The Toronto City Hall, or New City Hall, is the seat of the municipal government of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and one of the city's most distinctive landmarks. Designed by Finnish architect Viljo Revell (with Heikki Castrén, Bengt Lundsten, and Seppo Valjus) and landscape architect Richard Strong, and engineered by Hannskarl Bandel, the building opened in 1965. It was built to replace Old City Hall, which was built in 1899. The current city hall, located at Nathan Phillips Square, is actually Toronto's fourth and was built in order to replace the former city hall due to a shortage of space. The area of Toronto City Hall and the civic square was formerly the location of Toronto's Old Chinatown, which was expropriated and bulldozed during the mid-1950s in preparation for a new civic building.

 

In 1958, an international architectural competition was launched by Mayor Nathan Phillips in order to find a design for the new city hall. Revell's winning proposal came first among submissions from 42 countries. It consists of near-twin towers surrounding a white disk-like council chamber, which is mounted on a raised platform with entrances located below. There is also a ramp from connecting the square to the podium roof, from which there is access to the council chamber. The two towers are of unequal height, the east tower being taller than the west. The building was nicknamed "The Eye of the Government" because it resembles a large eye in a plan view. Revell died a year before New City Hall was completed.

 

While the building's base is rectangular, its two towers are curved in cross-section and rise to differing heights. The east tower is 27 storeys (99.5 metres (326 ft)) tall and the west tower is 20 storeys (79.4 metres (260 ft)). Between the towers is the saucer-like council chamber, and the overall arrangement is somewhat like two hands cradling the chamber. The outer concrete surfaces of the towers have been ribbed, to prevent collapse of the fabric as a result of the expansion of the exterior surfaces, and the tearing apart of the fabric as a result of differences in air pressure on the two sides of each wing-like tower during the high winds characteristic of the Great Lakes. The north, west, and east elevations are more abstract and sculptural in contrast with the extensive glazing of south elevation facing the square; each presents a view of concave panels of concrete textured with split-faced strips of Botticino marble. To the east of the square is Old City Hall which is now a courthouse. From the air, the building is seen as a giant unblinking eye, thus the building's original nickname of "The Eye of Government".

 

The design for the public space in front of the new city hall, Nathan Phillips Square, was part of the competition. The square's reflecting pool and concrete arches, fountain, and overhead walkways were thus also part of Revell's submission. It has since seen several monuments, sculptures, and other works of public art added, and was renovated, but it continues to complement the city hall with its original Modernist design elements.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toronto_City_Hall

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Text_of_Creative_Commons_...

This Heron was poised on a factory roof, it was watching the canal with an unblinking gaze.

Photographed on a City of Birmingham Ramblers walk along the Birmingham & Fazeley canal. Aston Station to the Sea life centre.

Copyright Geofff Dowling; all rights reserved

Name: Krahhu

Element: Iron

Primary Color: Gold

Tool: Spear-headed Mace

Mask: Unknown

In the depths of the caves within the region of earth, Krahhu guards the legendary Golden Mask of Earth. Like the vast supply of iron lying inside the caves, he waits patiently, unmoving, unblinking. He, if you can call Krahhu a "he" after having become nothing but a shell only striving to guard the mask, allows none to approach. Not even the protector's are allowed to draw near, lest he rises from his comatose state and moves the metals in the soil according to his will.

unblinkingeye.com/Articles/Rodinal/rodinal.html

Inspiredby and Reimagined.

 

“Your flesh is clay, your bones are ash — and I am the fire that shapes the end.”

 

Xyrrhaxa is no mere warrior — she is the living nexus of an ancient hive, half flesh, half obsidian steel. Her body is carved with living armor that pulses with emberlight, every plate shifting like the skin of a predator. Her eyes multiply across her brow, each one an unblinking sentinel of the brood. In her presence, the air itself writhes with heat and whispers. Entire legions kneel, not in loyalty, but in fear — for where Xyrrhaxa walks, civilizations wither, and only the hive remains.

 

🔹 Done in AI

🔹 Refined in Bloom

🔹 Finalized in Photoshop Camera Raw

Designed as the forecourt to Toronto City Hall, as an integral part of that 1961–65 construction project, the 4.85 ha Nathan Phillips Square is Canada's largest urban plaza, above one of the world's largest underground parking garages.

 

Named for the 1955–62 mayor, the square hosts numerous public events (that's a permanent stage on the left), including concerts and political demonstrations. It receives ~1.5 million visitors yearly, including tourists (like me) wishing to see the 3D 'Toronto' sign beside the reflecting pool (which is a popular ice rink in winter).

 

The illuminated sign was originally installed here for the duration of the 2015 Pan American Games, but due to its immediate popularity, the city decided (three days after I took the photo, apparently) to adopt it permanently. The word alone is 3 m tall and 22 m long, but an extra character, a maple leaf, was added in December 2016 to celebrate the 150th anniversary of Canadian Confederation.

 

At the right of the image is one of the three concrete arches spanning the reflecting pool. Originally 'just' architectural and a way to illuminate the ice rink, they were dedicated as the 'Freedom Arches' in 1989, to commemorate those who fought to obtain/defend freedom.

 

Filling the right of the background is Toronto City Hall, a striking Modernist landmark and the fourth successive home of the municipal government. Designed by Finnish architect Viljo Revell (with Heikki Castrén, Bengt Lundsten, and Seppo Valjus) and landscape architect Richard Strong, the building opened in 1965 (hece the '50' sign over the entrance) to replace the Old City Hall. That 1899 building, also a local landmark, is just off the right of the image, behind the camera and is now a court.

 

Built on the compulsorily-purchased site of Toronto's Old Chinatown, New City Hall comprises two towers curved around a circular council chamber building, all on a rectangular base. The intended effect was of two hands cupping the chamber, though from above it also gives the impression of a giant unblinking eye of Government. The east tower is 27 storeys (99.5 m) tall whilst the west tower is 20 storeys (79.4 m) tall.

Prince Siddharta attained Buddhahood [Full Enlightenment] in the year 623 BC on the Vaisakha full moon day sitting under this Bodhi Tree.

 

The Bodhi tree at the Mahabodhi Temple is called the Sri Maha Bodhi. According to Buddhist texts the Buddha, after his Enlightenment, spent a whole week in front of the tree, standing with unblinking eyes, gazing at it with gratitude.

 

King Ashoka was most diligent in paying homage to the Bodhi tree, and held a festival every year in its honour. His queen, Tissarakkhā was jealous of the Tree, and caused the tree to be killed by means of mandu thorns.The tree, however, grew again

 

The tree was again cut down by King Pushyamitra Shunga in the 2nd century BC, and by King Shashanka in 600 AD. Every time the tree was destroyed, a new tree was planted at the same place.

 

In 1881 a British archaeologist planted a Bodhi tree at Bodh Gaya after the previous one had died due to old age.

 

On 7 July 2013 a series of ten bombs exploded in and around the Mahabodhi Temple complex, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in Bodh Gaya, India. However, the Bodhi tree is undamage and is fenced off after the incident. We only manage to view the Bodhi tree outside of the fence and many pilgrilm pay homeage from this spot.

 

《長阿含》卷四‧〈遊行經〉（大正卷一，25下～26上）

 

佛告阿難：「汝勿憂也，諸族姓子常有四念，何等四：一曰念佛生處，歡喜欲見、憶念不忘、生戀慕心。二曰念佛初得道處，歡喜欲見、憶念不忘、生戀慕心。三曰念佛轉法輪處，歡喜欲見、憶念不忘、生戀慕心。四曰念佛般泥洹處，歡喜欲見、憶念不忘、生戀慕心。阿難，我般泥洹後，族姓男女念佛生時功德如是；佛得道時神力如是；轉法輪時度人如是；臨滅度時遺法如是、各詣其處遊行禮敬諸塔寺已，死皆生天除得道者。

 

I had to do a double-take when I was passing this gate (also see below) in Cushendun today. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something lying under it but as it was completely motionless (and unblinking) I suppose I didn't register it as a dog. Even when I got up close, it just looked as me as if it was half-awake, which I now think it was as it was clearly lying in a favourite well-worn snoozing place. It had practically dug a tunnel under the gate ... but there was no chance of it escaping as the rest of it on the other side was so enormous it could never have squeezed through. Annie and Rodney have identified it as a Newfoundlander (thanks you two) and it was not alone. There was a second one, equally huge and equally laid-back stretched out nearby.

 

What a life! Just lying there, watching the world go by.

 

From Wikipedia : Newfounders are known for their giant size, tremendous strength, calm dispositions, and loyalty. Newfoundland dogs excel at water rescue/lifesaving because of their muscular build, thick double coat, webbed feet, and innate swimming abilities.

My best Napoleon impression and unblinking stare.

The Soldier & Death

 

A Russian Folk Tale Told in English

  

This is the story of a Soldier, an honest soul walking back from twenty years of war, with nothing but a shilling in his pocket and three dry biscuits for the long trudge home. A thousand miles the Soldier marched and on the way had many an adventure, for he was a man of rare courage, oh yes, many a dragon, many a slip and scramble. And he spent his shilling and was down to the three dry biscuits when one day he came upon a Beggar playing a fiddle by the side of the road. And the Soldier, who, as ever, was whistling, a thin-between-the-teeth-type whistle, a long drizzle whistle that never remembered a tune, he stopped and joined in with the Beggar's fiddle; the one couldn't fiddle and the other couldn't whistle and were quite happy the both were. And had he not stopped and whistled with that poor Beggar, the Soldier would never have begun the adventure that led to his tangle with Death himself.

 

For what could he give the Beggar for his merry reel but the first of his dry biscuits, for which the Beggar thanked him, wishing him a better whistle. Off the Soldier went with a light heart, and when he took up his tuneless tune-well, funny peculiar and strange indeedy, he had a whistle like a...Well, imagine what rubies would sound like if they whistled, and you have it. Yes, that was his new sound, and he heard it and he liked it and he kept it up all the way down the road, until he met another old boy down on his luck and worn at the edges, and this old man he played one he played knick-knack on his drum, and the Soldier stood and whistled his ruby whistle and did a little jig in his weary boots. But then he swapped a second biscuit, and now look at his dance! A fine terpsichore, good as new, a skip and a hop along the road, until at length he came to a third old soak, worn to a whisper and playing a game of solitaire by the road, and the Soldier looked as the fellow shuffled the pack and dealt out the cards, one after the other, a perfect hand. Now the Soldier had but a single biscuit in his bag and he was hungry as heck, so he thought on it. He pulled out the biscuit to break it in two and share with the Beggar, but it didn't feel good, did it, to give the old boy less than the others, so he held out both halves.

