UNCONTROLLABLE photos on Flickr

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"I'm not sure what it is, but it buzzes and vibrates?" said the Doctor, somewhat quizzically. Martha giggled uncontrollably, before finally replying,

"Oh, Doctor, it's the other Doctor's sonic screwdriver!"

Plaza Motor Hotel (1930), view01, 106 Mills Ave, El Paso, TX, USA by Steve Minor

El Paso, TX, (est. 1873, pop. 681,000) • founded 1680

• constructed on the site of the Hotel Sheldon (1884-1888), originally built as a 4-story office bldg. by Brooklyn NY transplant Lucius Sheldon • after an 1899 remodeling & conversion into a hotel, it was touted as the finest in the American West • U.S. President William Howard Taft was a guest at the Sheldon during his 1909 meetings with Mexican President Porfirio Díaz, held on both sides of the Rio Grande • it was just the second visit of a sitting American President to a foreign country • Sheldon Bought Plaza Block for $15,000 In 1881, El Paso Times

• the hotel also served as unofficial headquarters for insurrectos (Mexican revolutionaries), U.S. federal agents & the press during the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920), especially during its first two yrs.

New York Times, 11 May, 1911: "Francisco Villa, the former bandit, who is now a Colonel in the in insurrecto army, crossed the International Bridge from Juarez this afternoon to settle grievances with Col. Giuseppe Garibaldi [ photo ], the Italian officer of Madero's Army, who received the sword of Gen. Navarro at Juarez. Villa, heavily armed and a highly excitable Mexican, was angry to the core, and had it not been for the vigilance of United States Secret Service agents, Col. Garibaldi would probably be dead. Instead, Villa was disarmed and sent back over the line, and told he must not return armed.

"Jealousy of the exploits of the Foreign Legion, which was commanded by Col. Garibaldi, has been marked in the insurrecto army since the capture of Juarez. The fact that the American papers were inclined to laud its achievements, and to make much of its commander, is largely responsible for this feeling although it existed long before the battle…

"It was about 1:30 o'clock this afternoon when Villa, accompanied by two men, appeared at the Hotel Sheldon in this city. He was dressed in plain clothes. An angry glitter in his eyes was noted by many. He strutted about looking for some one, and his manner attracted the attention of Federal Secret Service agents."

• the agents sent for El Paso Mayor Charles E. "Henry" Kelly, who arrived accompanied by a U.S. Cavalry Colonel & the Chief of Police • after Villa's two pistols were confiscated, he was taken by carriage to the middle of the International Bridge & released • Pancho Villa and the El Paso Connection, True West

"After Villa had been taken back Col. Garibaldi said: 'Before coming to the hotel I was told that Villa was in town and wanted to see me. I was perfectly willing to see him, for I realize that he is not entirely to blame in this matter. I do not know whether Villa was here to assassinate me or not, but if he was it was due to his wild and uncontrollable temper. Persons who know his disposition and how easily he can be worked into a fury have gotten hold of him and they — and not he — are, in my opinion, responsible for his actions today. They are the persons who are trying to create dissension in the insurrecto army, and a person of his temperament is exactly suited to their business.'"

• the Sheldon was destroyed by fire in 1929 • in fall of that year, 9 yrs. after the conclusion of the Mexican Revolution, Conrad Hilton (1887-1979), a rising American hotelier from San Antonio, New Mexico Territory, began construction of his eighth hotel where the Sheldon once stood • the 19-story Art Deco style skyscraper opened Nov., 1930, then the tallest bldg. in El Paso & currently 3rd tallest • designed by Henry C. Trost (1860-1933), Trost & Trost, El Paso

• Hilton himself resided in the hotel during the 1930s • his mother lived in it until 1947 • Hollywood star Elizabeth Taylor is said to have briefly lived in the penthouse after her 1950 marriage to Conrad’s son, Nicky • the hotel was sold in 1963 & its name changed to the Plaza Hotel [photo]

Markers on the building:

The First Kindergarten in Texas was established by the Woman's Club of El Paso in 1892. Two years before formal organization, Mrs. Ernest Kohlberg, with the aid of Mrs. J. E. Townsend and Mrs. H. A.True advanced the idea. Classes were held in Central School building. This was one of the club's many outstanding and continuing contributions to the civic and cultural advancement of our city. Presented by The State National Bank of El Paso, Texas October 2, 1963

The Woman's Club of El Paso. The Study Circle of 1889 became the current Topics Club when formally organized in May of 1894 in the home of Mrs. W. W. Mills, 310 San Francisco Street. In the fall of this year the club began meeting in the library room of Miss Mary I. Stanton in the Sheldon block, now the site of the Hilton Hotel. Mrs. Mills was the first president. In 1899 the name was changed to the Woman's Club of El Paso. Presented by The State National Bank of El Paso, Texas October 2, 1963

• LULAC. The League of United Latin Citizens (LULAC) was founded in Corpus Christi, Texas in 1929, dedicated to the betterment of Americans of Mexican descent. The league soon expanded to El Paso with the establishment of LULAC Council 8 in 1933 and council 9 in 1934.

The Hilton Hotel, now the Plaza Hotel, played an important role in LULAC history as the site of numerous local, state and national events and meetings. The hotel management provided support for programs such as the "Little School of the 400", designed to teach monolingual Spanish-speaking pre-school children a basic vocabulary of 400 English words. This Texas LULAC program eventually became the model for the successful national head start program of President Lyndon B. Johnson's war on poverty.

LULAC has long been involved in promoting education and citizenship as a means of achieving the American dream. LULAC today is the oldest, largest and most influential Hispanic advocacy organization in the United States, its membership acknowledges the support of the people of El Paso in promoting equal opportunity for the Hispanic community.

• El Paso businessman Paul L. Foster stated that after standing vacant for decades, the Plaza Hotel will undergo an extensive restoration and likely reopen as a hotel —El Paso Inc. • El Paso County Historical Commission

National Register # 80004110, 1980

Lion, bathed in the glow of the early morning sun, Mana Pools, ZM. by momathew

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What’s in a mane?

