordpress.com/tag/david-dodge-to-catch-a-thief/

 

The F-106 all-weather interceptor was developed from the Convair F-102 Delta Dagger. Deliveries to the Air Force began in July 1959. The F-106 used a Hughes MA-1 electronic guidance and fire control system. After takeoff, the MA-1 can be given control of the aircraft to fly it to the proper altitude and attack position. Then it can fire the Genie and Falcon missiles, break off the attack run and return the aircraft to the vicinity of its base. The pilot takes control again for the landing.

 

The aircraft on display was involved in an unusual incident. During a training mission from Malmstrom Air Force Base on Feb. 2, 1970, it suddenly entered an uncontrollable flat spin forcing the pilot to eject. Unpiloted, the aircraft recovered on its own, apparently due to the balance and configuration changes caused by the ejection, and miraculously made a gentle belly landing in a snow-covered field near Big Sandy, Mont. After minor repairs, the aircraft was returned to service. It last served with the 49th Fighter Interceptor Squadron before being brought to the museum in August 1986.

This is the 'go-to' destination for many photographers in the Roan Highlands, Grassy Ridge. It's a stout 3-mile hike with a lot of 'up' involved. I started the trail at just a little before 4:00 am. I had to "push it up", as former fighter pilot friend Rob Waldo Waldman is fond of expressing, so I could be here before sunrise. A 3-mile hike in the flatlands is one thing; here, about a mile up, and carrying about 40 pounds of gear on steeply rising terrain, this hike takes about two hours. I had to hurry to catch that sunrise, so I hoofed it nonstop from Carver's Gap all the way to this spot in under two hours... if only the sun would cooperate.

 

Prior to this image, the area was socked with clouds... shortly after this shot, they returned for the duration of my time there, along with a howling wind... and cold. I had an excellent raincoat/windbreaker on to retain some heat, as usually this time of year, it can start off cold here, then warm up exponentially as the sun rises... not on this day, however. After about an hour of it, having worked my way over to the peak of the ridge, that wind had hauled off with a good bit of my body heat... my teeth were chattering uncontrollably! Having worked the area as best I could with the camera, I reluctantly had to seek some warmer climes back down the trail. Certainly, sunset back on Jane Bald would make up for what I missed here.

 

Did I say "certainly"? Later that evening, all clouds gave way to clear blue skies, not exactly what I expected, but just as I've experienced here so many times in these mountains. Don't feel sorry for me though, as that provides so many reasons to come back. I'm back there in the area from tomorrow until Tuesday evening. Who's with me?

 

Of particular note on the hike back down, by the way, I ran across two kids, apparently brother and sister jabbering away with each other, near the high point of Grassy Knob, who were wearing short-sleeved shirts, no shoes, and were wet as I had been having been in contact with the wet foliage along the trail... and absolutely oblivious to the cold! Their parents, appearing every bit as old hippies, followed about two minutes behind them, dressed nearly the same, though wearing sandals... that's better than barefoot, though totally inappropriate for the steep rocky tails here. I found out later (as they had aroused the curiosity of many from these parts) that they were from Michigan. Apparently, they drink antifreeze up there.

'Boggart...'

on the Pendle Sculpture Trail, Aitken Wood, Barley, Lancashire UK

 

Boggart is one of numerous related terms used in English folklore for either a household spirit or a malevolent spirit inhabiting fields, marshes or other topographical features. In Northern England, at least, there was the belief that the boggart should never be named, for when the boggart was given a name, it would not be reasoned with nor persuaded, but would become uncontrollable and destructive. Within the folklore of North-West England, boggarts can cause mischief in homes but tend to live outdoors, in marshland, holes in the ground, under bridges and on dangerous sharp bends on roads.

Seeing the sculpture put me in mind of Gollum

 

©SWJuk (2019)

... the day I walked into a Life Drawing class in college and saw her sitting there. I remember the 1st time I shot photos of her before we were even dating. There was the time I laid down in bed, cracked my head on the headboard and she laughed uncontrollably for 15 minutes. I remember 8 years ago today, kicking the door open to our wedding reception while Fight for Your Right by the Beasty Boys blasted. Sitting here typing this I remember times it wasn't easy. The fact is I was lucky enough to marry one strong woman. I'm talking about someone who looks within for strength before asking for it. She's someone who influenced me more than she will ever know. Its been the best 8 years of my life. I say that with absolute conviction. I love this woman.

I've never studied physics. How light changes, the way it envelopes a subject, folds, morphs, expands and contracts, explodes and retreats. It's dynamic, uncontrollable as I use it, and it never fails to surprise. As I child I would watch car lights cross my bedroom wall, three stories above the street, and bend around the corner to continue to travel opposite to the direction of the moving vehicle. In photography I let light do it's own thing. Except for chasing certain colors I'll wait for the results to surprise me. At my age I have neither the time or the inclination to study why these things happen. They simply do, and they make me happy.Too old to care about the why now, only the joy in chasing the light remains. Helios 44.3 58mm reverse lens attachment.

As usual... there are too strong casualities with this superacid uncontrollable film...

 

Original shot taken with a Polaroid Spectra (Image) Procam on expired Polaroid 1200 film, pressed with a spoon during the developing time. Almost no post processing, just scanned.

'Second four 2020 Calendar teatowels in a yard by Su_G' printed on Linen-Cotton Canvas by Spoonflower.

 

Really pleased with how well each of the colours printed. My fave is the orange - the dots remind me of toffee-apples. Others prefer the avocado...

 

A design for the budget-minded gift-giver who wants to give a lot of tea towels and is prepared to cut & hem (or zig zag) to finish them. Many of my friends get no choice about these gifts...

 

See 'Second four 2020 Calendar teatowels in a yard by Su_G' as fabric @ Spoonflower [although be warned that it needs to be set to the yard to confirm what you get - an uncontrollable Spoonflower innovation to keep you on your toes... :-(]

 

[Second four 2020 Calendar teatowels in a yard by Su_G_Linen-cottonCanvas]

 

"I think all art is about control - the encounter between control and the uncontrollable."

-- Richard Avedon

 

Some people won't probably get what I mean (when I relate this photo to control), but I'm hoping you would.

 

For Day 165 of the 2009 Photo Challenge: Control

Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly,

kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably,

and never regret anything that made you smile.

youtu.be/V8wtZeVAa9I

On my summer roadtrip to Glacier and Yellowstone, my fiancee and I made it a point to speak to locals, explore some less traveled areas, and get something other than the everyday most popular shots. A ranger in Glacier had told us of an unmapped trail to the top of Mt Reynolds. He said to be careful but it wasn't to hard to traverse over there - Maybe not if your a mountain goat! Some places were much steeper than 45 degrees.The snowpack had turned to ice and one slip would have sent us flying uncontrollably down the very steep mountainside and into some pretty nasty boulders and ledges. In fact we took so long to get across the snowpack that I missed the sunset but I think this shot is as good as anything I would have got up there and much more memorable.

 

©2012 JTBaskinphoto ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

.44 cal. Magnum fan-fire capable revolver.

 

A cheap and easy to manufacture 'cowboy' revolver developed by the lesser known Jackal Combat Company. Its cheap price and light weight has found much favor with first-time criminals and gangs.

 

Built from various damaged firearm parts and urban city scraps, the FNE-44's form is largely inconsistent, but the power the .44 round it fires remains a constant. As such, some shorter iterations might be a tad uncontrollable when fan-fired.

 

Regardless of its fan-fire capability, it is still double-action, so users with weaker hands can still fire rapidly with relative ease.