 

"You're a good man, Your Honor," said the Beggar. "And deserve more luck than to be on your last biscuit. Take these cards, and may they never lose for you." And with that he held out the pack to the Soldier. Next he rummaged in his rags and fished out an old sack, which he held up to the Soldier. "And take this sack also, an ugly thing, but remarkable. Order a bird in or a beast or anything you like and it will be there in a twinkle." And the Soldier took it, thank you very much, and off he went to a bright skip and a ruby whistle, a light heart and an empty sack, and walked a warm night and a bright day and came to a river.

 

Three fat geese swam here, their proud armada skimming the water. The Soldier took out his sack and loosened the cord at its neck. "Hoy! Geese!" he shouted. "Hoy! Get in my sack!" And with this the geese flapped, scrambled, and flocked to the sack, one after the other. The Soldier was astounded. He was delighted. He swung his booty over his shoulder and headed for the town that beckoned on the horizon. How he whistled, how he danced. He had a magic sack!

 

That night he roomed in the tavern. The Innkeeper eyed him as he entered; the full sack, the Soldier's livery. "Home from the war, are you?" The Soldier nodded. "With a sack full of spoils." No, the Soldier explained. These were three geese, newly trapped. If the Innkeeper could cook him the fattest and give him a good bed, he could have the other two for his pains. The bargain was quickly struck, and after a time the Soldier settled down to a dish of goose roasted in clove and honey and a bottle of best liquor, and he ate it all and sucked the bones and drank the liquor and danced, drunk as you like, until the morning, when he sank, flopped swam into bed.

 

Three days later, he woke up and looked out of the window. And there on the hill he saw a palace. Where once was pomp, now was ruin. Neglect had traced its moss and ivy, gouged out the stone. Menace issued from this palace. The Soldier ambled downstairs and questioned the Innkeeper. "That's the Czar's palace," the Innkeeper explained. "Was once a place of waltzes and chandeliers and fabulous parties. Now the Devils have it for their own card games." The Soldier's ears pricked up. Devils? "Devils," confirmed his host. "Every night, they tumble in and scream and shout and play at cards. No decent folk go near, they are so devilish." The Soldier stepped out for a closer look. He asked the Innkeeper why no one had rid the palace of these Devils. His face clouded. "An Army tried." He began. "In the morning there was nothing left of them but shadows. I watched them, we all did, these shadows wandering through the great halls searching for their bodies, until the sun set and they faded away. A terrible thing. I tell you, these are devilish Devils and gamblers too." This was challenge enough for our valiant Soldier. Fetching up his sack and his wonderful whistle, he stalked purposefully toward the palace. The Innkeeper watched him march off and shook his head at the folly of it.

 

Inside the palace, the Soldier found dust, decay, and a devilish odor. A heavy silence settled around him as if the world were holding its breath. He sat in the banquet hall at a great table with its cloth of cobwebs, drummed his fingers, and waited for darkness to bring visitors. Hours passed. The shadows lengthened until only the guttering flame of a single candle flickered on his face. He gazed at it. Suddenly clocks began a melancholy chime, creaking into life, and with them a scurry and a scamper. A rush of cold air extinguished the candle and all was black. The Devils had arrived. The Soldier felt them flapping like bats above his head. The doors to the hall burst open and slammed against their hinges. More Devils, hundreds of them, poured into the room, each carrying tiny torches. They swarmed to the table and surrounded the Soldier, who continued to sit, unabashed. He began to whistle.

 

"We have a visitor!" hissed one of the Devils. They were all identical. "He's whistling," said another. "That a nice whistle. I want it." "Hello," said the Soldier, introducing himself. The Devils flapped above, around, and beneath him. They repeated his greeting to each other as if it were quite the most ridiculous word they ever heard. "I hear you like a game of cards," the Soldier said. This produced an accordion of cackles. Each picked up this line and passed it to his fellow, them collapsed into hideous hiss and wheeze, which the Soldier assumed was amusement. He smiled back and produced the Beggar's pack of cards, shuffling them and banging the stack sharply onto the table, causing dust to billow up and send the Devils into fits of choking. He dealt them out. "So," he said amiably. "What shall we play for?"

 

The Devils had ideas. His soul? His whistle? His teeth? The Soldier agreed. He would wager anything they fancied, soul, whistle, teeth, anything. But what would they offer? The Devils were crying with laughter at the idea of anyone imagining he might beat them at cards. The doors opened again, and minor imps appeared dragging forty barrels of gold and forty barrels of silver. "Any use?" inquired one of them as each of the players dipped into the gleaming coins and threw them onto the table.

 

The Soldier nodded, glancing at the money, then settled down to play. The cackling ceased as the Devils examined their cards. Cards were exchanged, legally and otherwise, then thrown triumphantly down. Each hand was better than the one before it. Piercing red eyes turned to the Soldier. He looked at the cards, then at each face in turn, before turning over his own perfect hand. "My round, I think," he announced, scooping up the coins. The Devils could not believe he'd won. Then the Soldier dealt a second time. And won again. Then a third. Gold piled up in front of him. Horns were shaken, wings flapped, tails slapped irritably from side to side. "Is he cheating?" said one to the other. "Well, I am and I'm still losing."

 

"Deal again," they told the Soldier. And he did, and he won. And the Devils got into the kind of fume only Devils can get in. He won game after game while Devils cheated to high. Heaven and low Hell to no avail. By the first bells of morning, the forty barrels of silver and forty barrels of gold were stacked behind the chair of the Soldier, who whistled as he won.

 

"We'd better call it a day, my friends," announced the Devils' tormentor. "We will not," they fumed. "We will call it a breakfast and you the meal. Come, brothers, let's tear him to pieces!" The Soldier whipped out his sack and slapped it on the table. "First make sure who eats whom!" he cried and, opening the sack, ordered them in. With that, an invisible hand seemed to grasp them by foot ankle, horn and wing, and squeeze them, one after the other, into the magic bag. Within seconds the room was empty save for the Soldier and his bulging, kicking, turbulent booty. Hoisting the sack over his shoulder, he marched into the courtyard and played merry hell with his captives, whirling them about his head before bringing them down to earth time and time again, with a bump and bash and a thump and a crash. Fume! fume! fume! fumed the Devils in a queasy chorus.

 

"More?" demanded the Soldier. "No, no, no!" pleaded the Devils, shrieking with torment, swearing to make an end of their mischief. Whirling them around and around, their captor forced promise and vow from them. Never, they would never come back. Definite, they would cause no more harm. Yes, came their curdled oaths. Yes, yes, came their strangled pledges.

 

Satisfied, the Soldier untied the sack. How they swarmed from it, the terrified Devils; how fast they headed for Hell, wings beating madly. As they flew up and off, the Soldier grabbed the last of them, catching a despairing hoof, dangling the poor Devil above the ground. "Let me go!" it shrieked. "Let me go. I couldn't stand another blow." But the Soldier refused until the creature swore to serve him faithfully. "Yes!" yelled the frantic fellow. "I swear by toffee, swear by worms, swear by all those things which squirms, swear by murder, swear by boils, swear by muck and boiling oils." And so the Soldier released him, but kept his foot. The Devil crashed to the ground and stared, flabbergasted, back up at his little hoof in the Soldier's fist. "My foot's come off!" "That's right," agreed the Soldier. "Now off you go and remember where you left it."

 

Off he went, the little Devil, on his one good hoof, hop and howl, flap and foul, straight to Hell. Once inside, he and his fellows slammed shut the doors for fear of being followed by the Soldier and his sack. And they trembled and quivered and fumed and listened without speaking for three weeks in case they didn't hear our hero coming after them. But the Soldier had no time for Devils; he was the toast of the town and the star of the Czar. And things went well with him for a long time. He kept the Devil's foot. Black flowers grew from it, smell of sulphur.

 

For a long time all was dandy for the Soldier and his sack. He took a wife, got a son. And lived with them in the palace that the Czar gave him. All good things came. Silks and satins and fine damask cloth. Sweet days. A hero's happiness. Our Soldier laughed long and whistled loud and was known to dance in all weathers. But fortune is fickle. He woke one morning from his feather bed to find his son in a fever. For five long days and five lone nights, he sat, the Soldier, at his son's side, wife beside him. But no matter the medicine, no matter the prayer, the fever raged and the sickness worsened. And so it was he lost his whistle, and so it was he lost his jig. And his wife shed bitter tears as the child faded from them, tossing and turning in his torment.

 

And they called for quacks and apothecaries and healers and men with needles, leeches, quicksilver, and long words in Latin, and soon the boy's room was full of graybeards and shaking of heads, but still the fever raged and the boy passed into a swoon. The graybeards were replaced by priests mumbling and praying and rattling their rosaries. And a man in black came with a vile stick to measure a coffin. The Soldier and his wife stood and watched and sorrowed, chill shadows lengthening across the room, their son's face growing paler with each hour. "What shall we do?" cried the Soldier's wife. "My lips are sore from praying and my knees weary of kneeling." The Soldier shook his head, hopeless, full of anguish. "It's the very devil," he sighed. "The very devil."

 

Now that's a word. Devil. It went out of his mouth and straight into his ear and jiggle-joggle his memory. And as it did so, the foot, forgotten in its corner, began to shake, its black flowers quivering. The Soldier saw it and yelled out, "Now where the devil's that Devil of mine?" No sooner said, no sooner done, than a flash of smoke produced the Devil, his sworn servant, bowing and at the Soldier's service. "Where've you sprung from?" inquired the Soldier. The Devil shrugged and pointed wryly at the thin angular stalks of his legs. "Not so much sprung as hopped, Excellency. You have my foot." With this the foot shook even more. At once, the Soldier proposed a bargain with the Devil. If he could cure his son, the Soldier would return the foot.

 

The Devil considered for a moment, then produced a small, beautiful glass, a tumbler of jewel and crystal, full of water. He held the glass up by the sick boy's head and peered into it, squinting at it, and beckoned him to do the same. The Soldier took the glass and looked through the liquid at his son. Standing at the foot of the bed was a strange figure, a dark hood shrouding his face, so that the Soldier could not tell whether he was young or old, this creature. Indeed, the face seemed to the Soldier to be that of an ancient baby. All that was clear to him, through the glass and crystal, were the eyes. Black. Extraordinary. Black like a night in the wilderness. To look into them was to look at the darkest sky. Thick black with stars.

 

"Such eyes!" the Soldier exclaimed. The Devil beamed. "That's Death, Excellency. But do not fear. See how he stands at the foot of the bed." The Soldier nodded, entranced. "All is well," explained the Devil. "If Death stands at your son's feat, he will recover. Only when he comes to the head must you worry. Now, splash some of the water from the glass onto your child."

 

So the Soldier dipped his fingers into the glass and let the drops fall onto his son's head. At once, his son shuddered and opened his eyes. He looked up at his father and mother as if it were a morning like any other and he had just awaken. "I'm hungry," he said, and sat up.