The male lion is the only feline with a mane. As to what purpose it serves is a subject with very different points of view. A protection against fang and claw in fights for supremacy and subdueing prey, status symbol, a means to advertise strength and virility and thereby a tool for genetic refining….it’s a subject of hot debate even amongst the experts.

One of the world’s foremost experts on lions is of the opinion that a lion’s mane is more likely a message or a status symbol. Craig Packer, whilst working with lions of the Serengeti has noted that lions “with short manes had suffered from injury or sickness…in contrast, dark-maned males tended to be older than the others, have higher testosterone levels, heal well after wounding and sire more surviving cubs—all of which made them more desirable mates and formidable foes….” (excerpt from Abigail Tucker's well written article in the SMITHSONIAN MAGAZINE Jan 2010)

This chap sunning himself on the Zambezi flood plain at Mana Pools is a big brute…. note that his face has been rearranged by an opponent’s claw / fang…his left nostril has a huge split and the cheek below the left eye is heavily scarred. Life in the wild is tough and unforgiving…

I was spread eagled on the ground about 20 yards from him for this shot….I think it’s a reasonable image, notwithstanding the uncontrollable twitching of my extremities!

Thank you for your visit... I am grateful for your Faves, and would be pleased if you were to comment on my work...

Visit my Flickr stream for other related images:

www.flickr.com/photos/momathew/

Superman: Man of Tomorrow #22 by Supremedalekdunn

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After the test of strength, Mr. Irons led me in to other rooms of the facility where a variety of tests for my other abilities were used. In one room there was a treadmill that could go to 100 miles per hour, but I quickly broke that when I got up to speed in a matter of seconds. In another there were selections of machines that they said fired radiation at different frequencies. Most of them had no impact when they fired at me, but there were two that had strange impacts on me.

One of the machines fired what was apparently ‘radiation similar to what the sun gives off’ and it seemed to super charge my powers further than I had previously experienced. I ended up seeing the radiation that was emitting from everyone’s bodies and I could hear the sounds of the atoms colliding everywhere. My heat vision also released itself from my eyes uncontrollably for the first time in 15 years. It must have looked similar to how Mon lost control of it at the airport from those that were observing me, and I certainly felt as helpless as Mon said he did when the powers overcame him. Fortunately the effects were only temporary passing after about 10 minutes, though I ended up having to keep my eyes covered in my hands until I managed to regain control.

The second machine had a completely different effect. Whilst the first one seemed to supercharge my powers, this second made me feel weak and I ended up collapsing to the floor feeling exhausted more than when I hadn’t managed to get a good nights sleep during my first few days in Metropolis. When I fell to the floor I tried to use my vision to check what had happened to my cells, but I couldn’t. I tried to see if I could hear anything happening to my cells with my hearing. But I couldn’t hear a thing, just the observers asking me if I was all right. I assured them that I was fine and tried to lift myself off the floor by elevating as I’ve started to be able to do. But I couldn’t.

In the end the observers had to help me up on to my feet as I felt so weak that I wasn’t sure if I could do it myself, and they gave me a quick blast of the radiation that appeared to super charge me and I quickly felt like my old self again. Is that what it feels like to be human? It feels…. weird. How ironic. I spent most of my life wanting to be human, and I finally get a taste of it, and couldn’t stand it. How could they go on living with that everyday? But then again I suppose they asked the same of me with my powers.

Moving swiftly along they next tested my flight speed where I was pitted against a variety of aircraft, ranging from an old British spitfire from World War 2 for some odd reason to a state of the art fighter jet plane that they claimed could break the sound barrier. The idea was that they would compared my flight speed by allowing all the aircraft and myself to get to terminal velocity before racing a straight one mile distance. Originally I was going to best all of them, but I didn’t want to give away my full capabilities, so I ended up letting the fighter jet win the race.

The tests complete, Mr. Irons led me back to the room where he had explained all about the HDC and their purpose and why I was here. Before I could enter the room though, for some odd reason, the agent who had met me back at the farm refused to let me through the door in to the room until he had put the handcuffs on me. I’m not sure what good he thought they would do after I had already shown that I could lift a tank with ease, and could surely break these handcuffs with no trouble, but I still let him put them on me. Mr. Irons fought my corner though saying that if I was going to be a threat I surely would of made a move by now, but he claimed that protocol had to be obeyed so I let him put them back on.

Back in the room I took my original seat as Mr. Irons followed in behind me after another agent had passed him a clipboard containing the results of my test from what I could see.

“Sorry about that son, these guys can be real assholes at times.”

“They’re just doing their job Mr. Irons. I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same especially after seeing what I can do.”

“Yeah well those handcuffs are pretty useless on you with that super strength you’ve got. You could snap those things just by moving my hands apart couldn’t you?”

“Well if it makes them feel comfortable I’ll do my best not to.”

Mr. Irons gives a little chuckle, which is always welcome to know that the person who has been assigned to study you has a sense of humor. After his little chuckle he pulls a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket and puts them on his, must be so he can read the results on the clipboard. Before he does so though he looks straight at me.

“Where are our manners, we’ve brought you in here and done all these crazy tests on you and haven’t even had the decency to offer you any food or drink. Is there anything we can get you?”

“It’s alright Mr. Irons. I can go for longer periods of time without food and drink than humans can.”

“Yeah but surely I can get you something after all the flying and running you’ve done? Not to mention the heavy lifting.”

“I’m fine Mr. Irons thank you.”

He breathes a rather annoyed sigh; he clearly wants to give me something but why? Is this going to be another one of the tests? Does he eat food just as well as us? Not sure why they would be so keen to study that mind.

“Well I’m going to get us a nice pot of coffee even if you don’t want it, as I’m not just going to make you sit hear and answer questions without a drink at least.”

It seems he’s not going to take no for an answer. That’s possibly why he heads up such a success company like Amertek, refusing to let people say no to a proposition of his. Since it seems inevitable that one way or another he’s going to get me a drink I may as well get one that I like.

“If it’s not too much trouble could I get tea instead Mr. Irons?”

“Yeah it’s no trouble at all Mr Kent.”