 

Unfortunately, the miniscule amount of quality materials used negatively impacts its service life, only able to fire around 130 rounds before losing structural integrity, or worse, exploding in the user's hand. Perhaps, it is for this reason that the revolver has got the designation - the FNE-44, with the letter acronym standing for Friday Night Express.

Long Lake Dam is a concrete gravity dam on the Spokane River, between Lincoln County and Stevens County about 30 miles (48 km) northwest of Spokane in eastern Washington. It forms Long Lake (Washington), a 23.5 mi (37.8 km) long reservoir, and has a hydroelectric generating capacity of 71 megawatts. The dam was built by Washington Water Power (now Avista Utilities), which operates five other dams along the Spokane.

 

Upon its completion in 1915, Long Lake Dam completely blocked salmon migrations to the upper portions of the Spokane River watershed, although much larger Grand Coulee Dam on the Columbia River extirpated salmon from the entire Spokane basin by 1942. The power plant was entered onto the National Register of Historic Places in 1988.

 

Photo of the Long Lake Dam captured via Minolta MD W.Rokkor-X 24mm F/2.8 Lens. Spokane River. At the Long Lake Dam Overlook. Selkirk Mountains Range. Western Okanogan Semiarid Foothills section within the Northern Rockies Region. Inland Northwest. Stevens County, Washington. Late February 2018.

 

Exposure Time: 1/125 sec. * ISO Speed: ISO-100 * Aperture: F/11 * Bracketing: +1 / -1 * Color Temperature: 6400 K * Film Plug-In: Kodak Portra 160 VC

“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.”

Mirit Ben-Nun’s art exists within and beyond reality. She moves away from reality with aggressive and dense colorfulness which reveals an inner testimony of a threatened existence of women. The lines, points and shapes do not reproduce facts but emphasize the special charge of emotional coping.

 

Mirit Ben-Nun shows a rebellious spirit and tries to reach out to things not through wholeness but via searching for their expression and manifestation.

 

She explores personal identity and through it tries to define a complementary art, thereby illustrating the world and the nature of human culture. She focuses on the expressive dimension because of the exposure afforded by the uncontrollable moment that so much affects life in a rapidly changing global world.

The discourse between the inner world and the emerging reality is hyperactive and generates in Ben - Nun an endless sequence of works.

 

From the depths of feelings, dreams, anxieties and expressions arise rigid and exciting meanings of existence whose essence expresses adaptation difficulties and restlessness.

   

Dora Woda

The Hunter in a Red Plastic Hat and a black and red striped jail line tee held his gun as if he was strumming the guitar in a rock and roll epiphany.

 

Whether he had an epiphany or not but the situation on the Tiger front has been grim for quite sometime. The Planet Earth is slowly relinquising its flora and fauna as humankind expands in uncontrollable numbers and fritters away Nature and its resources in a headlong dive to extinction for almost all.

 

Continuing the series

 

Tiger Tiger, Fading Bright !

The tigers in India are facing the toughest odds and are on the brink of being wiped out. There is a big industry based on tiger claws and bones etc that drives up the demand for the killing of this beautiful beast.

 

Men will buy a enlargement (is enhancement the right choice of word ?) of libido anytime anywhere but Chinese men will pay top dollars for tiger remains to increase theirs.

 

If you wonder why all the grand conservation efforts to save the tiger are failing, go no further then the politics of funding tiger conservation. It has been known for years that it is allegedly a big sham with mega bucks and mega publicity but almost nil results.

 

If you have the time it would be interesting to read some interesting thoughts and the current day reality on the tigers in an exchange between Thatzme and Aditya Singh from Rajasthan.

 

One can only hope that one sees a tiger in the wild in one's life time as the future generation may not have that privilege anytime soon. So if you are young and in India, head out and go see the elusive tiger before it is too late.

 

India has only 1150 - 1600 tigers that are available in the wild as per the Minister of Environment Jairam Ramesh.

 

Will Viagra be the Saviour of the Indian Tiger ?

 

This is an enactment of the situation at a Kerala street show during Onam in Thrippunithra near Cochin on the Atthachamayam day.

  

DSC_0840 jpeg via ACR

Womanby Street, Cardiff.

 

The guy on the right will awake tomorrow morning with an inexplicable & uncontrollable urge to buy 'Sheila' by Jamie T.

Gasteruption jaculator. Hands down this is my favourite-named wasp ever. The 15 year old me is sniggering uncontrollably.

[ Important Announcement ]

  

The 2025 exhibition has been postponed.

Right now, I’m fully immersed in writing—and I’ve been uploading fragments of that work here.

Among the countless artists around the world, my work may be no more than a mere pebble.

And yet, I still feel compelled to create.

America.

Europe.

And now, Japan—faced with the results of this latest election.

The world is already broken.

I don’t believe for a moment that my novel could fix such a world.

But as I’ve always said, I believe that changing the inner world of a single person can change tomorrow.

That belief remains unchanged.

I have confidence in this novel.

To hurt someone.

To love someone.

Is there a wall that separates us from loving one another?

Is money the most important thing of all?

Is art truly meaningless?

I’ve entrusted everything to this story.

That’s why I’ve made the decision to step away from exhibitions for a year.

If things go well, I may begin publishing the novel between January and February of next year.

If not, it will be around late July 2026.

Right now, I’m consumed with breaking through my own limits.

As entertainment, I believe this novel will bring you joy again and again.

Please look forward to it.

July 19, 2025

Mitsushiro

 

Images

ELLEGARDEN - Lonesome

youtu.be/m1rgXlLkKDc?si=99vILpcJBIeEOrsP

Shot on iPhone 11 Pro.

Motosuka Beach, Sanmu City, Chiba Prefecture, Japan.

(Today’s photo. It has not been released yet.)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Exhibition 2026

Theme

The Nightfly

Inspired by my upcoming novel:

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Images

Taylor Swift – This Love (Japanese Subtitles)

youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=Y2g0HzhoVjnR46zS

 

Mitsushiro Nakagawa

Presented by

Design Festa

designfesta.com

Venue

Tokyo Big Sight

www.bigsight.jp

Schedule

Fall 2026

exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

【 重要なお知らせ 】

 

２０２５年の展示は、延期します。

僕は現在、執筆に集中していて、その断片をここへアップロードしています。

世界中に溢れるアーティストのなかで、僕の作品は石ころのような存在です。

けれども、僕はどうしても描きたいのです。

アメリカやヨーロッパ。そして、今回の選挙結果を突きつけられた日本。

世界はすでに壊れています。

壊れた世界を僕の小説が修復できるなどとは決して思っていません。

僕はこれまでにも書いてきたように、たったひとりの個人の内面を塗り替えることで明日を変えられると信じてきました。

それは、いまでも変わっていません。

 

僕は今回の小説に自信を持っています。

誰かを傷つけること。

誰かを愛すること。

誰かを愛することに壁はあるのか。

お金がもっとも大切なのか。

アートは無意味なのか。

 

僕はこの小説にすべてを託しました。

ですので、僕は一年間、展示を見送る決断をしました。

小説の発表は、早くて来年の１月から２月ごろにできるかもしれません。

遅くて、来年の７月下旬です。

僕は今、自分の壁を越えることに夢中になっています。

僕の小説は、エンターテイメントとして、あなたを何度も楽しませるはずです。

楽しみに、待っていてください。

 

19.7,2025.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Mitsushiro.

  

Images.

ELLEGARDEN - Lonesome

youtu.be/m1rgXlLkKDc?si=99vILpcJBIeEOrsP

 

iPhone 11 Pro shot .

本須賀海岸。山武市。千葉県。日本。

(. 今日の写真。それは未発表です。 )

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

２０２6年の展示

  

テーマ

The Nightfly

 

僕の次の小説。B♭（ビーフラット）

そのイメージになります。

  

Images.