 

"Oh heavens!" cried the Soldier's wife. The Devil coughed. "Oh Devil!" she said to appease him. And what a marvel it was, their son as good as new. They danced, they sang, they whistled. "Could I have my foot back?" the Devil inquired hopefully. The Soldier promised he could have back not only foot but freedom in exchange for the marvelous, miraculous glass. And the deal was done with joy on both sides, the Devil hopping off clutching his foot with its bouquet of black flowers, the Soldier nursing the magic glass, his wife their darling son.

 

So it was that our friend the Soldier set up the time-honored trade of miracle man, and soon all the graybeards and all the prayer-men were out of business as he traveled the world on a camel with his magic glass. Show him a sick man and he would hold up the glass. If black-eyed Death sat at the foot of the bed, a quick splish-splash and the invalid would sit pouring out blessings. If Death stood staring up the other end, the Soldier would shake his head solemnly and depart: "What a pity I came too late," and so on. And the relatives would mutter, "What a pity he came too late," and pay him all the same. But as often as not he left with all happy and amazed and praising him. And it went well for the Soldier until one day, far from anywhere, he gets a message from hone to say the Old Czar has fallen ill and sends for him.

 

So off he set, from the far off where he was, riding all night, riding all day, until home and hurrying to the palace-doors flung open, fifty of the Czar's wives weeping in the long corridors, and into the bedchamber where his patron lay, gray and giving up the ghost. All hoped and all prayed as the Soldier took out the glass and held it to his eyes. But when the Soldier saw Death smiling at the Czar's head, waiting patiently to carry him off. The Soldier frowned a frown and he sighed a sigh. "I've come too late," he said, and shook his head. One to the other the wives carried the news, a sob passed tear to tear down the long passages. "He's come too late," they wept. "You save beggars and thieves and cats and dogs and yet you cannot save your master." But if Death wanted a new friend, the Soldier knew he could not fight him. So he thought on it and thought on it and knew what he must do. Once again he held up the glass, and for the first time he addressed the black-eyed creature. "Sir," he said. "The Czar has been my friend and father. Take me, and spare him, I beg you."

 

The black eyes stared back, unblinking. A hush settled on the chamber. Silently, Death came down from the head of the bed and stood, eyes fixed on the Soldier. Swallowing back his fear, the brave man dipped his fingers in the glass and blessed the Czar, who sat up in an instant, praising Heaven. And while the palace cheered, bells ringing, the Soldier slowly turned left, a sad and solitary man trudging home to meet his end.

 

By nightfall, he had taken to his bed, the life flowing from him. His dear wife and son sat by him, helpless. It seemed all up with him. His energy ebbed away, his breath was shallow, his heart weak. A frail arm held up the glass, and the Soldier dimly saw the black eyes watching over him. With a final effort, he reach under the blankets and heaved out the old sack, waggling it under Death's nose. "Do you know what this is?" he asked Death. And Death replied, "A sack." "Well, if it's a sack," exclaimed the Soldier, "then get in it!" Suddenly the sack bulged as if gulping in the air. A suck, a hiss, and a whoosh. Quick as a flash, the Soldier leapt up and yanked the drawstring tight. Then he was jumping up and down on the bed, his family looking on in amazement. "I've done it!" he cried triumphantly. "I have captured Death in my sack!" And he had. Imagine the dancing, imagine the whistling, imagine the hugs and kissing! For the Soldier had done the impossible: he had cheated Death. He laughed the laugh of a man who could not believe his fortune. He threw the sack in the air. Death his prisoner!

 

The news, whispered from one of the Czar's wives to the next, spread through the town as fast as gossip, which is what it was, and nothing spreads faster. Within four and a half minutes the whole town knew and within seventeen minutes the whole country knew and by the following morning it was the news in a thousand languages. Death a prisoner! Morte un prigioniero! Tod ein Gefanger! Smird ooznitzen! Ekhmalotisame ton thanato!

 

And the Soldier, to be on the safe side, set off with Death in his sack and found the thickest forest and the highest tree and clambered up it and hung Death from the longest branch, and promptly fell off. But there's nothing like Death off-duty to cushion a fall. For now, of course, nothing could die. Relatives gathered at deathbeds for months on end. Crossed lovers would throw themselves off cliffs and have a long climb back. Everywhere the oddest battles ensued! There were wars going on in most places and they became very strange. At the end of a day's carnage, flashing swords and explosions, the air thick with arrows and the savage swoosh of axes, nobody had died! The armies would look at each other, exhausted and intact. Duels at dawn went on 'til midnight when the rivals would go home confused. And our friend the Soldier was the most famous man in the world. Because suddenly everyone could live forever. He sat in his palace and whistled his ruby whistle.

 

Then one day, looking down from his window, he saw his gardens full of poor souls wandering, old scrads of folk barely held together, a frail funeral march. The Soldier went down to them, approaching an ancient lady, a gray-and-white cloud of a woman, so fragile it seemed any moment a breeze might lift her from the ground and blow her away. When the Soldier asked of her purpose, she replied in a reedy voice, in a voice of wind chimes, explaining that they were all of one will. They were waiting to die, they had given up the ghost.

 

"Ninety winters I'd seen come and go," she whispered. "I was but an hour away from peace when you tied up sweet Death in your sack." And what was true for her was true for them all. They were weary of age and its sucking out of spirit. "Long ago our place in Heaven was made ready for us," she told him sorrowfully. "But for you, we would no longer drag our misery about the world. Let us rest in peace." The Soldier looked about him and saw a sea of faces implore him, for these old folk were not afraid of Death, only of the long dying. And they were not alone. Thousands blew out their candle that night, hoping it was their last, but a new morning betrayed them. These deathless ones pilgrimaged to the Soldier's house and stood with the others under his window: a swelling, wailing, groaning crew, until the Soldier could not bear their limbo another minute.

 

Once more he set out for the thickest forest, found the highest tree, climbed it to the longest branch, and there, hanging, was his sack. He sat on the grass and untied the drawstring holding in Death. As he picked at the knots, the Soldier spoke, declaring his surrender. "I've led you a merry dance," he admitted. "Now you must have me, and set the world to rights." But no sooner had he loosened the ties that secured it than gusts of what seemed like air billowed from the sack. Death was fleeing from him. "Come back!" the Soldier beseeched. "Death! Come back!"

 

But Death had fear of him and his sack, and would not come back. Now, the Soldier was condemned to watch while others aged and died, but Death would not come for him. He lived on and on and on and on... until he could stand it no longer, and dragged his dust and fragments across to the edge of the Earth and slowly down to Hell, where he found a huge door that had no top, no bottom, and no sides.

 

The old Soldier went up to the door and gave it a sharp knock. From every conceivable place, a smaller door opened, and from each popped the head of a Devil. Smoke wisped out behind them and ghastly groans. The heads swiveled and looked down on their visitor. "A sinful soul comes to surrender his life," announced the Soldier. And just about to let him in were they when one of them noticed his luggage. "What's that you're carrying?" it asked suspiciously. The Soldier shrugged. "A sack," he said. Every door slammed shut. For the Devils remembered that sack and would have none of it. Where could he go? Wondered the Soldier dismally. Where could he go with the burden of his sins weighing heavy on his shoulders? An idea came to him. He hammered once more on the grim door and hollered at the Devils. "I won't go," he told them, "unless you give me the map to Heaven and a way in." There was a silence. Then a map landed at his feet. Encouraged, he continued: "And two hundred souls you have no use for." This request prompted a hiss of whispers and furious discussions from behind the massive portal. Doors were opened, then shut, steam belching from them. Then a Devil stuck out his crimson head and waggled his horns at the Soldier. "One hundred and fifty," he bartered. The Soldier brandished his trusty sack. "Do you know what this is?" The Devil shrank from it, crying, "Don't wave that sack around!"

 

Suddenly the door swung open, creaking and complaining. Fug and foul issued forth, a dense bilge of sulphur and reek. From this unholy smoking stench, two hundred slow and mournful figures emerged, heads bowed. The Soldier examined the map as his sorry charges, lifeless and vacant, awaited his instructions. The parchment was a mess of hieroglyphs and strange signs. "Follow the directions," advised a scrawl scratched on the back, "until you can go no further. Then go directly up until you have the sensation of standing on your head. This is the edge of Heaven. Thereafter follow the church music." Thus informed, the Soldier turned and set off, while the Devils peered through cracks and crannies and fumed.

 

The ragtag pilgrimage made its way through thick cloud and thin cloud, through twist and turn. Some time later (how long he could not tell, for they had long since passed the place where there is night and day), the Soldier had the strange sensation of walking upside down. He paused, halting procession. And listened. From above him, organs sounded, and celestes and the flutes and oboes of Paradise. Guided by his ear, they continued upward, always upward, the music swelling, their spirits soaring, until there they were at Heaven's Gate, so brightly they could not see it, so dazzling their hearts beat fast. A voice greeted them. A voice like bells, like nothing they had heard before, an Angel's voice.

 

"Who approaches?" asked this voice, and the Soldier stepped forward bravely. "I am the Soldier who took Death prisoner," he told the light, "and I have brought two hundred souls from Hell in the hope that God will forgive me and let me in with them. Without hesitation the Angel replied, "The souls may enter, but alone." The Soldier felt clouds fall on his head. He turned to the souls. "Go then," he told them, "and be blessed," and stood, heart heavy, as they passed him, one by one, the last few steps to peace, the last few seconds before an eternity of rest. The Soldier twisted the sack round and round his hand while he felt hope drain from him, happiness flip away.

 

Then, just as the last few were running, stumbling, running to the always and thereafter, a thought, a brilliant thought, came to him and he reached the shoulder of one of the pilgrims. The Soldier slipped the sack into the soul's hand and whispered to him, "Take this, friend, and once inside, call me into the sack. Remember: I delivered you from the furnace." The soul nodded, smiled, and moved on. The Soldier watched him as his disappeared into the blinding light.

 

The Soldier waited and waited, an inch from Paradise, waited for what seemed lifetime. But, you see, there is no memory in Heaven. Nor guile. Souls forget. The Soldier stood in vain. For howsoever life may smile on us, the last laugh is reserved for Death. After a long time the Soldier, abandoned, went slowly back to Earth. And for all I know he wanders still, as we all do, between Heaven and Hell. But if sometimes, just before sleep, or at places where sand meets sea, land meets sky, you hear a sound like the sound of rubies whistling, you can be sure it is the Soldier and that he can still jig. I know, for he himself told me this story and afterward we danced until dawn.

 

THE END

   

{SOURCE}

  

SEE: Jim Hensen's "The Storyteller" — The Soldier and Death

  

Another Version

Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop

 

"We were not shaped by time — we are the shape it left behind."

 

Forged in the cradle of twin moons and mist-laced mountains, the Oracle watches. Silent, unblinking, eternal. Her obsidian carapace gleams with living circuitry — veins of memory, lit by embers of extinct suns. Each glowing rune upon her skin pulses like a heartbeat of the planet itself.