He turns to look at the mirror and the men stood behind it.

“Can we get a coffee and a tea please gentlemen.”

He doesn’t see their response, nor do they give one as they walk away to fetch the drinks but Mr. Irons turns back to look at me as he pushes his glasses back on to his nose.

“Right then. Let’s get on with the results.”

Work It! Cycle 3: MUSIC BLOCK Results + Theme 3! by •Caboose•

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Hello ladies and welcome to the third pannel judging! For this theme each of you had to release your inner demon, with a little inspiration from Monster by Skillet. Let's see hpw each of you portrayed the song

In The Order They Were Handed In:

Terra- HUUGEE step up from last week, Terra! I love this photo of you! Your eyes lock onto the camera, and the emotion is very strong. I also love the way it's emerging from the other girl. Great job!

Jessica- Jessica....This photo is so.....EPIC! This is what I was looking for! It's dark, creepy, and mysterious. It shows how her inner monster is uncontrollable. Also, may I add that just the look in her eyes tell a story. Awesome job!

Jenifer- I like the way you took a different appraoch to this! But, I don't really feel it fits the theme. I mean, you had an idea, but it wasn't portrayed right. I wish you had edited it, or added a darker side to it.

Daniela- Well, you look really pretty here Daniela! But, I don't see a representatio of the theme...It's too pretty and flowy here. Really dig deep for the next theme if you stay.

Roxanne- This is a beautiful interpretation of the song Roxanne! I love the way you took Monster as an inner voice, rather than a possesion. Just I do have a little problem: I don't feel you are connecting with the camera well. Try to show more emotion in your face.

Allison- You have one of the best backgrounds for this theme! I love the pose also, very creepy. But, I don't like your eye. It's too edited...I mean, it would look fine if you edited it red, or kept more of the hair out of it. And at times the blood on the walls don't look real. I love the story that went along with it though!

Freida- Your editing skills are fantastic, Miss Freida. I love the strong emotion, and the way the ghouls looks like they're flying! But, I don't think you fully got the song's meaning. Everyone interpretted it differently, but they each did have one thing in comman: the monsters were themselves. And I feel that you really couldn't show the songs meaning the way you did it.

Kira- For a last second photo, this looks great! The way her straight jacket looks almost high fashion is an epic touch. I love the eyes too, it's like they stare into your soul. I almost like something is missing, though.Even though she was in a mental ward, I feel that something else could have been in the room, like how mine has my trapped old self in it.

Devyn- I really like the way you made it dark and grainy. Also, the background is very detailed! But, I do wish you were facing the camera and showed more connection and emotion.

Well, those are all the photos! I didn't get photos from:

Aryko

Scarlet (excused)

Tulisa

Now for the callout:

First place goes to.......Jessica! Congrats on your second first placing!

And now for the rest:

2. Terra

3. Kira

4. Roxanne

5. Freida

6. Allison

7. Devyn

8. Jenifer

9. Daniela

10. Scarlet (has excuse, put at bottom)

BOTTOM TWO:

Tulisa and Aryuko.

Tulisa and Aryuko, you are both down here because you didn't do your photos. I feel that both of you have great strong points and lower weak points. But, I can only keep one...

I'm sorry but...Aryuko, you must pack your bags and go home. Tulisa your past phots were stronger, but only by a little. Be careful next time. I don't want another slip up.

Now, it's time for the 4th theme!

Your new theme is......You Belong With Me!

Here is a link to the song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lobE-PEqRc

I thought I would ease it up a little on you girls because you all impressed me this week.

Tips:

~ I don't have any....except this: DO NOT COPY THE VIDEO. I don't want to see nerds falling in love with jocks...think differently.

PHOTOS DUE AUGUST 17TH.

Good luck everybody!

- Zelda :*

Models Done:

Jessica- www.flickr.com/photos/lizzzy3z/7754461160/in/contacts/

Terra- www.flickr.com/photos/84248144@N05/7754651874/in/contacts/

Roxanne- www.flickr.com/photos/nixie45/7767445190/in/contacts/

Jenifer- www.flickr.com/photos/76064545@N05/7768478406/in/contacts/ (ya'll can go see the rest in her photostream 'cause it won't let me paste the rest xD)

Allison- www.flickr.com/photos/xdollywoodx/7799200304/in/contacts/

Uncontrollable Havoc by Siambuddhas Group

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Poppy Parker - Youthquake For "adoption" :/ by E G B D F

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This is to show she is in great shape!

Her hair is usually orange/red, it photographs all wrong and my cellphone cam is uncontrollable.

She has enough hair that you can restyle it in many ways.

Her elbows have this thing most Poppy do that there's some mid range they can't keep the position unless you flip them. She's always been like that.

Head has some really short range where it tilts back a little but it holds all poses.

The Effects Of Food Additives As A Metaphor For The Uncontrollable Aspects Of Human Society by John Seven

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The Sydney Light Dome by Carlos Orue

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Sydney as seen 100km away on the Blue Mountains /\/\/\

Fire fiighters backburning bush to prevent uncontrollable bushfires during the upcoming summer, cast a smokey orange haze over Sydney.

3 frame panorama taken in landscape mode.

Pure 'Romantiek' by Josepha D...

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AMOUR FOU is a "romantic comedy" based loosely on the suicide of the poet Henrich von Kleist in 1811.

He was by far the most important North German dramatist of the Romantic movement. I did add the colours I prefer!

Manœuvrer l’incontrôlable | Manoeuvering the Uncontrollable by François Quévillon

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Manœuvres and Algorithmic Drive | Manoeuvres et Conduite algorithmique

The Next Robin : Isaiah Sanchez by YJ_In_The_Making

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Name : Isaiah Sanchez

Alias : Robin

Age: 17

Height: 6”

Weight: 160 lbs

Occupation: Currently Unemployed

Residence: Gotham City, Crime Alley

Back Story:

Isaiah Sanchez was the illegitimate son of an unremarkable vigilante employed by the Batman Incorporated; his mother, a news reporter in a struggling family owned Newspaper Company. Isaiah’s only affection was concentrated on his younger brother, Aspen, born from a different father.