Taylor Swift … This Love 【和訳】

youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=Y2g0HzhoVjnR46zS

  

Mitsushiro - Nakagawa

 

主催

デザインフェスタ

designfesta.com

 

場所

東京ビッグサイト

www.bigsight.jp

  

日程

2026年 秋。

 

exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Scene: Garden 3‑4

 

Jack slumped deeply in the commander’s chair, his gaze sweeping across the pale glow of the monitor wall.

Camera feeds A17, A18, A19—all fixed on the arena’s center. Yet the security guard on the west side of the stands wasn’t watching there. His eyes were glued to the emergency exit at Section 212. Its sensor blinked once—a flash of red warning across the screen.

“A suspicious movement… the door sensor just lit up,” Jack's low voice vibrated through Ben’s earpiece.

Ben glanced upward at the monitors and whispered,

“Shall I go?”

“No,” Jack replied, his voice dropping. “Don’t leave your post. I’ll handle it.”

He paused, stern. “It’s probably nothing. But—stay alert. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Silence fell over each earpiece, the tension thickening. On the monitor, the door remained motionless—neither opening nor closing—frozen in stillness.

Jack burst from the briefing room, sprinted up from underground into the arena, his view sweeping the western stand. He looked up at the broad, flat ceiling of Madison Square Garden, sensed it swelling with the heat of the crowd. Cheers greeting the presidential candidate blended with jeers—clearly, anti‑Republicans had infiltrated.

Jack narrowed his gaze on the west stand, then lowered his eyes to his iPhone. Multiple social feeds scrolled with frenetic energy, and one post caught his attention: a murder threat, flashing in angry red text.

He dashed down the crowded corridor and reached the west stand, addressing a nearby guard:

“Evening. Everything clear on your end?”

The guard, clad in plain black suit with no tie—just a discreet earpiece—nodded, calm. He lifted his jacket slightly, revealing the outline of a Glock 19 at his waist. No hostility—just a tacit acknowledgment. Jack responded with a silent nod, their training speaking volumes.

“Door sensor tripped once. I’ll check visually.” Jack seized the cold metal handle and cast a glance down the corridor beyond. Darkness swallowed the path; silence reigned.

He spoke into his earpiece:

“All clear in the west stands. Security is solid.”

He patted the guard’s shoulder. “Stay alert.” The man returned a brief smile—and then lights died across the arena.

In the dark, red lasers lanced from ceiling to floor as a menacing bass drum rolled in from below. A crisp hi‑hat scythed in sixteenth‑notes; a heavy kick drum struck four‑on‑the‑floor. A low, rumbling bass synth layered in—and the very air of the arena began to pulse.

The crowd's heartbeat synchronized with the beat. Swirling smoke and laser cuts, the floor trembling. From deep within the sound, a processed male voice intoned again and again:

“Strength. Order. America.”

As smoke thickened the light, colossal center-hung screens flickered to life:

J U S T I N  B R A D F O R D

One spotlight pierced the gloom—red, then blue, finally white—tracing the American tricolor. Within its glow appeared a man: Justin. Clad in a dark‑navy tailored suit, a bold crimson tie signifying the Republican Party, a single white rose pinned to his lapel.

Moments later, another spotlight revealed Eleanor Blake, dressed in an elegant black gown, standing behind him. Hand in hand, they strode center stage, each step purposeful. The audience looked on, awestruck, shouting cheers:

—“Take back America!”—

Red, blue, and white lights danced across their feet. Eleanor paused; Justin stepped forward to the microphone as the music faded and lights dimmed again. Silence engulfed the arena.

He made no sound—only a slight, assured smile. That smile was a declaration of war. Saying everything without uttering a word. That posture—that was the bearing of a man who would become the most powerful leader in the world: President of the United States.

Justin scanned the crowd for a moment, then spoke in calm tones. His golden hair, blue eyes—mirroring Eleanor’s—lent gravity to his words:

“Good evening, New York. How’s your night going so far?”

He smiled at a woman in the front row. Following his father’s advice, he spoke as if addressing just one person, not an entire audience—

—“When I arrived in the parking lot tonight, I felt weighed down by the humidity. Eleanor whispered to me: ‘We chose the best course to protect you. Our team would risk their lives for you.’”

His voice rang clear. Thunderous applause erupted from tens of thousands. A wave of anticipation rolled toward the stage. The spotlight seemed to center itself in his eyes—and likewise in Eleanor’s.

“Tonight, we gather to put our will once again at the heart of this nation. To reclaim the ‘light’ America is forgetting. Over the past four years, our party restored the economy, brought back security, rebuilt national order. Now, it’s time to shine that light brighter—not as mere hope, but as our responsibility. If America shines again, the world will follow. We must seize that stronger, purer light. It will illuminate the world.”

Justin’s voice reverberated through the arena—until… a dry gunshot cracked the air from center stage.

Jack dove instinctively. His eyes darted upward to the giant screens: time froze. He saw Justin’s body convulse backwards, his jacket tail flipping off his left shoulder. The first bullet struck his left arm, the second to his left abdomen. Justin crumpled slowly, falling face‑first.

“Justin!” Eleanor’s scream cut across the stage. Her wide eyes fixed on him, trembling. A haze of tears blurred her vision. Secret Service agents shielded her, pulling her back.

“Hit the deck!” Guards and crowd shouted in chorus. Pandemonium erupted. Women's screams overlapped. The reverberation of gunfire lingered ominously in the cavernous space.

Unbeknownst to most, Jack’s ears had discerned two shots. He closed his eyes and re‑ran the sound—each fired from above—each from perilously close.

“Ben—where are you?” Jack pushed through collapsing spectators, heading to the stage.

“By Justin’s side. Missed his heart—just grazed left arm and abdomen. Not arterial, but bleeding heavily.”

“Medical team’s on the motorcade. Justin has Bombay blood—two bags ready on the ambulance. Start transfusion.”

“If that’s not enough, what about Elijah?”

“Either way, he’s en route. Bellevue Hospital stores Bombay bags—confirmed three days ago.”

Bombay blood: a rare type first found in Bombay (now Mumbai) in 1952—not A, B, or O—afflicting about 1 in 10,000 in India, 1 in 2.5 million worldwide. It can only be transfused to someone of the same type.

Ben replied calmly.

They rushed Justin to Bellevue Hospital—the closest to the Garden. Jack called Elijah. Before the first ring ended, Elijah answered, breathless:

“Jack... this is bad. We’ve no blood—no Bombay stock.”

Jack couldn’t believe it.

“I saw the bags in person three days ago!”

Silence, then Elijah replied:

“The blood keeper was killed in a car crash yesterday.”

As Jack absorbed the news, his voice boomed over the arena’s PA, shaking the trembling building. The crowd froze and then shattered. Thousands surged toward exits—only to find them locked.

“There’s explosives in this building. Please, stay calm and head for the exits. I repeat—I am….”

Panic rippled. Eight exits in total—most had been sealed for VIP and motorcade security. The crowd funnelled into the remaining three.

Low moans grew to shrieks. People trampled the fallen. A little girl's white blouse had turned grey, her teddy flattened. During flight, no one looked back. At one exit, dozens collapsed, graves to the trampling. The weight buckled railings, jammed the door.

“Doors won’t open!” “There’s children—!” Screams scattered. Security couldn’t reach the scene. Orders were drowned in noise. Control evaporated.

“The crowd is uncontrollable, Jack,” came Zakaria’s voice through the PA, along with a simultaneous link to staff smartphones.

“You got my email? Open the link. No virus, I promise.”