 

She stands at the edge of the Vault Citadel, where stars once knelt and gods fell silent. The fortress behind her, carved from dark stone and stardust, hums with ancient power. Spiraling towers pierce the sky, draped in auroras and moonfire, casting halos upon the mists that cloak the forest floor below.

 

She is not warrior, not watcher.

She is the last cipher.

A question etched in flesh. A prophecy grown sentient.

 

Designation: Echoform | Function: Starborne Archivist | Origin: Moondawn Vault, Sector IX

AI-generated via Mystic 2.5 | Artifice meets myth — the dream of a forgotten machine.

Galatians 6:1 – “Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted.”

 

Peter dropped down from his vantage point and onto the ground, landing a mere six inches away from his adversary. Still, Fisk’s face remained unchanged, a cold stone statue that was as lifeless as the very midnight sky. The two now stood by the crime lord’s desk, surrounded by strips of the office’s foggy glass windowpanes and other wealthy looking paraphernalia, a scene that could indeed be described as picturesque had it not been for their current circumstances. With all of Manhattan’s buildings lighting up the space around them, it was surreal to Peter. It felt like his entire life was building up to this one moment, face to face with his tormentor as all time around them stopped. It was as if the epicenter of the universe spawned in on their location and gravity was fixed onto Peter’s shoulders, burdened with incomprehensible tasks. The words began to form in his head; they would be the first shots that would be fired in this all too personal quest for truth. As he began to open his mouth he was unexpectedly cut off by Wilson Fisk who somehow always managed to be a step ahead of everyone that he encountered.

 

“Leave now vigilante and you might still get out alive,” Fisk spoke, his voice soothing yet his words intimidating.

 

Peter would not be scared off so easily however. Standing up taller, he met Fisk’s gaze and said,

 

“I am here to find out the truth about the death of Ben Parker.”

 

Fisk walked behind his desk, sliding his finger across the edge while Peter was talking. The crime boss seemed to be stumbling to find something, which Peter believed to be a button linked to an alarm. But upon hearing the name “Ben Parker,” the Kingpin’s arm froze and his eyes rolled toward the floor. He seemed to have had a sudden weakness in his legs as well for he lost an inch in height and rested his hand on the large chair behind him.

 

“How do you know that name?” he asked, trying to make his way back to his feet.

 

He was met with the solemn answer, “he was my best friend.”

 

Suddenly a cold sweat overcame Fisk and tears formed in Peter’s eyes. Neither person spoke for a long period of time. An awkward stiffness built in the room only to be torn down by time. Fisk needed to be in control of the situation again so once the tension eased he spoke first, his voice like a sharp blade cutting into the silence.

 

“Heed my words child; this is a dangerous business. Leave now and you may not succumb into the hellhole that is this city.”

 

“And why should I?” asked Spider-Man, “why is New York’s most notorious crime boss warning the peasant who wishes to dethrone him?”

 

“Because Ben Parker’s death was never intentional. He was never the target.”

 

And with those words Fisk proceeded to press the button under his desk, triggering a loud blaring of alarms heard throughout the entire floor. Within only a few seconds two New York Police Department officers busted through the double doors, their guns locked on Spider-Man. They must have been stationed right outside.

 

Without hesitation Peter shot a web out the shattered window from which he came, trying to avoid confrontation with the corrupt peacekeeping officials that Fisk keeps in his pocket. The web stuck onto a nearby building and with a quick tug Spider-Man began to be driven out of the office. However, to his surprise the web snapped, seemingly cut, leading Peter to stumble and fall face first onto one of the office’s rugs dusted with snowflakes. Although the rug was made of a thick and high-quality cotton, the granite floor underneath absorbed the brunt of the fall.

 

Still on the ground, he crawled some feet closer to the broken window, poked his head out into the blizzard and looked down. From there he saw a woman with long flowing black hair dressed in a highly revealing red outfit holding two sais on the balcony below, his web residue on one of her blades. She was Caucasian and seemed to be in her mid twenties, not showing a single sign of aging or discomfort from the cold. Her presence was somehow even more unnerving than the Kingpin’s.

Seeing that she was about to jump toward him, Peter rose up to his feet and eased back into the room some inches closer to the Kingpin’s desk. With one hand he gripped onto the edge of the table and much like a toddler gripping onto his mother’s skirt he felt oddly comforted as he did so. Looking around he saw that every window in the office, besides the pivotal shattered one, now had a corrupt police officer placed firmly in front of it, silently imported while he was distracted by the female assailant. These guards must have not been too far behind the first two who were now stationed at the doors. They were still ajar, but he couldn’t risk rushing towards them as his way out, who knows what other horrors lurk in the floors of Fisk Tower. His means of escape were limited and were soon cut down to impossible when the woman in red climbed up to the shattered window and onto his level. Taking cues from the uniformed officers she stood in front of her own window, the broken one, and managed to crack a slight smile toward Peter. The perimeter of the floor was now sealed.

 

Peter felt helpless and turned to his coping mechanism of comedy. He managed to find slight amusement out of any situation he was in, able to create a more liberating atmosphere, something that helped him more times than he could remember. Putting his technique to use, he whispered toward Fisk, rather loudly to increase comedic effect, “psst, Kevin James. Don’t look now, but Megan Fox is in your office.”

Fisk chuckled insincerely like a true businessman.

 

“I see that you’ve met Elektra,” he said. “Greek orphan turned brutal assassin. One of the greatest investments I’ve made. She has truly done wonders for this company.”

 

“Greek eh?” asked Spider-Man intrigued. Turning to her this time he said, “you guys are really doing wonders for the global economy.”

 

Expecting a pity laugh like from the Kingpin, Elektra instead stared at him with cold unblinking eyes.

 

“Don’t fret arachnid,” called out Fisk. “It’s a tough room. You know how foreigners feel about American jokes. Besides, she and the guards are only here to ensure that nothing goes awry with your presence here. I was actually hoping that you would make it to my neck of the woods one of these days as we have much to discuss. I apologize for that alarm before; it was only to call in Captain Stacy and Sergeant Carter of the NYPD precinct 98. I call them in before every meeting as bodyguards of sorts. Forgive me, I should have informed you first. Regarding the topic of Ben Parker, feel free to ask me anything you wish. There is nothing to hide."

 

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

 

Not too bad of a photo.

Really digging these backgrounds a lot. :)

 

I'm really liking this "chapter" as well. As always, I go for realism in my stories, so I wanted to ease into the comedic aspect of Spider-Man, because let's face it, no matter who you are, nobody (especially not a minor) cracks jokes while they're worrying about dying at any second.

 

SO… thats that, hope you enjoyed the issue. :)

 

Ulysses sits with perfect composure, his gaze unblinking, his fur immaculate — the quiet ruler of the room. There’s something ancient in his expression, as if he’s been watching the rhythms of this home for centuries, measuring each sound and movement. The sunlight catches the gold in his eyes, and for a moment, he seems almost human in his calm awareness.

 

He’s not asking for attention — he’s granting it. A portrait of feline stillness and quiet confidence, reminding everyone nearby that true presence requires no performance.

The illuminated sign was originally installed beside the reflecting pool in Nathan Phillips Square just for the duration of the 2015 Pan American Games. However, due to its immediate popularity, the city decided (three days after I took the photo, apparently) to adopt it permanently. The word alone is 3 m tall and 22 m long, but an extra character, a maple leaf, was added in December 2016 to celebrate the 150th anniversary of Canadian Confederation.

 

Designed as the forecourt to Toronto City Hall, as an integral part of that 1961–65 construction project, Nathan Phillips Square is Canada's largest urban plaza (4.85 ha), above one of the world's largest underground parking garages. Named for the 1955–62 mayor, the square hosts numerous public events (that's a permanent stage on the left), including concerts and political demonstrations. It receives ~1.5 million visitors yearly.

 

At the right of the image is one of the three concrete arches spanning the reflecting pool. Originally 'just' architectural and a way to illuminate the pool's winter use as a popular ice rink, they were dedicated as the 'Freedom Arches' in 1989, to commemorate those who fought to obtain/defend freedom.

 

Filling the right of the background is Toronto City Hall, a striking Modernist landmark and the fourth successive home of the municipal government. Designed by Finnish architect Viljo Revell (with Heikki Castrén, Bengt Lundsten, and Seppo Valjus) and landscape architect Richard Strong, the building opened in 1965 (hece the '50' sign over the entrance) to replace the Old City Hall. That 1899 building, also a local landmark and now a court, is just off the right of the image, behind the camera.

 

Built on the compulsorily-purchased site of Toronto's Old Chinatown, New City Hall comprises two towers curved around a circular council chamber building, all on a rectangular base. The intended effect was of two hands cupping the chamber, though from above it also gives the impression of a giant unblinking eye of Government. The east tower is 27 storeys (99.5 m) tall whilst the west tower is 20 storeys (79.4 m) tall.

Lady Porkshanks stood in the middle of the bleak tunnel, unsure what to do. The sounds that emanated from the distance seemed to be advancing quickly, and there could be no possible escape!

 

She was tired, she was dizzy, and aside from the pipes that ran down the length of the tunnel, there was nothing.

 

She inhaled deeply and clutched her weapon... steeling herself for yet another battle. But every detail about this situation signaled to her that this was no typical foe she would face!

 

As she stared into the blackness, she blew out the incense and immediately the most oppressive stench she had ever choked on pressed in thick like fetid soil into her lungs.

 

As the scrabbling drew near, she flicked on the Infinity Tap and the singularity window held within it began to shine with the constantly shifting light of pure trapped plasma as the powerful device on her belt gathered the Aether about it and twisted it into a new state. She sighed, as the tubes on the back of The Deuces Wild began to glow a dull red and hum. It was now or never!

 

The brighter light now cast forward and she could see strange figures tumbling toward her! They were vaguely human shaped, although a greater mockery of man she had never beheld. The arms were far too long and seemed to ribbed with fins or possibly a sail of flesh. Their skin was slick and pale and covered in tiny scales. Their necks were long and slender and were topped off with a head that looked almost too small and under-developed. Their faces were wider than tall and seemed only to accommodate great pouting lips ringed with stubby feelers or tentacles and a pair of unblinking white discs for eyes!

 

The creatures came at her at what she surmised must be their full speed and they had a terrible look in their inhuman movements! They were still intermittently screeching and whelping as they ran, so that her scream of shock at the sight was barely audible to even her as separate from the symphony of madness.

 

Losing her nerve as they overtook her, she panicked and dropped to her knees in fear. She shut her eyes up tightly and covered her head instinctively to await the first blow.

 

One of the creatures nearly ran directly into her, tripping over her long skirt splayed out around her. She yelped again as it turned its face to look at her, but the eyes didn't come to a rest on her, it turned and peered down the passage from whence it had come, bleating out a strange tone into the darkness.