Aspen’s father worked in the police force before being shot on the spinal cord, paralyzing his entire body forever. Now unable to pay off his wife’s numerous debts, it is up to Isaiah, the eldest son, to keep away the loan shark as well as nurture his brother.

The burning desire to protect his baby brother and his uncontrollable temper developed after Isaiah’s first encounter with the loan sharks. Beaten half to death, Isaiah could not let his brother out of his sight since then.

During one of his mother’s interviews, Isaiah realized that her particular guest was a well-known wealthy bachelor. He did not know who he was at the time.

One night, Isaiah came home a bit late after having to deal with another of his mother’s drunken fits. He noticed the door was already opened, and found his baby brother lying dead in a pool of blood.

Depressed after losing the one thing he treasured the most, he grew violent and angry. Reduced to living off on Crime Alley, it was on one of those days that he met with Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s very own playboy. He was offered to stay at the Wayne Manor.

On one of Bruce’s missions that required Alfred to join him, Isaiah wandered off and discovered the Bat Cave. There on display, lay the previous Robin’s costume and mementos. Out of curiosity, Isaiah decided to put on the costume. He was found dressed in it, asleep in the Bat Cave, a reminder to Bruce of the previous Robin. Trained through hell and back by the caped crusader Isaiah is now known as the caped crusaders very own boy wonder.

fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/127/c/0/young_justice__ni...

2017 Sin in the City Christmas Special 14 by APPark

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Molly: *shakes head, signs* “Yeah, okay. You win for best gift this year. You magnificent bastard.”

Diego: *smirks and presses his cheek to the top of Charley’s head, motioning for Molly to join them*

Molly: *hurries over, wrapping her arms around both Diego and Charley*

Emma: *sniffles uncontrollably* “Does anyone have a tissue? You lot ken I get weepy o’er this kind o’ stuff. I’m aboot tae go intae the ugly cry.”

Candy: *rummages around in her for a pack of tissues, pulls out one for herself, before handing the rest to Emma* “Let it all out, Emz. Meanwhile, I’ll just be over here getting this speck of dust out of my eye…” *dabs face with tissue*

Yuri & Kumi: *hold an entire conversation with their eyes in less than second*

Yuri: *swirls wine gently in her glass* “This has become a rather emotional evening, would you not agree, Mi-Mi?”

Kumi: *stares at Charley and Diego, face inscrutable* “You said it, Ri-Ri. It looks like the New Year is going to usher in some interesting changes. But, until then…*tips glass in Charley’s direction* Merry Christmas, everyone! Here’s to hoping that new pup chews up every pair of Charley’s ratty shoes. ‘Loobietowns,’ my sweet ass!”

The End…for 2017.

Fashion Credits

**Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes) were done by me unless otherwise stated.**

Yuri

Skirt: IT – Color Infusion – FR Convention 2016 – Teen Spirit

Turtleneck: Clear lan

Jacket: IT – Misaki – Always Me

Tights: IT – Poppy Parker – Beatnik Blues

Booties: IT – NuFace – Lost Angel Colette – ribbons removed, chains added by me.

Necklace: Mattel – BFMC – Dusk to Dawn – it’s a belt.

Ring: IT – NuFace – In Rouges Erin

Doll is a NuFantasy Little Red Riding Hood Yuri.

Kumi

Jumpsuit: SL Doll

Jacket: IT – NuFace – In Rouges Erin

Shoes: IT – FR Convention Welcome Doll

Necklace: Me

Ring: IT – NuFace – In Rouges Erin

Doll is a NuFantasy Wild Wolf Kumi.

Ladybird gradation by Anikó Erlinger Battyányi

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Huge swarm of ladybirds sighted just outside of Munich, must have been thousands.

All three on these picture are not the well known seven-spot ladybirds (Coccinella septempunctata) but another species becoming more common in Europe:

EN: Multicolored Asian Lady Beetle (all three of them) / Harlequin Ladybird / Halloween Lady Beetle / Pumpkin Ladybird / "The many-named ladybird"

LA: Harmonia axyridis

DE: Asiatische Marienkäfer / Vielfarbiger Marienkäfer / Harlekin Marienkäfer

HU: Harlekinkatica

Originally they are coming from Japan and China. They were, however, introduced at the end of the 20th century to North America and then to Europe with the purpose of controlling aphids and scale insects. They are common and well known by now as the insects have a great appetite and are spreading fast... They are a good example of a well meant effort to use biological control on some unwanted species that went out of control and by now causing more harm then benefits. Today they are spreading wildly, uncontrollably in Europe and pose threat to native species, like the seven spotted ladybird and other indigenous Coccinella species, endangering biodiversity.

It has many color variations, as you see on the picture. Main characteristic is the white head with black spots that form an M shape. Always have reddish brown legs, and are brown colored on the underside, not black like the seven-spotted ladybird.

Dark Knights Kingdom by Danny Alexander

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Bruce The Brave:

Watching his parents getting murdered after walking out of the Inn, Bruce swore his life protecting others as a Knight.

Jack The Joker: Always making jokes, but sometimes uncontrollable and completely random in the face of battle. His skin got bleached when he tried to stop the evil knight Ivy from poisoning the water supply and got sprayed with chemicals. He became a Knight to earn money to buy enough Whoopie-Cusions to put in all the Opera seats in Gotham Opera.

Edward The Questioner: Always asking questions about irrelevant things, Edward makes no sense half of the time. But he is a genius who you can ( almost) always rely on. He became a Knight to get enough money to visit the Oracle, so he could find out the answers to everything.

Harley The Heartful: Harley is not a great fighter, but she is always there to give morale to those who are giving up. She secretly has a crush on Jack, but everyone knows already, because she is bad at hiding it. She became a Knight to buy a vase full of squirting flowers for Jack.

Victor The Calm: Victor is a calm and collected fighter, he was severely injured in a freezing cold blizzard. He became a Knight to buy a cure to save his Wife's life, his wife Nora.