Hurriedly, Jack checked his phone. The site loaded:

“Good evening, New York—and Los Angeles. My name is Zakaria Haddad. My real name. Five years ago, I lived in Gaza. Now I sit in a room many of you recognize.”

On the screen, a brown-skinned man with a trimmed beard—Zakaria—seated in a chair eerily like the Oval Office. Three green-curtained windows behind him—the color favored by Prophet Muhammad. A portrait of Ibn Sina hung on the wall, his gaze deep, delicate—reaching from time’s past to the present.

Zakaria glanced at his watch, then back at camera—an unreadable dark joy flickering in his eyes.

“Breaking news—watch your phone alerts.” Instantly:

Former Democratic President Owen Reed shot at Los Angeles Convention Center

Zakaria hid a wry smile.

“A sad update, America. But don’t mourn. In Gaza, we suffered 55,000 times this. We lost over 55,000 dear souls—and we wept.”

He averted his gaze, clasped both hands, slammed his fist onto the desk. The air thickened. Yet in his eyes brimmed silent tears—quiet sorrow.

“We do not seek money or glory in death. We seek tears equal to the 55,000. Only tears can heal us.”

He rested his elbows, folded his hands, chin supported. A long pause. His eyes twitched with small sorrowful motions.

Zakaria rotated a framed photo toward the camera.

“My family. More precious than my life. Gone in an instant.”

There was no hatred in his voice—only respect and gentle grief. He began again.

“I was one among those 55,000. Even if I perish, their wills persist. I stand here to voice our will.”

He quietly reached into his right drawer, withdrew a Glock 17, chambered a round, and placed the barrel against his temple. His eyes were merciful—gentle, embracing his lost family.

As a Sunni, he stared straight at the camera:

“God bless America.”

Backlit by three blazing windows, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The dry crack snapped through the room. The camera jerked—then the screen went black.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Previous notes

 

3

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

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

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Aeon parking lot. Yachimata City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. Shot on iPhone 13 Pro … 1 / 1

 

イオンの駐車場。 八街市。千葉県。日本。iPhone 13 Pro shot … 1 / 1

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

　B♭　（ビーフラット）

 

まだまだ投下します。😃

(最終稿ではありません。)

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

場面　ガーデン３−４

 

　指揮官席に深く腰を落としていたジャックは、青白いモニター群をくまなく睨んでいた。

　カメラ番号A17、A18、A19──いずれもアリーナ中央を捉えている。だが、スタンド席西側の警備員の視線が集中していたのは、そこではなかった。彼が見つめていたのはセクション212の非常扉だった。その扉のセンサーが、わずか一度だけ、反応を示し、ディスプレイに赤い警告が走った。

「不審な動きだな。ドアのセンサーが一瞬、点いた」

　ジャックの低い声が、ベンのイヤピースを震わせた。

　ベンは即座に 頭上のモニターを見上げ、囁くように言った。

「行くか？」

「…いや。持ち場は離れるな。俺が行く」

　ジャックの声がわずかに低くなった。

「たぶん、気のせいだ。ただし──全員、警戒は解くな。そのまま、周囲に意識を集中しておけ」

　それぞれのイヤピースに静寂が落ち、張り詰めた空気で満ちた。

　モニターに今映っている扉は、開くことも、閉じることもなく、ただ沈黙している。

　ジャックはブリーフィングルームを飛び出し、スタンド席、西側が見渡せるアリーナまで、地下から駆け上がった。

　マジソンスクエアガーデンの平坦な天井は、吐き出された人の熱気でいつもより膨らんでいるように、ジャックには見えた。大統領候補を歓迎する声とそれを罵倒する叫び声が錯綜し、鼓膜の奥を揺らした。どうやら反共和党も紛れ込んでいるようだ。

　ジャックは、スタンド席西側へしばらく目を凝らしてから、手元のアイフォンに目を落とした。画面には、いくつかのSNSが同時に広がっており、それぞれが激しい書き込みによって文字が流れてゆく。右下の、メタの書き込みに、ジャックは目を留めた。殺害予告のメッセージが走り、赤く灯っている。ジャックは喧騒に満ちた通路を駆け抜け、スタンド席西側へ着くと、警備員へ声を掛けた。

「おつかれ。異常はないか？」

　ジャックはさりげなく背筋を伸ばした。ジャケットの背中越しに、腰の中央──背骨の下に沿ってぴたりと固定されたグロック19の存在を確かめた。

「どうも。こちらは異常ありませんよ。何かありましたか？」

　黒のスーツで、胸元にネクタイはない、プレーン・クロースの私設セキュリティだ。視線は沈着で、イヤピースから伸びるコードが耳の下に覗いている。男は一瞬、ジャックを睨むように見たが、ジャケットの裾を軽く持ち上げ、ホルスターの形をわずかに見せた。男に敵意はなかった。それが合図だった。ジャックも同じように、背筋を伸ばしながら無言で頷いた。この沈黙こそが、互いの訓練と経験を示していた。

「ドアのセンサーが一度反応した。目視で確認する」

　ジャックは、冷たい金属の取っ手を掴み、扉の奥を一瞥した。辺りは暗闇に沈み、静まり返っていた。

　ジャックはその場からすぐにイヤピースで伝えた。

「スタンド席西側に異常はなかった。セキュリティーにも問題はない」

　ジャックは、男の肩を軽く叩いて、いった。

「引き続き、頼む」

　男が笑顔でジャックに挨拶すると、アリーナの照明が一気に落ちた。

　闇の中、赤いレーザーがガーデンの天井から床まで、縦横に切り裂き、重く低く唸るような打ち込みの硬質なバスドラがアリーナの底から噴き上がった。ハイハットが16分音符で刻まれ、深く沈むキックドラムが四拍を正確に打つ。そこに、低くうねるベース・シンセが重なり、会場全体の空気そのものが脈打つように震え始めた。

　観客の鼓動が、低く分厚い音にシンクロし始めた。スモークが舞い、赤いレーザーが切り裂く中、床の震えが増していった。低いベース音に重なった奥から、加工された男性の声が繰り返し聞こえてくる。

 

“Strength.（強さ） Order.（秩序） America.”

 

　場内のスモークが、光を濁らせるようにさらに舞うと、巨大なセンター・ハング・スクリーンに文字が浮かび上がった。

 

J U S T I N・B R A D F O R D

 

　その瞬間、中央のスポットライトが、ひとつだけ点いた。赤から青へ──そして白へと、アメリカの三色をなぞるように変化する演出だ。

　その光の中、男が姿を現した。

ジャスティンだ。ダークネイビーのテーラードスーツに、共和党を示す真紅のネクタイを巻いている。胸元には一輪の白いバラのピンバッジが添えられていた。

　数秒遅れて、彼の背後にもうひとつ光が射した。漆黒のドレスを纏ったエリノア・ブレイクがスポットライトを浴びている。

　ふたりは笑顔で手を取り合うと、ゆっくりステージ中央へ歩み始めた。彼らの歩みに迷いはなかった。強さと秩序の意志を現した姿に、観客の誰もがその姿を見上げ、歓声を上げている。