 

More curious than afraid now, she swung her head to look at the others as they passed. They didn't even seem to pay her any mind at all, and in fact were continuing to scramble away with all their might.

 

Pushing itself up with its batlike arms, the one that had collided with Lady Porkshanks returned to an upright position and felt outward with quickly swinging hands. One of the hands slapped her chin loosely and the other immediately came to rest with its palm upon her face. The touch of the creature was not exactly gentle, but it yet again betrayed some sort of primal wit about it. The beast tilted its head with a look that reminded her of Nipper, the Victrola hound.

 

Her courage returning, she reached out her right hand and softly touched the side of the creature's face in return, as a show of trust and goodwill.

 

The creature barked out a short sound in her direction, and almost as if in reply, the ground trembling roar echoed again from far away.

 

With that, the creature grabbed her wrist and pulled on it as it began running again to follow the others. She fell forward, but yanked it away from its grip as it looked back one last time and screeched at her.

 

She stood there bewildered for a moment. It was clear that these were no monsters, simply... a different sort of beast. These were beasts with some kind of reason, perhaps simian level or even that of a child. This was a race unlike any other she had heard described in even the most obscure cryptozoological tomes!

 

What an astounding encounter! She couldn't wait to relay it to the others, however there remained one last issue to inspect... that horrid resounding wail.

 

She swept her hands down over her skirts and fussed with her collar for a moment. She let out a sigh and set her resolve once more. She could not forget that she had completely and utterly lost control; that terror had taken her composure from her, and even though there were only these strange blind witnesses, she had still failed.

 

Or was it better this way? They were not a threat to her! If she had fired who knows how they would have reacted?

 

She sucked a deep breath and coughed it back up almost immediately. The air still hung with putrid death, and her lungs revolted within her ribcage against the indignity of it all. Her old wound was throbbing now, and she absently massaged the spot as she began walking again toward the unknown.

 

Soon enough she could detect the dull light pinpoint of the end of the tunnel! Her pace quickened slightly and her senses sharpened to their fullest extent as adrenaline pumped through her veins wildly.

 

She could hear something organic moving, and the jangling of chains against stone. Then a low murmur of speech. A human voice!

 

She slowly crept now towards the opening only a few feet away. Outside the tunnel the cave opened up to become a large cavernous room, and there were ancient ruins of some kind scattered about the area.

 

In the center of it all her eyes came to rest on something beyond words. There was another impossible beast crouched before her; a heaving mass of flesh the size of a house was chained to small tent pegs pounded into the floor. It shimmered with a thousand scales under a single lamp strung up high above on the cave's ceiling. It had leathery wings that looked unable to lift the gluttonous mass into the sky, and staring yellow eyes the size of a wagon wheel set behind a mouth of a thousand writhing tentacles! The creature exuded a feeling of dread and terror from its very pores. Something in the violently twitchy way it moved set her on edge as never before. Even if ignoring the reaction of the blind ones to it, she could feel something terrifically malevolent was set before her.

 

As she stood entranced by the thing, she noticed that it seemed to be struggling against the chains. With every tug and jerk upon them, they seemed to give off a faint green glow in the dark. Clearly, only some kind of unseen craft she could not possibly fathom was keeping this great beast at bay.

 

The unblinking eye came to a stop on her and for a brief time it felt as if all time had halted! The eye pierced into her like a sniper's bullet into a haystack, and she was filled a sensation of being everywhere and nowhere in unison. The eye was All. Visions of alien landscapes flashed across her mind and beautifully strange shapes burned within her. New colors and sounds of inhuman choruses moved her to tears.

 

And as the eye left her gaze, she felt all of the warmth of reality fade into a void of despair deep inside her. She caught herself against the wall of the tunnel and slid down to her knees to collapse.

 

Her heart pounded away as she lay and she realized she nearly fainted from beholding it all. Even her previous encounter had hardly prepared her for facing the existence of such an unholy thing! Such a powerful and ancient thing... a thing of perfect and awesome wonder! She felt a strange stirring now to be with it, but it was so subtle that she was hardly conscious of it.

 

She pondered silently, where had the human voice come from? Surely not the monster...

 

And almost as if to answer her, she heard the human voice speak again. A man had been standing on a ledge off to the left the whole time, and she simply hadn't noticed him with her attention so stolen by novelty.

 

She couldn't make out any words, as it sounded like yet another kind of gutteral gulping cant she had never heard before. And somehow, the sounds began to form into ideas and she caught traces of meanings and intonation. Which each syllable, her understanding blossomed of what was being communicated!

 

She peered around the corner of the tunnel entrance again to get a better look. The human seemed insignificant like a toy soldier standing before the poor child restrained by such improbable cunning. The man was reading from a small book, repeating a long chain of incantations to bind the Greatest Wonder of Ages to himself! The man was Emil Reynard, who preferred to be known as The Silver Talon.

 

"The nerve of that man!"

 

Lady Porkshanks began to reach for both of her pistols, but a whisper in the back of her mind halted her hands. She somehow understood that this was not the time or place for this confrontation, and that she needed to leave immediately before he discovered her intrusion. The Greatest Wonder of Ages was working an infathomable plan, and she realized that it was her honor and duty to play a key role, but this was not it!

 

So far, Reynard had been enraptured in his chanting and so she came and left without his being any the wiser.

 

The long tunnel seemed to nearly melt away as she strode through the comforting pitch blackness, and Lady Porkshanks found herself standing before the great brass portal before she even realized that she had been traveling long at all.

 

I pulled out the Nikon today - the first time I've tried using it at close quarters while the pup is playing, as he's quite attracted to it.

 

I know dogs are suppose to be intimidated by The Great Unblinking Eye, but Toby is mesmerized by it.

 

I suppose that's a good problem to have, so long as you keep lens cleaner close at hand.

 

Every few minutes he came over to give it a nose boop and a kiss, sending me scrambling to slap the lens cover on in time.

 

119 Pictures in 2019 - #95. "Sphere"

 

Daily Dog Challenge 2688.

"One"

 

Stop on by Henry and Toby's blog: bzdogs.com - The Secret Life of the Suburban Dog

Even on ... Those Days.

There will inevitably be one of, well..,

Those.Days.

 

[CAUSE AND EFFECT:]

Those days when you wonder if this is what those T.V. psychiatrists always seem to refer to as "disassociation,' or perhaps even more accurately, an "acute psychotic breakdown."

Those days that we never expect, yet, incredibly, (unfortunately), virtually all human beings will have one or more of Those days.

Those days when you walk into your office expecting that double chocolate birthday cake.

Yet, much to your utter shock and jaw-dropping, heart-stopping horror, you're met with dumbfounded stares - blankly and unblinking just like that cute little blond co-worker staring past you (or perhaps, through you?) . . .

She almost appears to be making sounds with her mouth, her big blue eyes appearing to have been holding back oceans now breaking free, although she doesn't seem to care- or notice - as her corneas are now drowning in a sea of water that might very well be the infinite source of saline - she's saying something… something… - lay-offs, FBI Interviews, lie detector tests, bankruptcy, and such. You slowly do an uneven 360 degree rotation, feeling the cold clammy pre-vomit symptoms quickly knotting your gut and working diligently and quite efficiently upward toward the diaphragm, and you swallow as hard as you can in hopes of choking back any projectiles - which would sadly consist of this morning's Sara Lee Fat Free muffin and that and rather healthy dose of quaker's oatmeal. The accountant comes running toward you as you instinctively take a step backwards, she stops short, wailing something about the end, "This is THE END!!" After her choking sobs were more manageable you were able to make out a little bit...

Something about the CFO embezzling all of the company assets, the investors, the pensions, the retirement, even the petty cash and the quarters unfortunate enough to be left unsupervised in the vending machine, "EVERYTHING!" Her shrieks trail off into whimpers for a moment, but like a tide gathering strength, the choking, hyperventilating, nose running unceremoniously down her pudgy red face, gathers strength once again...

After 15 minutes of careful lipreading, hugging, and firm shoulder shaking, you learn of His last possible sighting: Somewhere near Krakow, Poland; playing Texas Hold Em' with a group of 8 foot embittered pro-Stalin, ex-soviet military men waiting with baited breath for anyone to provide them the opportunity to work out their personal anger issues with their current political views as well as their new tenured posts guarding the perimeter encompassing a well-known and lovely region most commonly called Chernobyl.

Those Days.

Still in shock staring blankly at the empty road ahead, you receive a phone call. Your son didn't know that that giant chocolate bunny was bad for the kitty.

Your kitty.

"Mommy? How long do I have to leave this icky red stuff in my hair to make it look like yours? It's starting to burn...!"

You were just about to ask your little loved one to repeat that last part, when you notice a disturbingly familiar and distinctive sound couple by bright lights that are flashing red and blue.

"What seems to be the problem Officer?"

"80 miles per hour?" "Really?" "In a 40?" (Gasp!) "A School Zone!"

"I'm sorry? What..? Phone?"

"Oh! [insert sheepish giggle] you mean this cell phone?"

"Inspection?" "That's impossible! It couldn't have been over a year-" stop. Damn stickers!

"They used to be transparent!"

45 minutes later, clutching 5 crispy new citations so tightly, you notice with no satisfaction that your bitten-to-the-nub nails have been digging some impressive holes through that wretched, foul-smelling carbon paper. The fifth ticket was for insubordination after you tell Officer Pursey what else seems to be a bit puckered as well. Despite his interjections, you were able to also remind him of what a sad excuse for a job he must have, picking on hard-working middle class citizens while there are grown men and women selling crack to kids on the street corners and how could he live with himself???

As you can see, one can never predict one of those days . . .

One must act quickly and decisively and take drastic measures in order to have the slightest chance of maintaining even the most precarious, desperate grip on that sad, thin, weathered thread of sanity remarkably similar to that which you are clawing and grasping for - any shred of mental cohesion to cling to.

[THE RULES:]

First of all, when in a rural environment such as this one, you must scream as loud as you can and bang on your steering wheel until your palms are throbbing. Sometimes it is even necessary to allow the head to slowly find its way onto the steering wheel, resulting in a shrieking noise that may cause the local canines to react in a rather agitated manner, but that's fine. Just let the horn go, the noise will eventually drown itself out. Next, the helpless exhaustion should naturally give way to a dawning sense of indignation. This will happen rather quickly so prepare yourself to brush away any tears, mascara trails, and beware of any unintended shards of plastics or glass that may have been damaged during the end-of-the-world tantrum.

Thankfully, this horrific despair and painful psychic asphyxiation will rapidly give way to your new friend:

Fury. Rage.

A Seething cauldron of fuck-this-fuck-you-fuck-it-all-don't-even-think-of-cutting-me-off-because-i-will-bludgeon-you-with-these-q-tips kind of all-consuming anger that flows hot and fast through your entire body. That 230 pound trucker that had intended on cutting you off takes one look into that cold empty stare and instinctively knows that this is one of those times when concessions are in order.