They are:

Dark Knights Kingdom

The Cuckoo by Marcel & Rrose in Infrathin

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I recognize some of those megalomaniacal male tendencies you are describing, and why wouldn’t I (DUH!)? I know that ‘lost boy’ behaviour. It’s even attractive until one reaches a certain age, then it slopes off through unfortunate, and heads downhill rather swiftly towards downright tragedy. Applying the brakes at that stage is no party, let me tell you. Sometimes I feel as if I had been worn down up to the knees, a would-be demi-legged, own-trumpet-blowing, Falstaff, (if only those Jesuits had gotten hold of me) but then this isn’t about me. All these men searching for mammys, what can I say other than sorry about my gender, and thank Yahweh that I am a cis-gender homo (can I call myself that anymore?).

I think you can tell that I have arrived at the point that I am at, now, not at all sure what I am, or am not, permitted to call myself. I fear that I, at last, know what and who I am, but I am not at all sure if being that is acceptable in an evolving world. Luckily, we will all be dead soon enough. Now that’s something to really look forward to for the terminally bewildered. I like the idea of ‘A Death’ as the inflexion point of this ‘Comedy’ we are constructing. I have that funny death story to tell yet properly. That one where Jeffrey suddenly shot upright, screaming at his parents who were quibbling over what to watch on the TV. He screamed fiercely at them “I’m dying, I get to choose the video!”. It was gloriously well said. I do love the tyranny of the dying. I do love the abject tyranny of the victim (my specialty). Feck it, I will go the whole hog. I do love tyranny. I also love saying ‘Feck’, when everyone understands that you are insinuating another vowel in the place of that ‘e’. I love that feck is proper and Irish, a softening of that blow, liked a dropped ‘h’, that sort of softening and lilting.

He chose 'Singing in the Rain' and collapsed back into bed raving madly about having to make three different types of pies to prepare for some party or other in his head.

I did my job. I pressed the button and released more morphine, through the catheter in his chest, awash in the 'poor meeees'.

mea culpa, mea culpa,

mea máxima culpa.

Later, I made a drawing about his wonderful, life-affirming, self-assertion. I photographed myself beside it, the drawing that is, but discovered, whilst looking at it later, that I seemed to have disappeared.

I guess that's how things go. (Secretly, I love removing myself (with photoshop), but don't tell anyone).

John: A fine eulogy, full of life.

Ruin: I want to reply to this, a little later. I might even have to go into the third person, to get a little distance from the answer, and what it means. This will be an important part of 'the book'. I am putting this here as a sort of commitment.

Anyway, to start, another extended version of this 'story' begins under this photo (the title in parentheses below) below this. It starts with “I’m dying, I get to choose the video”, about halfway down. But I now want to write something a lot more personal, a lot more 'private' perhaps. So far I have been writing about what I call the 'Wild Geese', a recognised phenomenon in Irish history and culture. Now I want to talk about something a little more close to home. and that's the cuckoo gene. That born out of desperation taking up domicile in the 'nests' of other birds, that type of 'taking over'. I think of it slightly relative to that 'banquet idea' that excess, like a pheasant being stuffed with a quail, and the quail in turn being stuffed with a starling, or any smaller bird, that decadence. Anyway, I want to look at that goose initially stuffed with a cuckoo, that idea of the self as a desperate exploiter, but also looking at it as a survival strategy, a Darwinian ploy, even. I am still brewing it in my head, so it will stutteringly along.

‘On Universal Innocence and The Forgiveness of Freckles’.

But back to Geese and cuckoos.

‘The Rôti Sans Pareil Is 17 Birds Stuffed Inside Each Other and It Is Delicious’. So ran the headline.

"The recipe calls for a bustard stuffed with a turkey stuffed with a goose stuffed with a pheasant stuffed with a chicken stuffed with a duck stuffed with a guinea fowl stuffed with a teal stuffed with a woodcock stuffed with a partridge stuffed with a..."

There is a sort of madness there, manifesting, perhaps, one of the reasons we don't deserve to be here at all. Not that deserving has anything to do with it anyway.

Chickenman, Wild Geese, and now Cuckoo, this sounds like I am on a type of fowl trajectory. Here's to soaring, or swansonging, or attempting both, even!

John: The cuckoo was a popular metaphor in the 1950's, quite possibly in response to the aftermath of WWII and your revival gifts greater depth. One of the explorations of Bernard Malamud and Saul Bellow was the impossibly undermined reconstruction of male identity, no matter what roots they sought to revive. The cuckoo, with its echo of cuckold, the returners from war rewarded with the ghost of doubt of paternity, puts all into those same murky depths of identity which artists equally embrace or flee. As ancient mythology evidences, we have always had a need to understand and belong. Post wars and natural disasters our need for the perceived solidity of information is greatly enhanced.. Technically, having a family formed of my partner's and her ex's three daughters, I am a cuckoo.

Apart from the actual people (greatly rewarding) I have also wondered if I was defying my sense of unbelonging by consciously electing to be the cuckoo, which, unlike artist, is I believe a choice.

Ruin: Yes, that would be true, that returning soldier thing. I would guess it has always been the case, have soldiers not been returning since time immemorial? I didn't make the connection between cuckoo and cuckold, a 'duh!' moment for me. Of course, it is there. I particularly like the cuckold personage. If I was going by the evidence of Reddit, or wherever, cuckolding seems to be enjoying a huge revival in the fetish world currently. I would guess it was all part and parcel of dealing with the diminished, and further diminishing, male, that area of 'twixt and 'tween being generated by an excess of hormone disruptors now in the environment (in plastics and whatever). But I have a whole theory about that relative to the possibility of the human animal evolving from sexual reproduction to bifurcatory splitting, that laboratory assisted dividing known as cloning, the copying of the self, whilst we are at that point of the Y chromosome being, apparently, at 3% of its former glory. Scientists tell us that it appears to be stable at 3%, but infinity is funny like that relative to stability.

The only place we would differ on here is that "unlike artist", which I am pretty sure we might partially agree on anyway. I don't see making art (or writing, even), any form of communication really, as a 'choice'. I see it both as an instinct and a compulsion, and for the most part a disruptive nuisance, an itch. I would have to fight very hard to resist it, that scratching called art making or communicating. I would have to go totally against my 'natural' self.