ー　アメリカを取り戻せ！　ー

　マイクスタンドへ近づくにつれ、アリーナの熱はさらに帯び、波のようにうねった。

　赤、青、白の光がジャスティンらの足元を錯綜した。

　エリノアを残し、ジャスティンは、一歩前に出て、マイクの前に立った。

　音楽が静かにフェードアウトし、照明が再び落ちていく。

──　その瞬間、全アリーナが沈黙に包まれた。

　彼は、何も言わず、ただ口元に微笑みを浮かべた。その微笑みが、宣戦布告に等しかった。

　語らずに、何かを語っている。

　それが、世界でもっとも権力を持つ、アメリカ大統領の姿勢なのだ。

　ジャスティンは、しばらく観衆を見渡してから、穏やかな口調でいった。エリノアと同じ金色に煌めく髪とブルーの瞳が、彼の言葉をさらに支えるようだ。

「こんばんは。ニューヨーク。今日は、いいことがあったかい？」

　ジャスティンは、微笑みながら、最前列の女性に問いかけた。彼は、父のルールを守っていた。多くの聴衆に語るのではなく、たったひとりの身近な人へ言葉を伝えるのだ　ーー

「僕は今日、駐車場に着いた時、気が滅入ったよ。ひどい湿気に陰鬱になった。でも、ここにいるエリノアが僕に言ったんだ。あなたを守るために、スタッフは最善の手段を選んだ、とね。そして、スタッフはみな、僕のために命を賭けてくれると」

　歯切れよく言い切ったジャスティンの言葉に、再び観衆は沸いた。数万人の熱波がステージへ押し寄せた。

　ジャスティンの目には、ステージにあった光を収束させたような輝きがあった。もちろん、エリノアの青い瞳にもだ。

「今夜、僕らがここに集まったのは、それぞれの意志を、再びこの国の中心に叩き込むためだ。アメリカが忘れかけている“光”を、もう一度我々の手に取り戻すためだ。この4年間、我が党は経済を立て直し、治安を取り戻し、国家の秩序を再構築した。今、私たちはその“光”をもっと強く照らす時に来ている。それは、ただの希望ではない。責任だ。アメリカが再び輝けば、世界はそれに倣う。そして、もっと強い、鮮明な光を私たちは手にしなければならない。アメリカが強い光を取り戻すことで、世界をくまなく照らすことができるのだ。私たちには、もっとそれができるはずだ」

　ジャスティンの声が、再び会場を震わせた瞬間、乾いた銃声が響いた。ステージ中央あたりからだ。ジャックは音と同時に身を屈め、アリーナの頭上に展開した巨大なセンター・ハング・スクリーンに目をやった。ジャックには映る全ての時間が止まっていた。ジャスティンの身体が弾けたように背後へ揺れた。ジャケットの裾がゆっくり翻り、左肩から崩れてゆく。たぶん、最初の弾は左肩に着弾した。その後、再びジャスティンは前屈みになった。二発目は左腹部だ。ジャスティンの身体は、床へスローモーションのように崩れ落ち、うつぶした。

　「ジャスティン！」

　エリノアの矯正がステージに響いた。大きく見開いた瞳が、一点を見つめまま、細かく揺れている。一瞬にして透明な薄い膜が幾重にも重なって滲み、零れた。

　ジャスティンへ近づこうとするエリノアの体を前面から覆うようにしてSPが抑え込み、引き離している。

「伏せろ！」というSPと観客からの声が同時に周囲を支配した途端、観客席は混乱に包まれた。

　女性らの悲鳴が錯綜し、誰か、とやはり別の女性の声がかぶさった。すでに消えている銃声の余韻が、巨大な会場に重く残って覆っている。

　ステージにいた者以外は、一聴しただけでは気づかなかったがジャックの耳は聴き分けていた。弾は間違いなく２発だった。騒然とした場内をよそに、ジャックは静かに目を閉じた。発射音から着弾までを想像した。一発目の弾は、ジャスティンのほぼ頭上からだった。そして、もう一発もだ。発射音から着弾までの様子からしておそらくかなりの近距離だ。

「ベン、どこだ」

　ジャックは、出口へ卒倒してゆく観客らを抗うようにしてステージへ近づいていく。ベンの冷静な声がすぐに聞こえてきた。

「ジャスティンのそばだ。心臓ははずれているが、左肩と左腹部をかすめているようだ。動脈には達していないが出血がひどい」

「車列にあった救護班がすぐにいく。ジャスティンはボンベイブラッドだ。救急車にブラッドバッグが二つ備えてある。とりあえず輸血するはずだ」

「足らなかった場合は、イライジャのところか？」

「いずれにしても搬入だ。ベルビュー病院にブラッドバッグが保管されている。予備の輸血だ。三日前に確認した」

　ボンベイブラッドとは、１９５２年にインドのムンバイ、旧ボンベイで初めて確認された、通常のA、B、Oには分類されない特殊な血液型だ。インドでは１万人にひとり程度だが、世界的には２５０万人に１人ともいわれているもので、同じボンベイ型からボンベイ型への輸血しかできない。

　ベンは、冷静にわかったといった。

　マジソンスクエアガーデンに最も近いベルビュー病院にジャスティンを運び込む。ジャックは、病院で控えているイライジャに直接電話した。ワンコールが切れる前にすぐイライジャは反応した。

「ジャック、大変だ。血液がない。ボンベイブラッドがないんだ」

　ジャックは、耳を疑った。

「三日前に、俺は直接担当の、名前は忘れたな。とにかく目の前でブラッドバッグを確認したぞ」

　イライジャは、数秒の沈黙の後、応えた。

「その血液の管理者は、きのう、交通事故で亡くなったんだ」

　ジャックがその言葉に沈黙していると、場内にジャックの声でアナウンスが流れた。すでに震えているガーデンをさらにその声が震わせた。ジャックは、再びスクリーンに目をやったが、音声だけがジャックの声だった。

「みなさん、落ち着いてください。私はシークレットサービスのジャック・バンスです。この建物には爆薬が仕掛けられていますが、みなさん、落ち着いて、出口へ向かってください。繰り返します。私は….」

　場内の空気が一瞬にして、硬直した。同時に、崩壊した。パニックはすぐに伝染した。数千の観客は、波紋のように大きく揺れ、一斉に出口へ傾れ込んだ。しかし、ジャスティンへの発砲と同時に出口は封鎖されていた。

　メインアリーナの出入口は合計8つ――だがその多くは、来賓警備や車列誘導のためにすでに封鎖されていた。群衆の大半が、残された3つの出入口に集中した。

　低い声から高い叫び声。倒れた人間を踏みつける足。転倒した白いブラウスの少女はすでに黒ずんでいる。小さな熊のぬいぐるみの顔が真っ平らになっている。

　人は、逃げるときに後ろを見ない。出入口の一つでは、すでに数人が折り重なるように倒れ、その上をさらに何十人もの足が越えていった。荷重により手すりが歪み、出口の一部が完全に塞がれる。

　「ドアが開かない！」

　「子どもが――！」

　叫び声が乱れ飛び、場内警備は現場への到達すら困難な状態だった。あらゆる指示が雑音にかき消され、もはや群衆は誰の言葉も聞いていなかった。

　制御不能の肉の波――それが、人間の集団というものだった。

「この程度の混乱ではなかったぞ、ジャック」

　ザカリアの声が切ったはずのPAから場内へ響いた。同時に、ジャックら警備スタッフへのスマートフォンへリンク先の案内がいっせいに届いた。

「メールが届いただろう？　リンク先を開け。安心しろ、ウィルスは除去済みだ」

　ザカリアが笑いを抑え、皮肉混じりにいった。

　ジャックは後ろポケットから慌てて、アイフォンを開いた。１件のメール着信を開くと、サイトが現れた。

「こんばんは、ニューヨーク。そしてロサンゼルス。私の名前はザカリア・ハッダード。本名だ。５年前、ガザに住んでいた。今は、みなさんがよく目にする部屋を真似た部屋に私はいる」

　褐色の、顎髭をたくわえたザカリアは、アメリカ大統領執務室とほとんど同じ部屋の椅子に座っていた。背後に見える三つの大きな窓には、グリーンのカーテンが掛けられている。預言者ムハンマドが好んだ色だ。