And Here, ladies and gentlemen, a photo is born. Who knew what that Toyota 4-cylinder hybrid sedan was really capable of until now? Although you may still be mostly(?) lucid, you've lost just enough of that annoying trait commonly referred to by the layperson as, "good judgement."

Before you know it, those Angus Cows are merely blurs in your peripheral, adrenaline-filled darting glances, you note an odd sensation that is reminiscent to barreling down those hilltops on your mother's best cookie sheet after the first snow as a child. Ah, yes, that is the hydroplaning. No matter, friction is overrated.

What better way to salvage what's left of this wretched, god-forsaken, nail-in-the-head, day than this?

You should have thought of this before!

What the hell, may as well take a picture. It could turn out kinda cool.

 

Supplemental:

*No cows, children, CFO's, accountants, vending machines, felines, Toyotas, or law enforcement officials were actually harmed in the making of this photo. This sad day and its unfortunate series of events are entirely fictional, although there can be no guarantees as to the psychological wellness of the prefrontal cortex responsible for the creation of said events.*

The Toronto City Hall, or New City Hall, is the seat of the municipal government of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and one of the city's most distinctive landmarks. Designed by Finnish architect Viljo Revell (with Heikki Castrén, Bengt Lundsten, and Seppo Valjus) and landscape architect Richard Strong, and engineered by Hannskarl Bandel, the building opened in 1965. It was built to replace Old City Hall, which was built in 1899. The current city hall, located at Nathan Phillips Square, is actually Toronto's fourth and was built in order to replace the former city hall due to a shortage of space. The area of Toronto City Hall and the civic square was formerly the location of Toronto's Old Chinatown, which was expropriated and bulldozed during the mid-1950s in preparation for a new civic building.

 

In 1958, an international architectural competition was launched by Mayor Nathan Phillips in order to find a design for the new city hall. Revell's winning proposal came first among submissions from 42 countries. It consists of near-twin towers surrounding a white disk-like council chamber, which is mounted on a raised platform with entrances located below. There is also a ramp from connecting the square to the podium roof, from which there is access to the council chamber. The two towers are of unequal height, the east tower being taller than the west. The building was nicknamed "The Eye of the Government" because it resembles a large eye in a plan view. Revell died a year before New City Hall was completed.

 

While the building's base is rectangular, its two towers are curved in cross-section and rise to differing heights. The east tower is 27 storeys (99.5 metres (326 ft)) tall and the west tower is 20 storeys (79.4 metres (260 ft)). Between the towers is the saucer-like council chamber, and the overall arrangement is somewhat like two hands cradling the chamber. The outer concrete surfaces of the towers have been ribbed, to prevent collapse of the fabric as a result of the expansion of the exterior surfaces, and the tearing apart of the fabric as a result of differences in air pressure on the two sides of each wing-like tower during the high winds characteristic of the Great Lakes. The north, west, and east elevations are more abstract and sculptural in contrast with the extensive glazing of south elevation facing the square; each presents a view of concave panels of concrete textured with split-faced strips of Botticino marble. To the east of the square is Old City Hall which is now a courthouse. From the air, the building is seen as a giant unblinking eye, thus the building's original nickname of "The Eye of Government".

 

The design for the public space in front of the new city hall, Nathan Phillips Square, was part of the competition. The square's reflecting pool and concrete arches, fountain, and overhead walkways were thus also part of Revell's submission. It has since seen several monuments, sculptures, and other works of public art added, and was renovated, but it continues to complement the city hall with its original Modernist design elements.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toronto_City_Hall

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Text_of_Creative_Commons_...

In lifetime,those eyes never blink

Even, after death eyes are open

 

Fishes, with their unblinking eyes.

  

Eyes of fish never blink because they have no eyelids.As they exist in water ,they have no need of eyelids to moisten their eyes like other creature.

 

Photo captured from a fish market of Dhaka.The reflection of that yellow thing is the light bulb hanging from the top.

 

New Market,Dhaka

Bangladesh.

The Toronto City Hall, or New City Hall, is the seat of the municipal government of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and one of the city's most distinctive landmarks. Designed by Finnish architect Viljo Revell (with Heikki Castrén, Bengt Lundsten, and Seppo Valjus) and landscape architect Richard Strong, and engineered by Hannskarl Bandel, the building opened in 1965. It was built to replace Old City Hall, which was built in 1899. The current city hall, located at Nathan Phillips Square, is actually Toronto's fourth and was built in order to replace the former city hall due to a shortage of space. The area of Toronto City Hall and the civic square was formerly the location of Toronto's Old Chinatown, which was expropriated and bulldozed during the mid-1950s in preparation for a new civic building.

 

In 1958, an international architectural competition was launched by Mayor Nathan Phillips in order to find a design for the new city hall. Revell's winning proposal came first among submissions from 42 countries. It consists of near-twin towers surrounding a white disk-like council chamber, which is mounted on a raised platform with entrances located below. There is also a ramp from connecting the square to the podium roof, from which there is access to the council chamber. The two towers are of unequal height, the east tower being taller than the west. The building was nicknamed "The Eye of the Government" because it resembles a large eye in a plan view. Revell died a year before New City Hall was completed.

 

While the building's base is rectangular, its two towers are curved in cross-section and rise to differing heights. The east tower is 27 storeys (99.5 metres (326 ft)) tall and the west tower is 20 storeys (79.4 metres (260 ft)). Between the towers is the saucer-like council chamber, and the overall arrangement is somewhat like two hands cradling the chamber. The outer concrete surfaces of the towers have been ribbed, to prevent collapse of the fabric as a result of the expansion of the exterior surfaces, and the tearing apart of the fabric as a result of differences in air pressure on the two sides of each wing-like tower during the high winds characteristic of the Great Lakes. The north, west, and east elevations are more abstract and sculptural in contrast with the extensive glazing of south elevation facing the square; each presents a view of concave panels of concrete textured with split-faced strips of Botticino marble. To the east of the square is Old City Hall which is now a courthouse. From the air, the building is seen as a giant unblinking eye, thus the building's original nickname of "The Eye of Government".

 

The design for the public space in front of the new city hall, Nathan Phillips Square, was part of the competition. The square's reflecting pool and concrete arches, fountain, and overhead walkways were thus also part of Revell's submission. It has since seen several monuments, sculptures, and other works of public art added, and was renovated, but it continues to complement the city hall with its original Modernist design elements.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toronto_City_Hall

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Text_of_Creative_Commons_...

Ashur Kentoku stops when she picks up a familiar scent...her whiskers puff out and she scans the street below, her eyes coming to rest on Shoya.....

 

Ashur Kentoku crouches down and smiles, her fangs showing, tail swishing behind her, ears perked....

 

Shoya Namuya was leaning against the wall and she was reading a small book. The book was close to her face and her tail twitched behind her, murmuring under her breath as she focuses on the pages

 

Emberen Twine murrs softly to Ash..."oh Ash...leave her be. She looks so peaceful!"

 

Ashur Kentoku flicks an ear at Ember but doesnt move, just watches, still smiling....for the moment.

 

Emberen Twine sighs as her friend has her fun, but really...what was the fun all about. "I don't get it," she murrs almost in a whisper.

 

Shoya Namuya glances up when she hears people talking and she blinks. She looks up at Ashur and Emberen before she closes her book and she slips it into her bag before saying to them "Oh... Hello, again" And she waves towards them

 

Emberen Twine grins and waves innocently enough wondering if Ash would swat her for saying hello.

 

Ashur Kentoku merrs softly, her pale eyes glinting. She tilts her head, her hair half-covering her face, but says nothing, just watches Shoya with her unblinking eyes....

 

Shoya Namuya furrows her brow and then she turns, starting to head down the street as she shakes her head. She was getting more used to how cats acted... And usually when they stared at you like that it wasn't good! She glances over her shoulder as she holds onto her purse and she waves again ebfore saying "B-Bye" and she looks back down the street, keeping her ears open

 

Emberen Twine watches Shoya with interest...but not playful interest like Ash. "What book ya readin," she asks with great curiosity.

 

Ashur Kentoku stood silently and glided after her, following along the awning, staying low.....she makes a soft merrrrrr sound, which might even reach Shoya's ear.....

 

Ashur Kentoku turns and gives Ember a "Shut UP!" look, then continues following Shoya...

 

Emberen Twine's eyes go big and she frowns. "Was just askin..." she mutters

 

Shoya Namuya blinks and then she turns around. She looks towards Emberen and she goes to say something but when she sees where Ashur was she pauses for just a seocnd. She turns again and she quickly starts to walk down the street once more, starting to mvoe a bit faster as she clears her throat nervously, keeping her ears perked still

 

Emberen Twine comes up behind Ash..."What now," she asks.

 

Ashur Kentoku follows quietly, letting Shoya see her just when she seemed to think she was safe, her fanged smile still on her feline face, her claws making little scritching sounds against the concrete...

 

Emberen Twine murrs softly to herself as her gaze darts from Ash's silly game and the twwo standing before them on the catwalk.

 

Ashur Kentoku hisses quietly at Em, waving her away....if she wasnt going to keep quiet, she wasnt welcome. She turned her unblinking eyes back at Shoya, ready to move when she did again...

 

Shoya Namuya looks down the street before she turns ands he heads down the alleyway, starting to gnaw on her bottom lip gently, tryign to think of a way to at least lose Ash's interest. Maybe if she just didn't run... She takes in slow and steady breaths as she forces herself to slow down

 

Emberen Twine misses Ash's wave as she stares at the strangers

 

Emberen Twine: "Hey Ash?"

 

Mika would try to open the door thing and kicks at it

 

Emberen Twine: I don't think they are supposed to be up there," she murrs nervously.

 

Ashur Kentoku hops quickly onto the rooftop opposite and pads over to the edge, peering down at the nervous mousie, still smiling her toothy smile...

 

Mika kicks it again wondering if it will budge

 

Ashur Kentoku: "Meow," she says. She speaks the word, rather than actually making the sound, deliberately.

 

Shoya Namuya spins on her heels when she hears Ashur and she glares up at her. She shakes her head and then she asks her in a polite sounding voice "Can I help you with anything?" but she continues to glare, keeping her hand in her bag

 

Ashur Kentoku follows, dropping back into a crouch, her whiskers puffing out, tail lashing behind her, ears laying flat. Her body begins to vibrate as she stares at Shoya, locking eyes with her if she can. A low growl erupts from her throat, seemingly out of place coming from her small frame....

 

Shoya Namuya gets a bit of a grin and then she asks "You want a fucking chase? Fine" And then she turns, bolting down the alley without much warning

 

Ashur Kentoku grins and pounces after her, leaping from rooftop to catwalk, a low merrrrring sound coming from her....