But this is something I will continue to work out until I no longer can, compulsively, this awful/wonderful itch. I like writing here, simply because it is immediate communication, and sometimes the feedback like yours is invaluable. There is this idea that writing needs to be done alone, like art, but I don't think that is necessarily 'true'. I think you have to work it out the best way you can, and there are no rules.

When I quote you, should I call you John Seven, or just John.? I have been calling you John, but thought I should ask. As in "John: A fine eulogy, full of life." Would you prefer John Seven?

John: Well, I don't know what went wrong with my sentence construction there, as I intended to state that artist is not a choice (nor a guarantee of quality). Now amended. Regarding my name - John used to be the skinhead universal form of address, as in "Y'want bovver Jon?"

It was also, in the the year I was born, the Mohamed, Muhammad, Muhamad, or Mohammad of its day, the most common male name in the world. In its many forms - Ian, Iain, Ifan, Sean, Shaun, Shane, Jens, Jean, Joan, Johan and so on.

I am happy with whatever you choose.

Ruin: I guessed we were on the same page relative to art, or writing, this 'fever' to communicate, is uncontrollable. It’s not a choice at all. But I feel the same about this cuckoo behaviour and this catfishing too. I see them both as survival manoeuvres, generated mostly out of desperation. Anyway, that's the point I will be starting from for this 'chapter'. I will be using the text generated here, and pulling it through the pronoun mangle, writing it in the third person, to get some distance, some overview.

Blimey, he realised, his behaviour had been stark raving cuckoo. He found it as difficult to think about as to write about this, but felt in the writing of it, that some liberation might be found there. The working out of it was going to have to be in the present, but there would be references and stories that harked back to his ‘Wild Goose’ history, his wandering, his running away. He knew too that he was going to have to stop playing with words, stop trying to entertain, this was not the way to go. By this he meant that “meself” as opposed to myself, that ‘cod Irish’, that “at all, at all”. That would naturally fall away anyway, as he moved away from childhood, as he learnt to speak, to communicate, even. His leaving Ireland was, in a way, his learning to talk. Before that period, he had been that oft-described stuttering, nervous, entity, floundering between church-generated guilt, and maintaining his secret, that abuse, that incest, that familial interference that could only serve to completely sunder him from family, and any semblance of security, of a feeling of belonging or of ever having been nurtured. It was nobody’s fault. Those who haven’t been nurtured have no idea how to nurture, and similarly those who have never been protected have no way of knowing how to proffer protection. Both his parents had, in their turn, being abandoned as children. It was all they knew. This was somehow part-and-parceled in with the history of that emerald island, that history of hundreds of years of abuse. That this abuse caused Irish literature to blossom, in that foreign tongue, English, is one of those creative offshoots of abuse, one of those ‘miracles’, as his mother used to say, describing anything good or beneficial, a silver-lining around those multi-generational deadening clouds.

He was angry, sad, and excited when he discovered that he had to leave to survive, that he had to give up everything, and everyone he had ever known, and set out alone for that pagan land, on the other side of the Irish Sea. Looking back, he liked that this cuckoo also described a sort of madness, other than the survival instinct it became somewhat renowned for, it also described that ‘stark raving’ idea, that there had always been this connection we humans make about this misunderstood creature, and its development of certain Darwinian characteristics generated by its struggle to survive.

Stealing somewhat from the title of the book by Mr. Foster Wallace (of the multiple footnotes on footnotes), he suspected that he had come to that point where he might, at last, ‘Consider the Cuckoo’.

John: This riffing on a thought, expanding out to discover surprises and similarities is a thing of wonder.

Ruin: It's a bit strange to be working it out in 'real time' here. I am literally working it through in my head as I write it. It becomes a self-justification, of sorts, I guess. I will tie it in, somehow, to the main theme. I am coming out of that chapter which has to do with childhood, and heading towards London, via a year in Liverpool, that age-old Irish route, through Aristophanes 'The Birds', from which the expression 'Cloud Cuckoo Land' comes, through Mr. Darwin, on the way towards New York, and 'Rack and Ruin'.

But yes, he was heading for ‘Cloud Cuckoo Land’, only in as much as it was to be totally unfamiliar, there was the madness there of difference, a way of thinking that was foreign to everything he knew. The old rules just didn’t apply, but there were also new rules to learn.

On Universal Order

Or blessed lack thereof.

Dear Rack,

I suspect we have both had our moments with each other, compassionate and understanding, and the opposite. I have never felt particularly worthy, but that’s a universal, some dreadful leftover from a hideously insecure childhood, neglectful parents, absent alcoholic father and abusive uncle, all that palaver, that stuff of amateur melodrama, probably endemic, commonplace even, on that little emerald jewel called ‘home’. The thing is, or the pedestrian tragedy is, that you don’t really realise what you are carrying with you when you set off into the world alone, when you put on your walking shoes, you have no idea what your coping mechanisms are, how skew-whiff they might be relative to a world out there, a place that has most likely generated another type of abuse, a foreign variant, one which you have no experience of at all. It’s not unlike our beloved Omicron, another spiked battering ram, something that you might survive or not.

Yes, it’s the same old same old, those ‘Wild Geese’ setting off, full of youthful energy and dreams of conquest, already weighed down by their own undoing. Compassion was easy for me when we met. You had, apparently, fallen at the first hurdle, or so it seemed. I was very wrong about that. Wrecked Rack was phoenix-like. I didn’t know that then, though that constant re-igniting can work a certain ruin on the old cadaver. I notice a chemical smell in my urine, and I was wondering if you do too. We are now part chemical; a bit liked our beloved de Selby’s part bicycle, part human. We have been absorbing chemicals now for decades, and you even two decades more than I have. One cannot help but wonder how they have an effect on our very DNA, our day-to-day thoughts, our moods and our hopes, or despairs. But, butt, chicken butt, as I like to say, I have decided to make their influence positive. We are hybrid, a new man, and woman, a chemically enhanced super-breed of survivors.

How’s that for famous last words?