　壁面には、剣ではなく詩と理性で世界を導こうとした男、イブン・シーナーの肖像画が掛けられていた。その眼差しは、ワシントンよりも深く、リンカーンよりも繊細なもので、遥か遠く、消え去った時間の底からこちらを見据えているようだった。

　ザカリアは腕時計に目を落としてから、再び、カメラに視線を向けた。目には言葉にできない喜びのような暗い影が落ちている。

「そろそろブレイキングニュースだ。スマートフォンの速報に注目して欲しい」

　ザカリアがそういった途端、速報が流れた。

【民主党前大統領のオーウェン・リードがロサンゼルス・コンベンション・センターで銃撃された模様です】

　ザカリアは、一瞬俯いて笑いを堪えながらいった。

「悲しい速報じゃないか。アメリカのみなさん。でもどうか悲しまないで欲しい。私が経験したガザではこの55,000倍だ。55,000人以上の大切な人を失い、そして、涙を流した」

　ザカリアはカメラから目を逸らし、俯いた。そして両手を固く握りしめ、力強く机を叩きつけた。部屋の空気が硬直した。重く固まった空気が画像からも伝わってくる。しかし、顔を上げたザカリアの目にはうっすらと涙が溢れていた。静かな涙だった。

「私たちは、お金を求めない。また、死による名誉も求めない。私たちが欲しいのは、55,000人が流した涙と同じだけの涙だ。流された涙と同じだけの涙だけが、私たちを癒す」

　両肘を机につき、両手を組むと、ザカリアは静かに顎を乗せた。目を閉じて、しばらく沈黙が続いた。目尻が細かく震えているようだった。

　ザカリアはデスクにあったフォトフレームをカメラへ向け、反転させた。

「私の家族だ。私の命よりも大切な家族だ。すべて一瞬で奪われたよ」

　彼の言葉に憎しみはなかった。語尾には、亡くなったものへの敬意とたくさんの優しさを詰め込んだ静けさが含まれている。続けて、ザカリアはゆっくり口を開いた。

「55,000人のうちの私はひとりに過ぎない。私が消えても55,000人もの意思は決して消えず、引き継がれる。私は、私たちの意思をここに表明するためにいる」

　ザカリアは、向かって右手の机の引き出しにそっと手を伸ばした。引き出しから、グロック１７を取り出すと、スライドしてチャンバーに弾を流した。そして、銃口を自分のこめかみに当てた。ザカリアの目からは憎悪は消えていた。穏やかで、亡くなった家族を包み込むようなやさしい眼差しだった。

　スンニ派である彼は、まっすぐにカメラを見つめ、いった。

「神のご加護を。アメリカ」

　執務室の三つの窓から差し込んだ眩い逆光の中、ザカリアは、静かに目を閉じると、トリガーを真っ直ぐに引いた。乾いた銃声が部屋に響いた。一瞬、カメラが横へぶれたが、映像は瞬時に黒へ切り替わった。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

これまでのメモ

 

3

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

追記　この小説を多少説明しました。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

 

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」

•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。

•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。

•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。

•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。

 

2

2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

#Exhibition #デザインフェスタ #デザフェス #designfesta #tokyobigsight #東京ビッグサイト #iPhone #アイフォン #アップル #イオン #駐車場 #やちまた #八街 #八街市 #yachimata #yachimatacity #cityofyachimata #saipan #サイパン #アメリカ #USA #Japan #Manhattan #Newyork #日本 #千葉 #小説 #Chiba #novel #B♭ #ビーフラット #テイラースウィフト #TaylorSwift #本須賀海岸 #山武市 #千葉県 #日本 #Motosuka #Beach #Sanmu #City #Chiba #Prefecture #Japan

LIFE is short.

break the RULES

FORGIVE quickly,

KISS slowly, LOVE truly,

LAUGH uncontrollably,

and NEVER REGRET

anything that made

you SMILE.

 

Ao fundo Tom Fruin´s Stained Glass House.

Hotel Tontine. Greenock Scotland

  

The Tontine Hotel was built around 1805 when Greenock was expanding rapidly to the west of Nelson Street. Since being ‘settled’ around 1680 Greenock had grown rapidly but uncontrollably so the town planners decided that the planning control should be much stricte

 

The town council decided that Greenock should grow to the west but in a planned manner in pleasant ‘tree lined avenues’.The Tontine was one of the buildings in this area (albeit at a later date).

 

Argowan Square had many architectural features typical of the time: buildings which although were originally built as grand houses but later were used for other purposes such as:The Mansion House originally a town house for the Shaw Stewarts – an influential Greenock family. Now a series of offices.

 

The Greenock Club:

Now a private school.

 

Other houses:

Now offices for solicitors.

 

Interestingly the Statistical Account of Greenock published in 1840 did not list the Tontine in a summary of ‘modern buildings requiringto be noted under the head of Civil History’.By comparison it does mention the adjacent Mansion House, the new Town Hall in Cathcart Square, the Jail and the Sheriff court in Nelson Street. Amazingly it did list the Tontine in another list with the qualification ‘it does not appear to be necessary to mention particularly the erection of the Exchange Buildings, and Assembly Rooms; of the Tontine; the News-room in Cathcart Square and other public buildings of minor importance.

 

The ground floor is linked in plain ashlar quadrants to single storey pavilion wings.The upper floors of the main block have architraived windows pedimented over a minimally designed three bay centre with a Greek fret frieze.

 

In 1892 the proprietor of the original Tontine Hotel in Cathcart Street moved to Ardgowan Square maintaining the original name started trading from Robertson House (presumably with Robertson’s permission!). Some years later a glazed square porch was added which concealed the original door piece.

 

Subsequent developments over the years included a large multi storey expansion at the rear but which had minimal effect on the original attractive facade.

In this photo the bulls are nearing the finishing post and they had to turn left to avoid running into the embankment straight ahead.

 

Looks like this is what is going to happen now. - I mean that the bulls are going straight on to the embankment.

 

The runner on the left ought to have controlled the bull to make them turn but handling heaving and seething masses of bull power running in the mud is not at all easy.

 

The people are already scattering and running for cover. Not to miss the vidographer in the lungi who is recording the run.

-----------------------------------------------------

 

Adoor in Kerala holds its famous Bull Races every year around the time of Onam. It is a celebration of agrarian existence and is carried on without any grants or aid from the Government. This is a spectacular fiesta of rural Kerala. There are 2-3 other such events that are held in Kerala.

 

Two racing bulls are hitched together and three men come into action. Two racers with lead ropes on either side of the bulls who try to control the direction and speed if possible and one often obscured by sprays of mud and water, a jockey who rides on a small flat strip of wood.

 

The bulls race ahead with the men keeping desperately abreast of the thundering hooves. At the end of the racing track there is a 4-6 feet embankment of earth which acts as a protection and a marker for the bulls. The embankment gets totally crowded with onlookers. The bull racers need to turn the bull around and do a 360 degree here but most times that effort fails as the bulls in their racing frenzy would be uncontrollable.

 

I have no idea on the current status of the bull races. There are enough organisations howling to stop such races but the Supreme Court of India in a judgement a few months ago allowed bull/bullock cart races to go on in Punjab. So chances are that the tradition may still live on.