 

Ashur Kentoku lands with a splash in the scummy water, spitting....She looks up at Shoya and readies herself for another pounce....

 

Shoya Namuya pants heavily as she pushes herself against the wall. She shakes her head and she tilts her head back. When she hears the sound of Ashur landing in the sewage she wrinkles her nose before she turns and heads back the way she came, trying to ignore the soreness in her legs

 

Ashur Kentoku leaps at the only place Shoya has to run, aiming to cut her off...another snarl erupts from her....

 

Shoya Namuya skids to a stop and she lets out a loud squeak! She takes a step back, nearly tripping when she steps on a pipe. She quickly looks down as she crouches, moving to quickly grab onto the pipe on the ground

 

Ashur Kentoku: "Little moussssiee," she merrs, her speech a little slurred from her enjoyment of the hunt and her partial lapse into a feral state....She snaps her gaze onto the metal pipe, a quick, weird jerking motion, then back up to Shoya's face. She darts forward, shockingly fast, and stops just out range, growling, taunting the cornered mouse.....

 

Shoya Namuya yanks the pipe up but she doesn't swing it. Instead she holds it up and she pants heavily before saying "I-I... I don't want to hurt you... But.. I-I... I will" ands he frowns again. Her shoulder had started to bleed out, though, the stitches torn because of the running and now because of the way she was holding the pipe

 

Ashur Kentoku scents the blood and her eyes glaze over some more, her mouth open now, fangs showing, claws out....the words she hears are only barely recognizable, but she nevertheless struggles to not slip to far away into a full feral state. She liked the girl, and didnt want to kill her. Another coughing snarl erupts from her, and she suddenly leaps forecefully at Shoya, slapping at the pipe with a blurringly fast clawed hand, the rest of her trying to slam her up against the wall and pin her there....

 

Shoya Namuya tries to get herself to swing the pipe... Just a swing... Just one hit and she'd probably be out... When the pipe is smacked out of her hand she lets out another squeak before she's shoved against the wall. She hits her head on the wall and she lets out a loud groan, moving one of her hands up to place it on the back of her head. She tops herself though and then she moves herh ands forward,s tarting to push on Ashur's shoulders as she closes her eyes tight and she says "L-Lemmie go...!!!"

 

Ashur Kentoku slams her right hand into the thin metal corrugated wall next to the mouse for purchase, her sharp carbon-alloy claws sinking in and staying there, the other hand she uses to slap hard at one of the girl's elbows, on the inner side so that the arm hopefully collapses, and then clamps it over the girls' shoulder, the claws hurting but not digging in, not too much anyway. She presses herself up against Shoya, and brings her face right up to hers, eyes wide, ears back, looking much more like the leopard she was derived from than human. She pulls her lips back from her fangs, tilts her head and dips those teeth down to the girl's throat....

 

Shoya Namuya lets out a sharp shriek mixed with a squeak when her arm is hit and she turns her head to the side. When it's pinned above her she lets out another cry before she looks to Ashur's eyes. Her own eyes were filled with fear and a bit of sadness and her ears were lowered as well, although hers were lowered from fear. She lets out a small sob when she sees the fangs and she says in a miserable voice "... Oh god... Somebody help me...." And she closes her eyes tight. When she feels the fangs on her throat she sobs again and she tenses up, tears quickly starting to stream her cheeks

 

Ashur Kentoku whispers softly, her lips brushing the soft skin of the girl's throat. "No onnnee cannn hellp youu butt yourrrssssellfff." Then, she grips Shoya's throat with her fangs and holds them there for a moment, before beginning to bite down....

 

Shoya Namuya sobs even more as she hears Ashur's words ands he says "Ju-Just leave me alone!!! I haven't done anythi-" But when the fangs start to dig into her throat she lets out a sharp shriek! She freezes, tensing up even more as she moves her free hand up to start to push on Ashur's chest this time, her chest starting to ache from her heart thumping against it

 

Ashur Kentoku bites down slowly, drawing blood, the taste of it making her shiver all over. She ignores Shoya's relatively ineffectual push and hangs on with her claws....she wondered how far she would have to go before the girl realized she was about to die and fought back...

 

Shoya Namuya 's eyes roll into the back of her head when Ashur's bite gets harder. She continues to push on the woman and she sobs again, the sob now coming out choked. After a moment she starts to swing her free hand wildly, aiming weak punches at Ashur as she tries to get in a breath of air, her body starting to tremble as she tries to pull her head awa yfrom the woman as well, probably only causing more pain on her throat... She couldnt' take much more...

 

Ashur Kentoku stops her downward bite when Shoya begins to flail, sucks once at the wound like a vampire and releases her throat. She pulls her head back, blood on her lips, leaking from her mouth..."Yesss...." she hisses. "That'sss the ssspirit!" She winces as one of the punches strikes the side of her face, then slwoly eases herself off the girl, her eyes clearing as she wipes at her mouth with the back of a hand. "Like that, but more foreceful," she merrs. "You have a fighting spirit in you, Shoya. It's in there, waiting to come out and be shown they way." She releases the girl, and helps support her so she can stand. "And I can help you with that, if you want."

 

Shoya Namuya pushes herself against the wall and she stares at Ashur with wide eyes when the pressure is lifted off her throat. She stares at her for a moment longer before she turns and she bolts away again, all rational thoughts gone by now, her attention entirely on getting away and finding a place ot hide now

 

Ashur Kentoku takes a few quick steps after her and grabs at an arm, trying to swing her around. "Shhhh," she merrs, making mother cat sounds now, in sharp contrast to her earlier predatory behaviour. "Listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you anymore. Or kill you. Listen....just listen...." Her voice is soft and clear, insistent....

 

Shoya Namuya lets out another scream when Ashur grabs her arm and she sobs before shouting in terrified shrieks "NO! no no no!! NO!!! Don't hurt me!! Don't hurt me! I don't want to die!!" And she starts to struggle wildly. Despite the words she shakes her head franticly, loud sobs escaping her as she pants heavily

 

Ashur Kentoku goes back on her word to not hurt Shoya and promptly slaps her face, hard....she knew panic when she saw it, and knew a sudden shock usually cured that. "Stop behaving like a panicked deer!" she hisses. "Gods, if I wanted to kill you I'd have done so! LISTEN to me!"

 

Shoya Namuya shrieks again when she's slapped and she closes her eyes tight. She sobs but she doesn't stop struggling. This wasn't exactly panic that hit her, this was her losing control of her instincts.... Panic MIXED with Instincts to be exact. She continues to struggle and she squeaks loudly, her shoulder only starting to bleed more as she keeps her eyes closed tight

 

Ashur Kentoku growls and lets her go, knowing she would only hurt her further, and realizing the girl is probably hurting herself now as much as anything. She steps away, sighing in disappointment, her attempt at reaching the girl's fighting spirit through example a failure as far as she was concerned. Maybe next time. She leapt away to the rooftops, in a filthy mood....

 

Shoya Namuya stumbles back when Ashur lets go of her, still struggling a bit. She glances around quickly before she turns and she quickly bolts away, still taking in quick and almost painful breaths as she starts to look for a safe place to hide

 

Having her dream of Heaven interupted by the evil eye Shot who was a horrible student of hers 20 years ago, Sister Mary Moo ran as fast as she could. Being a bowling pin and having no legs to speak of, she knew it would be a matter of time before she got bowled over by the bullying eyeball. She had to think of some other way to escape his unblinking stare.

 

Whilst running, only slowing down once to yell back, "don't forget to burn a match when your done, sweetie pie", she had a brilliant idea. She would run from her dream of heaven into a Nightmare and fight the evil eye on his own turf!

 

She waited till she could see the yellow of his eye and ran straight into her nightmare! Shot the evil eye, so intent on bowling her over did not notice till it was too late. He screamed in anger, "NOOOOOOOO, Not the DARK!"

 

Giggling like a little Catholic school girl, Sister Mary Moo knew that Shot's pupils didn't dialate and couldn't see in the dark and she would be able to escape.

 

View on black or you will have nightmares of yellow eye

 

Sister Mary Moo series: Part 3

 

100 Words: 5 Anger

Our Daily Topic: Begins with N

☆Location: Tate Art Museum, UK.

Source: www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/freud-girl-with-a-kitten-t12617

www.hse.ru/ba/philology/news/266870587.html

 

Lucian Michael Freud (1922 – 2011) was a British painter and draughtsman, specialising in figurative art, and is known as one of the foremost 20th-century portraitists. He was born in Berlin, the son of Jewish architect Ernst L. Freud and the grandson of Sigmund Freud. His family moved to Britain in 1933 to escape the rise of Nazism. From 1942–43 he attended Goldsmiths College, London. He served at sea with the British Merchant Navy during the Second World War.

His early career as a painter was influenced by surrealism, but by the early 1950s his often stark and alienated paintings tended towards realism. Freud was an intensely private and guarded man, and his paintings, completed over a 60-year career, are mostly of friends and family. They are generally sombre and thickly impastoed, often set in unsettling interiors and urban landscapes. The works are noted for their psychological penetration and often discomforting examination of the relationship between artist and model. Freud worked from life studies, and was known for asking for extended and punishing sittings from his models.

 

'Girl with a Kitten' is one of eight portraits that Lucian Freud made of his first wife, Kathleen Garman (1926–2011), between 1947 and 1951. In this closely cropped composition, in which she is pictured against a beige wall, Garman holds a kitten by its neck in a tense grip, her knuckles especially prominent, seeming to half-strangle the animal without concern. Given that Garman was generally known as Kitty (a short form of Kathleen as well as a familiar term for a kitten), her treatment of the cat raises – and consciously leaves entirely unresolved – questions about her self-image. Garman stares into the middle distance with a pensive expression, while the kitten looks directly at the viewer. Every element in the painting is depicted with equal scrutiny, from the reflections in Garman’s pupils to the static energy of her wavy hair – a precision achieved through the use of fine sable brushes on finely woven canvas. A silvery light suffuses the image, granting the shadows in Garman’s pearl-like skin and the soft blue garment she wears a chill uniformity.

In 1946–7 Freud traveled to Paris and Greece, returning to London in February 1947. Here he began a relationship with Kitty Garman, the eldest daughter of the sculptor Jacob Epstein and the model and collector Kathleen Garman. The subsequent marriage between Freud and Kitty was short-lived – they wed in the spring of 1948 and divorced in 1952 after having two daughters. Freud’s portraits of Kitty include four oil paintings – beginning with Girl in a Dark Jacket 1947 and finishing with Girl with a White Dog 1950–1 (Tate N06039) – as well as two etchings, a work in pastel, and a drawing in ink and crayon.