We are like no one else, though this is true of everyone. Now we have the added in-put of our screens, our hard-drives and external devices, all brain-enhancers and exploitable. These are our external memories, as that innate ability to remember slopes off, and it’s nothing less than a frigging ‘Universal Superhighway’. Nobody has had that before, though I would question as to whether this is a recurring phenomenon, forgotten but recurring, on an infinite ever-expanding loop (call me loopy). Heloise and Abelard could have done with a bit of that, but they managed anyway, so how can we not rape and pillage the universe with this magnificent, unimaginable, tool at our disposal? The only thing that holds us back is our massive insecurity, and our excuses. But the proffering of these to each other, the unashamed exposing of them, is the beginning of this Knausgaardian ‘struggle’, and we have been doing this for almost 30 years. We have the capacity to cross germinate, to percolate Sontag’s ‘Camp’ through Knausgaard’s, and the other tyrant’s, ‘Kampf’, that tragedy and camp comedy combined. I would like a little more of that ‘fun’ back, the laughing at the absurdity of it all combined with the realization of what we wrought, and how blindly reactive it was, and we were.

It would be wonderful to laugh, and scream, together again.

"But I wonder if you share my feeling that to write anything sufficiently accurate and engaging, and actually get it over all the hurdles of publication, and risk the ultimate disappointment of remaindering ... Oh, I could not do it now."

No, I have no intention of 'publishing', or even presenting what I am writing and thinking about, other than on Flickr. I find that I do things in 4-year traunches. The idea is just to sort out some of the mess I made, that cacophony of images I generated whilst trying to understand.

I am looking for where I didn't manage to communicate, although some of it ended up in museums (with appropriate puffing out of chest). A 4-year traunch/tranche is a challenge, a challenge because of age and the dragging of another 'fatal' disease along, with one, through a pandemic. Blissfully, science has intervened, yet again, somewhat offering respite, temporarily, from the Horsemen. I got that second Astra Zeneca yesterday, but am still jealous of those enjoying the intervention of the MRNA vaccines into the livestream of their DNA. If we are going to be so interfered with in that way, I want to be one of the first, on that cutting edge of the glorious new Science religion (that I love)! I would have loved to have been the Musk of death, that space pioneer and not the smell. Although, one appears to have missed that boat, along with many others, for now. But there is an acute awareness of their fetlocks and broomsticks, of those aforementioned Horsemen, that is, and their Woo and Woe.

Publishers, Bookshops, Museums and Galleries are over. Didn't you get the memo?

At the same time that remainder bin is essential. It is, more or less, where we all end up, the good and the bad, those who write with clarity and those who lick and salve their purple wounds in public.

You know that I love Purple, in a hate purple sort of way. Don't start me on Orange.

Uncontrollable by Jeanine Williams

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Grade I Starlet Stakes @ Los Alamitos.

day six by annafrances_archival

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it was so cold today

my hair froze while waiting for the bus this morning

and my kneecaps were rattling uncontrollably waiting for it in the afternoon

and yet, oranges remain magically delicious

january 6, 2010

all my new classes today and stuff. ugh

i missed the best part of sunset today because i was at the camera store. i got a bag and a lens-cap-keeper thing, but no remote, they didn't have the one i wanted

1995 Rover 800 Coupe by Ruairidh MacVeigh

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This was meant to take on the world this was, but sadly it didn’t get very far! The Rover 800 had so many possibilities, so many variants could have been derived from it, but unfortunately the management was once again very quick to nip this beautiful car in the bud, and the Rover 800 would join that long line of ‘what-could-have-been’ motors that seem to pave British motoring history.

The origin of the Rover 800 goes back to the late 1970’s, when nationalised British car manufacturer and all around general failure British Leyland was absolutely desperate to fix its seemingly endless list of problems. The company had now garnered a reputation for creating some of the worst, most outdated cars of all time, the likes of the Morris Marina, the Austin Allegro and the Triumph TR7 being derided in both critical and customer reviews. A mixture of strike action by uncontrollable Trade Unions led by the infamous Red Robbo had meant that cars were only put together for a few hours per day on a three day week. As such, reliability was atrocious on a biblical scale, be it mechanical, cosmetic or electrical.

As such, in 1979, British Leyland began talks with Japanese car manufacturer Honda to try and help improve the reliability of their machines. The pioneer of this brave new deal was the Triumph Acclaim of 1980, BL’s first reliable car and not a bad little runabout. Basically a rebadged Honda Ballade, the Acclaim wasn’t meant to set the world ablaze, but it certainly helped get the company back onto people’s driveways, selling reasonably well thanks to its reliable mechanics (even if rust was something of an issue). As such, BL decided that from now on it would give its fleet a complete overhaul, basing their new models on Japanese equivalents. From 1984, the Rover 200 arrived on the scene, again, a rebadged Honda Ballade, while the Maestro and the Montego ranges also took on several tips from their Japanese counterparts, though they were primarily based on British underpinnings.

The Rover 800 however spawned quite early on, in 1981 to be exact. Following the catastrophic failure of the Rover SD1 in the American market, which only sold 774 cars before Rover removed itself from the USA altogether, the company was desperate to get another foothold across the pond. As such, the new project, dubbed project XX, would be the icing on the cake in terms of British Leyland’s fleet overhaul, a smooth and sophisticated executive saloon to conquer the world. However, plans were pushed back after the launch of the Montego and the Maestro, and thus project XX wouldn’t see the light of day again until about 1984.

Still in production and suffering from being long-in-the-tooth, the Rover SD1 was now coming up on 10 years old, and though a sublime car in terms of style and performance, it was now struggling in sales. Rover really needed to replace this golden oldie, and thus project XX was back on. In the usual fashion, Honda was consulted, and it was decided that the car would be based on that company’s own executive saloon, the Honda Legend. Jointly developed at Rover’s Cowley plant and Honda’s Tochigi development centre, both cars shared the same core structure and floorplan, but they each had their own unique exterior bodywork and interior. Under the agreement, Honda would supply the V6 petrol engine, both automatic and manual transmissions and the chassis design, whilst BL would provide the 4-cylinder petrol engine and much of the electrical systems. The agreement also included that UK-market Honda Legends would be built at the Cowley Plant, and the presence of the Legend in the UK would be smaller than that of the Rover 800, with profits from the 800 shared between the two companies.