 

Dates

Taken on August 15, 2007 at 1.16pm IST (edit)

Posted to Flickr September 20, 2012 at 11.55AM IST (edit)

Exif data

Camera Nikon D70

Exposure 0.001 sec (1/1000)

Aperture f/4.0

Focal Length 70 mm

ISO Speed 200

Exposure Bias 0 EV

Flash Off, Did not fire

DSC_0380 via ACr

Bull Racing in Kerala - Photo 7 - Getting the Bulls under Control

 

For more photos published earlier have a look here

 

In this photo, the Bulls are on the other side of the embankment and they would have gone on running but fortunately the bystanders have leapt out of the way and one of the bull racers who happened to be on the emabankment has bravely leapt in and controlled the pair of bulls head on while the actual team is hanging on to the ropes and controlling the rampaging bulls.

 

Dates

Taken on August 15, 2007 at 1.16pm IST (edit)

Posted to Flickr October 3, 2012 at 4.39PM IST (edit)

Exif data

Camera Nikon D70

Exposure 0.001 sec (1/750)

Aperture f/4.0

Focal Length 70 mm

ISO Speed 200

Exposure Bias 0 EV

DSC_0384 via ACR

  

-----------------------------------

 

A backgrounder on the Art of Bull Racing -

 

Adoor in Kerala holds its famous Bull Races every year around the time of Onam. It is a celebration of agrarian existence and is carried on without any grants or aid from the Government. This is a spectacular fiesta of rural Kerala. There are 2-3 other such events that are held in Kerala.

 

Two racing bulls are hitched together and three men come into action. Two racers with lead ropes on either side of the bulls who try to control the direction and speed if possible and one often obscured by sprays of mud and water, a jockey who rides on a small flat strip of wood.

 

The bulls race ahead with the men keeping desperately abreast of the thundering hooves. At the end of the racing track there is a 4-6 feet embankment of earth which acts as a protection and a marker for the bulls. The embankment gets totally crowded with onlookers. The bull racers need to turn the bull around and do a 360 degree here but most times that effort fails as the bulls in their racing frenzy would be uncontrollable.

 

I did a search on google to find out about the current status of the bull racing in Kerala. The news is heartening. They did hold this event in 2012 and it had only 12 pairs of bulls in the event. There was some mention of court cases etc etc.. ( the interview was in Malayalam). So hopefully we can continue to see this in future. The number of running bulls is a great concern though. There used to be about 50-60 bulls participating in this event. Times are changing.

 

------------------------------------------------------

I am as we all know 51 going on 15 .

 

Well hands up who can't resist a swing ? This one is a little different as it goes in all directions and is totally uncontrollable. Just a big kid really

[]Please comment if you favorite[]

 

Matt walks to the man responsible for his current situation. The man's side is dripping blood from the cut Matt caused. Matt grips the shard of glass in his hand tighter, causing it to cut his hand. As Matt gets less than a foot away from Mister Fear he drops the glass shard. He grabs a gun used to inject chemicals into patient's arms. He grabs a syringe with what Matt can only hope is the very same chemical that Mister Fear injected him with.

 

"Please, no. Please don't!"

 

"Why shouldn't I?"

 

"Look, I'm sorry."

 

"You should be,"

 

Matt stabs the needle of the gun into the man's neck and pulls the trigger. The chemical drains from the gun and into the man's body. Seconds pass and the effects of the chemical begin to show. The man drops to the ground and his body begins to shake uncontrollably. Matt breaks the gun in half and drops the pieces to the ground next to the man.

 

"No! Please! I hate clowns! No, Get Away! Help me!"

 

Matt turns and begins walking towards the exit of the lab. He thinks back to the things that he saw while under the impression of those chemicals. All his friends turned against him. Matt doesn't focus on the things said, but rather who said it. Foggy and Father Lanton. They are still alive.

 

Matt stops in his tracks as he senses a figure next to him. Matt sighs as he turns to it, but to his surprise the figure is not a man, but a mannequin. On the mannequin is Matt's Daredevil costume. Matt runs his fingers over the suit and smiles as he runs his fingers over the D's on the chest.

 

"Please help me!"

 

Matt grabs the mask and places over his head. He presses a button on the side of the mask and his com buzzes to life.

 

"Foggy? Are you there?"

 

"Matt! Oh thank God, I've been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?"

 

A tear runs down Matt's cheek as he hears Foggy's voice through the earpiece.

 

"It's a long story..."

315 | 365

 

“It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.” - Lemony Snicket

 

**The last song she listened to (And how do I know? Because it was open on her laptop by her bedside): www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYaLhhJswcI

 

[I don't even know where to begin without just saying it outright: the reason I've been absent is because my mother died. It was sudden, and unexpected, and I am currently lost, and experiencing a sad I never knew existed. My mother was a heavily troubled, beautiful, talented, exceedingly clever, hilarious, and amazing person. (She had an astoundingly green thumb, hence the botany in this image. The poppies indicate her passing--she is forever asleep now.) I can tell you without a shred of doubt that any sort of artistic talent I've been born with is solely due to her. Our relationship was complicated--words simply cannot describe it. Perhaps at some point I'll attempt to quantify it.

 

This event has thoroughly shaken me. I've discovered an entirely new spectrum of emotions--just when I was certain I'd felt them all. I was notified on Friday, May 17th. She passed away on Wednesday, May 15th. I've been back and forth to California since then, spending every last ounce of energy to console my poor little brother of nine years old, to make arrangements regarding her estate, and to spread some of her ashes into the ocean (me, my older brother, and my younger brother will all be taking the remainder of the ash and planting her ashes in our respective places of residence [I'll be seeking out a proper tree that will flourish in my forest that I frequent]).

 

You discover rather quickly that you're not really certain whether or not you want to share the horrible news with anybody--because at that point you have to deal with not only your own emotions but theirs as well. You find yourself consoling the people trying to console you. You also find that your tragedy makes others uncomfortable. They may not know what to say or how to react. They may be in shock themselves. Usually there are questions. So many questions. Questions you don't want to answer. You may even find yourself angry at their concern and curiosity.

 

I cried more in a condensed period of time than I think I have ever cried. I continue to cry. Every day. It comes in waves. Between the overwhelming sadness is a numbness that makes me seem cold and unfeeling. My voice become uncontrollably monotone, and I feel nothing short of utterly empty. I am not the same person I was before this happened. I can say that with absolute confidence.

 

At this point I can't even tell if this is too much information or too little or whether the sky is blue or whether I will ever overcome this sadness. I have a strong sense that this is a sadness that will never fully leave me. The only thing I know for certain is that I will work even harder to live my dream and honor her memory. You can expect to see many more images inspired by her. And you can expect to hear much more about her. But this is all I can manage right now, today. Baby steps. Not even. Crawling. I am crawling.]

  

Facebook | Formspring | Instagram | Etsy | Twitter

15/52

 

listen. listen. listen. www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYaLhhJswcI&noredirect=1

 

A year ago today I received a phone call informing me that my mother had been found dead in her home. Cause of death was unknown, and it would remain as such for six months from the day I received the news.

 

I was in the grocery store with a friend when I got the call—I stepped outside at the informant's behest. I was concerned that something might have happened to my much younger brother who lives two states away... When she told me it was my mother, I felt as though I'd been hit by a semi. I crumbled next to a line of grocery carts, the whole world rushing and rumbling around me as I shrank in the agony of those life-changing moments. I sobbed and choked on my own breath. My friend who was with me for a hangout that evening consoled me as my entire world shifted.

 

I was told that the coroner requested I call him as soon as possible. I took down the phone number and rushed home to make the call. The most difficult phone call of my life to date. I sat myself down at my desk at home, hands shaking, and dialed the number. The man on the other line redelivered the news of my mother's passing to me. His voice was without emotion—a machine. A person who'd seen and heard so much of death that it was as nothing to him aside from fact. He told me she'd passed likely a day or two prior but that they likely wouldn't be able to say when precisely. That she'd gone in her sleep, but that they weren't certain how and wouldn't be able to determine the exact cause of death until receiving samples back that they took...in six months. He told me that a seizure was likely.

 

When I hung up the phone, I wailed. I cried in a way I had never cried before and have not cried since. It was an uncontrollable surge of deepest sorrow from the core of my heart. My life, my perspective, my understanding of the world and how it works—all of that changed that evening.

 

In the last five years or so of her life, my mother had begun having seizures, triggered by a lesion in her brain from a parasite contracted from undercooked pork. The seizures were no doubt exacerbated by her ongoing struggle with alcohol. It is undeniable that my mother, strong and beautiful and resilient as she was, was a troubled woman. She struggled her entire life with alcoholism, and later in life was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. To say her life was difficult would be a monumental understatement.

 

And yet. Never did a day go by when she didn't pick herself up out of bed and try again. Her life was a whirlwind of heartache and her own self-realized disappointment and sorrow due to her never-ending battle with the addiction.

 

Later I would be informed that her system was completely clean—not a drop of alcohol in her when she passed. She'd just gotten out of a special treatment program the week prior which she had been raving about. Told me that the program focused on childhood trauma and life issues as opposed to focusing solely on the disease of alcoholism. I hadn't seen her spirits so high in years.

 

She left so abruptly. And although she still had so much life to live, I feel thankful, in a sense, that she was able to go not only in her sleep but also on such a high note. She was sober. She had done it.

 

At 52, she still had so much life left in her. She'd told me just a few months earlier that she had gone to the doctor for a physical who had reported she was “healthy as an ox!” Despite hearing that from her, I had long been worried about her well being. On many occasions, she has engaged in particularly risky behavior, and I found myself bracing for an early death... I had not the slightest inkling of what I would endure if she actually did pass. And she did.

 

In my arrogance, I thought I was accepting and understanding of death. I thought I knew how I'd feel or react. I'd lost a fair amount of friends and family to death already, I always reasoned. I knew what to expect... But nothing—nothing--compares to the loss of someone so close to your heart. I understood nothing the day before I received that phone call. And I understood nothing all the days preceding that. I understand nothing still, save for the fact that I now know there is simply no way to “brace” oneself for the death of a loved one.

 

After this experience, I savor each day I awaken. I feel a stronger tie to anyone I'm close to, cherishing the fact that I have time to spend with them, and doing my utmost to appreciate those people and not take them for granted. Death, I feel, is something a person simply can't even begin to understand until it hits very close to the heart. I've found that at times it feels as though there are two camps—those who have lost someone close to them in death, and those who haven't. This isn't to say that one is better than the other or one is wiser or anything of the sort. It's an unfortunate camp to be in, I assure you. And even more unfortunate is the fact that most everyone joins that camp at some point or another in their lives. But I found myself undeniably estranged from those who hadn't experienced it so heavily. I saw them as those existing in a place much happier than the place I now found myself residing. I saw them existing in a place I so desperately wanted to return to, knowing that would never be possible.

 

It's a wonder to me that death isn't spoken of more readily or taught about in schools. I experienced emotions I never knew existed and suffered the most horrific nightmares I've ever had, which is saying quite a lot, considering that nearly every night for the past 10+ years, I've had nightmares. I found that many people did not know how to speak to me anymore. A chasm that hadn't existed prior to the phone call opened deep and wide between myself and many I'd come to call close friends.

 

So I'll take a moment to share a few unsolicited pieces of advice regarding death and things you may experience or things you should probably not say to someone who is in mourning.

 

1) Do not tell a person in mourning that you understand how they feel. I realize that those words are spoken out of sincere love and care, however, it can estrange the person in mourning further. I cannot claim to understand the way my closest friend might feel if they lost their mother. Each person is unique, their experiences and relationships unique, and therefore their losses incredibly unique. I found that the most comforting words spoken to me were simply, “I'm here for you if you need anything.”

 

2) Alternately, if the person in mourning is someone you care for, it may not be the best for you to distance yourself greatly from them in their time of need. I recognize that some of this advice may be applicable only to me or to those similar to me. Again, each individual is unique and will have their own unique needs. Speaking only from my own experience, having those you are close to draw away from you can be as salt in an open, incredibly vulnerable wound.

 

3) If you suffer a loss, it is likely that you will have an image in your head of the one you love, dead. And this image is likely to flash and replay itself in your mind over and over again for weeks, months, or perhaps even years. It is horrible, and it is pretty normal, too, I came to find out.

 

4) You will likely see your dead loved one in everything you do, probably forever. You will be reminded of them constantly. Because they are on your mind so much, they are everywhere. Which, of course, makes the pain and agony that much sharper.

 

5) You may suffer nightmares. The worst nightmares you've ever had, often revolving around the one you lost.

 

6) Things don't exactly “get better.” They don't necessarily become “easier,” either, despite what some might say. However, you eventually may accept the shift and absence in your life, thereby pressing on despite the incredible pain of the loss. You may even find a renewed sense of self and purpose in your life, an inner shift due to suffering such a heavy blow. The emotions will ebb and flow in their own rhythm that you may or may not be able to make sense of. The loss becomes a part of you, but whether that be in a negative or positive way is up to you and you alone.

 

7) There is no wrong way to feel. Cliche, yes. True also.

 

Understanding that my unsolicited advice is not for everyone is crucial here. I am an introverted individual who suffers off and on from bouts of severe depression, and so much of what I say may or may not apply to many or few. But I felt it worth sharing, because I sure as hell wish I'd known any one of the aforementioned advice pieces prior to losing my mom.

 

This past week has been excruciating. Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of morbid humor, my mother having moved on from here during the week of Mother's Day... The image was taken in the same field I shot in on May 16th of last year. I shot this image on May 15th, the last day I ever heard from her, and the last day she was alive in the flesh. The poppies represent the bleeding loss of her. The cameo necklace I'm wearing was hers. The song linked was the last song she listened to and one she adored.

 

I'm not going to go back and reread this before sharing it. It's probably all over the place and poorly edited. But. It came from the bottom of my heart, and whether or not it is well received, it is spoken from my perspective and written in honor of the most fiery, driven, creative person I ever knew and know. My mother.

Shortly after noon on Friday, June 3, 2016, a Union Pacific a 90+ tank car oil train containing volatile Bakkan oil derailed at Mosier, Oregon in the Columbia Gorge National Scenic Area.

 

The derailed oil train stretched from the smoke and flames on the west of Mosier to Mosier's far east side. As successive derailed cars burned, they set on fire the next car.

 

The top inset zoom emphasizes the proximity of the tank cars to the elementary school which was in session that day. The nearest tank car was roughly 500 feet from the school.

 

We are incredibly lucky that the usual June west winds - which blow 20-40 miles per hour - were absent.

 

With June high winds fanning flames, an uncontrollable chain reaction of successively exploding tank cars and wild fire might have obliterated the elementary school and town of Mosier.

 

On July 13, 2016, The Oregonian reported:

 

"At the time of the derailment, the NTSB, in a move criticized by [Sen.] Wyden at the time, cited a lack of staffing in its decision not to investigate the derailment.

 

"The agency [NTSB] added that it did not send a team to Mosier because the incident involved no injuries or deaths and because initial findings provided by Union Pacific Railroad, first responders and the Federal Railroad Administration "indicated that the circumstances of this incident did not pose any new significant safety issues."

 

Wow! Does that mean all of the safety implications were already known and not addressed, or that the new safety issues posed were insignificant? I'm appalled.

 

ColumbiaGorgePhotos,com

GeorgePurvisPhotography.com

WallGalleryDesigner.com

 

“Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile. Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did.”

Mark Twain