Launched on July 10th, 1986, the Rover 800 was welcomed with warm reviews regarding its style, its performance and its reliability. Though driving performance was pretty much the same as the Honda Legend, what put the Rover above its Japanese counterpart was its sheer internal elegance and beauty, combined with a differing external design that borrowed cues from the outgoing SD1. The 800 also provided the company with some much-needed optimism, especially following the gradual breakup of British Leyland by the Thatcher Government between 1980 and 1986.

Following her election in 1979, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher took a no nonsense attitude to the striking unions, and the best form of defence was attack. To shave millions from the deficit, she reduced government spending on nationalised companies such as British Airways, British Coal Board, British Steel and British Leyland by selling them to private ownership. For British Leyland, the slow breakup of the company started with the sale of Leyland Trucks and Buses to DAF of Holland and Volvo, respectively. 1984 saw Jaguar made independent and later bought by Ford, but when rumours circulated that the remains of British Leyland would be sold to foreign ownership, share prices crashed, and the company was privatised and put into the hands of British Aerospace on the strict understanding that the company could not be sold again for four years. With this move, British Leyland was renamed Rover Group, the Austin badge being dropped, and the only remaining brands left being the eponymous Rover and sporty MG.

In the light of this tumultuous period, many of Rover and MG’s projects had to be scrapped in light of turbulent share prices and income, these projects including the Austin AR16 family car range (based largely off the Rover 800) and the MG EX-E supercar. The Rover 800 however was the first model to be released by the company following privatisation, and doing well initially in terms of sales, hopes were high that the Rover 800 would herald the end of the company’s troubled spell under British Leyland. The Rover 800 was planned to spearhead multiple Rover ventures, including a return to the US-market in the form of the Sterling, and a coupe concept to beat the world, the sublime Rover CCV.

However, British Leyland may have been gone, but their management and its incompetence remained. Rather than taking the formation of Rover Group as a golden opportunity to clean up the company’s act, to the management it was business as usual, and the Rover 800 began to suffer as a consequence. A lack of proper quality control and a cost-cutting attitude meant that despite all the Japanese reliability that had been layered on these machines in the design stage, the cars were still highly unreliable when they left the factory.

Perhaps the biggest sentiment to the 800’s failure was the Sterling in America. The Sterling had been named as such due to Rover’s reputation being tarnished by the failure of the unreliable SD1. Initial sales were very promising with the Sterling, a simple design with oodles of luxury that was price competitive with family sedan’s such as the Ford LTD and the Chevy Caprice. However, once the problems with reliability and quality began to rear their heads, sales plummeted and the Sterling very quickly fell short of its sales quota, only selling 14,000 of the forecast 30,000 cars per annum. Sales dropped year by year until eventually the Sterling brand was axed in 1991.

With the death of the Sterling came the death of the CCV, a luxury motor that had already won over investors in both Europe and the USA. The fantastic design that had wooed the American market and was ready to go on sale across the States was axed unceremoniously in 1987, and with it any attempt to try and capture the American market ever again.

In 1991, Rover Group, seeing their sales were still tumbling, and with unreliable callbacks to British Leyland like the Maestro and Montego still on sale, the company decided to have yet another shakeup to try and refresh its image. The project, dubbed R17, went back to the company’s roots of grand old England, and the Rover 800 was the first to feel its touch. The R17 facelift saw the 800’s angular lines smoothed with revised light-clusters, a low-smooth body, and the addition of a grille, attempting to harp back to the likes of the luxurious Rover P5 of the 1960’s. Engines were also updated, with the previous M16 Honda engine being replaced by a crisp 2.0L T16, which gave the car some good performance. The car was also made available in a set of additional ranges, including a coupe and the sport Vitesse, complete with a higher performance engine.

Early reviews of the R17 800 were favourable, many critics lauding its design changes and luxurious interior, especially given its price competitiveness against comparable machines such as the Vauxhall Omega and the Ford Mondeo. Even Jeremy Clarkson, a man who fervently hated Rover and everything it stood for, couldn’t help but give it a good review on Top Gear. However, motoring critics were quick to point out the fact that by this time Honda was really starting to sell heavily in the UK and Europe, and people now asked themselves why they’d want to buy the Rover 800, a near carbon-copy of the Honda Legend, for twice the price but equal performance. Wood and leather furnishings are very nice, but not all motorists are interested in that, some are just interested in a reliable and practical machine to run around in.

As such, the Rover 800’s sales domestically were very good, it becoming the best-selling car in the UK for 1992, but in Europe not so much. Though Rover 800’s did make it across the Channel, the BMW 5-Series and other contemporary European models had the market sown up clean, and the Rover 800 never truly made an impact internationally. On average, the car sold well in the early 1990’s, but as time went on the car’s place in the market fell to just over 10,000 per year by 1995. Rover needed another shake-up, and the Rover 75 did just that.

In 1994, Rover Group was sold to BMW, and their brave new star to get the company back in the good books of the motoring public was the Rover 75, an executive saloon to beat the world. With this new face in the company’s showrooms, the Rover 800 and its 10 year old design was put out to grass following its launch in 1998. Selling only around 6,500 cars in its final full year of production, the Rover 800 finished sales in 1999 and disappeared, the last relic of the British Leyland/Honda tie up from the 1980’s.

Today the Rover 800 finds itself under a mixed reception. While some argue that it was the last true Rover before the BMW buyout, others will fervently deride it as a Honda with a Rover badge, a humiliation of a Rover, and truly the point where the company lost its identity. I personally believe it to be a magnificent car, a car with purpose, a car with promise, but none of those promises fulfilled. It could have truly been the face of a new Rover in the late 1980’s, and could have returned the company to the front line of the motoring world, at least in Britain. But sadly, management incompetence won again for the British motor industry, and the Rover 800 ended its days a lukewarm reminder that we really didn’t know a good thing until it was gone.

Rover 800 by Ruairidh MacVeigh

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