The portraits of Kitty Garman mark the culmination of Freud’s early portrait style, which evoked the tradition of Neue Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity) – a form of realist painting that emerged in Germany in the early 1920s, and was characterised by its sharp and unsentimental style. (Freud, grandson of the psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud, was born in Berlin in 1922 and came to Britain in 1933, and studied at a number of art schools during the war.) The intensity of Girl with a Kitten, and especially the manner in which Garman dominates the pictorial frame, might also stem from Freud’s approach to his sitters at this time, which had distinct psychological and spatial aspects. The artist admits his early portraits emerged from his ‘visual aggression’ with sitters. He claimed, ‘I would sit very close and stare. It could be uncomfortable for both of us.’ By the mid-1950s Freud had abandoned the highly controlled style of portraiture seen in this work, and he began to paint in a looser and more viscous style. Girl with a Kitten is dated September 1947 on its reverse and was first exhibited at the London Gallery in October 1947, in a show titled Lucian Freud and John Craxton. It next appeared at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London in 1950, as part of the group exhibition London/Paris: New Trends in Painting and Sculpture. In 1954 it was exhibited at the Venice Biennale (where it was called Girl with Cat, the only time it appears to have been displayed under that title), where Freud was selected to represent Britain along with Ben Nicholson and Francis Bacon. In the catalogue for the British Pavilion, John Rothenstein, then director of the Tate Gallery, wrote of Freud: ‘For many there is something cold and unrelenting in the long, unblinking stare he gives his subjects. It is not a sentimental or even a tender stare: it is a stare of sheer fascination’ (John Rothenstein, in Nicholson, Bacon, Freud, exhibition catalogue, British Pavilion, Venice Biennale, London 1954, unpaginated). Previously owned by Freud’s elder brother, Stephen, Girl with a Kitten later entered the collection of philanthropist and collector Simon Sainsbury, himself the subject of a portrait by Freud (Red-Haired Man with Glasses 1987–8). Alongside two other Freud paintings, Boy Smoking 1950–1 (Tate T12618) and The Painter’s Mother IV 1973 (Tate T12619), it became part of the Simon Sainsbury Bequest in 2006, in which eighteen works were donated to Tate and the National Gallery. Girl with a Kitten was chosen as the cover image for the catalogue of a 2008 display of the Bequest.

I took this picture during the International Tipitaka Chanting Ceremony which was standing in Bodh Gaya (बोधगया), in the Indian state of Bihar.

Those Tibetan women were happy to be under the Bodhi Tree at the Mahabodhi Temple, the place of Gautama Buddha's attainment of nirvana (Enlightenment).

 

The Bodhi Tree is a large and very old Sacred Fig tree (Ficus religiosa) under which Siddhartha Gautama, the spiritual teacher and founder of Buddhism later known as Gautama Buddha, achieved enlightenment, or Bodhi.

In religious iconography, the Bodhi tree is recognizable by its heart-shaped leaves, which are usually prominently displayed.

According to Buddhist texts the Buddha, after his Enlightenment, spent a whole week in front of the tree, standing with unblinking eyes, gazing at it with gratitude.

This tree is a frequent destination for pilgrims, being the most important of the four holy sites for Buddhists.

 

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© All photographs are copyrighted and all rights reserved.

Please do not use any photographs without permission (even for private use).

The use of any work without consent of the artist is PROHIBITED and will lead automatically to consequences.

Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop

 

Inspired by and Reimagined

 

“When the Voidmoon rises, all thrones fall.”

 

Under the pale glow of the eternal moon, Xal’tharion manifests as both sorcerer and god. His horned helm frames eyes that blaze like twin stars of drowned galaxies, while his armored form radiates the weight of aeons. In each clawed hand, spheres of voidfire writhe — condensed chaos, drawn from the marrow of dying worlds. Behind him, gothic spires crumble as reality bends, and writhing tentacles creep from the shadows to herald their master. The moon above does not offer light — it bows, becoming the unblinking witness to his dominion.

Toronto City Hall - "The design of City Hall features two curved towers that rise from differing heights, and a public square featuring a reflecting pool.

 

From the air, the building is seen as a giant unblinking eye, thus the building's original nickname of "The Eye of Government". When finished, the building generated widespread controversy among many who felt that it was "too futuristic" for the city" - Wikipedia

 

Thanks for visiting, enjoy your weekend!

We have sheets of corrugated iron out in the forest and from time to time we get some opportunities to take photographs of creatures that had sought refuge beneath.

 

Today we were quite lucky and found this female grass snake and she was quite a length however she was creating a problem because of her size hence the bits that are out of focus and of course the obligatory leaf or blade of grass in the way. tShe was, once disturbed, anxious to make her escape.

 

That cold unblinking eye is amazing

 

Just time for a few quick clicks before she disappeared.

 

She will I am sure return to the cover of the sheet very shortly

The troops marched across the burnt ground in victory. None payed attention to the bodies that carpeted the very earth itself. None but TK-913. He watched in pity as half a rebel pulled himself towards a medical droid. The droid wasn't functional, but that didn't stop him from trying. TK-913 followed behind him. He removed his helmet to reveal his blood soaked face. "It won't save you," he said indifferently. The rebel reached for his blaster, but the Stormtrooper was considerately faster at drawing his own. "I do this out of mercy," he said quietly, still with the same lack of emotion betrayed in his tone. He pulled the trigger with the steadfast hands and unblinking eyes that came only with from training one's whole life. There was no cry of pain, not gasp for life. All that was left was a hole burnt in the bolt's trail. He quickly rejoined his regiment, honour in tact.

 

Here is the unedited picture: www.flickr.com/photos/66065024@N03/9302636693/in/photostr...

"With an unblinking gaze, Daedalus peers into the depths of the cosmos, charting pathways yet to be discovered." ️🌌

 

- PDF INSTRUCTIONS on my Rebrickable page (Link in Bio)

Miss someone until they come back, or until you come back, until their absence in your life becomes something to be avoided at all costs. Miss them until you don’t have to anymore, until you are reunited, miss them until it feels like you never left. Or miss them until you can’t anymore, until the things you missed are identified and catalogued as things and not person, until you figure out that easy company and long talks and unblinking, all-knowing eye contact will find you again the way they found you the first time. Miss someone until you don’t. - Stephanie Georgopulus

It came from behind me. First a tap on my shoulder followed by a 'Psst, Hey Buddy'. I turned around and saw no one but an ugly wooden face hanging on a fence. As I was pulling splinters from my shoulder, it came again, 'Psst, You there'. I looked up and saw the ugly wooden face staring at me.

 

'You need a job?' it asked me. 'I do not' I told it.

'You need a job!' it told me.

'I do not?' I asked it.

 

It stared at me unblinking with its wooden eyes, 'you pay me $5 and I get you a job'. Bewildered, I asked it what kind of job I was gonna get for $5.

 

Hooker

Erm, no

Housewife

Too much work and I don't have the boobs.

Cat Burglar

I have enough cats and don't need anymore.

 

He shook his head and lowered his eyes as if he was the one talking to an ugly wooden face hanging on a fence. Suddenly his eyes popped open and he exclaimed 'AHA, Set Decorator!'

 

I began to say no when he cut me off, 'shut up young dumb one', he says, 'pay me $5, it is settled'. So I reached into my pocket and pulled out 5 rolls of pennies and handed them over. With that, he cut off my head, threw it across the walkway and yelled 'you decorate that fence way over there!'

 

Best $5 in pennies I ever spent

 

View on black or I'll let the Headhunter find you a job

 

HFF

  

i awoke from sleep upon hearing an unfamiliar sound.

 

thump thump

 

I glanced down to the end of the bed where the dog lay, still asleep, and saw one ear jump up.

 

thump thump

 

A second ear flung to attention next to the first as he continued to lay still. I had no idea what the sound was, i had never heard it before but yet it continued and mystified me.

 

thump thump

 

I saw one eye open just below the two ears down by my feet. Motionless and unblinking it stared into the dark.

 

thump thump

 

For a brief second, my eyes glanced upon a multi colored blur that disappeared as quick as it showed up. I glanced down to the end of the bed, two eyes open, staring. Still.

 

thump thump

 

I reached over to the night stand to grab my glasses when I saw it. I white fuzzy streak carrying a colorful sweet tasting basket of goodies. Excitedly I put my glasses on and was just in time to see my dogs rear end fly up off the bed, pounce across the room in one leap and swallow the Easter Bunny whole, colorful sweet tasting basket of goodies and all in perfect clarity. With one paw, he reached up, wiped his mouth, and burped. A few strands of iridescent Easter Grass blown out by his belch are all that remains.

 

So, if you didn't get an Easter Basket this morning, well, you apparently were slated for a visit AFTER my house. So sorry, best of luck next year.

 

View thanking goodness you're house was before mine, cept you poor Moes who didn't get anything, you can view however you want.

 

Happy Easter (unless your a bunny)

 

for

Our Daily Challenge: Easter

 

Sliders Sunday HSS

Beak-Heads

 

Beak-heads ogle down on centuries of men,

Watching maidens turn to mildew, and blacksmiths

Go to ground. They line up, champing the arch,

Grinding it to roundness with gritted teeth.

Some are half-dog, stone-slavering, faithful;

Others snarl their claims to a dragon’s lineage,

Coiling their unseen tails around roofbeams,

Holding back the fire. At night, when the doors

Close, one slips out its basilisk tongue to lick

Clean its unblinking eye; another sidles

Up to a corbel, making obscene suggestions.

Stone toenails scrabble in the moonlight

Beneath the clerestory, tap-tapping on the

Pitted masonry. Sometimes, they fight.

The nave is filled with unheard spittings

And snarls. They squabble until dawn, then

Retire, bug-eyed and inscrutable. A flower-

Lady flusters with her duster. Their noses

Do not wrinkle. She stoops with her dustpan,

Sighs, tut-tuts, scoops up a fallen scale.

 

Poem by Giles Watson, 2012. The pictures show Romanesque beak heads and corbels at Avington Church, Berkshire.

 

Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.

 

Beneath a sky torn open by a swirling cosmic wound, the surface of N’Zhal-Tekh stretches in jagged, cathedral-like valleys of obsidian. Rivers of pulsing violet-blue energy crack through the stone like corrupted veins, leaking light that doesn’t reflect — it devours. Lightning forks sideways across the cavern walls, igniting momentary flashes of alien geometry that vanish as quickly as they form.

 

Towering needle-like spires rise across the horizon — not built, but grown — seemingly drawn toward the sky’s unblinking eye: a void-star anomaly that anchors the planet’s spatial distortion. This eye sees all, yet promises nothing. Beneath its gaze, memory deteriorates, matter flickers in and out of cohesion, and all sound feels… delayed

 

In the deepest gorge lies the Throne Core, where K’Shaatra dreams in motionless stillness, wired into the planet’s inverted nervous system. The longer you stand on this world, the less you recognize the laws you once lived by.

 

Here, gravity bends inward. Thought bleeds. And purpose becomes irrelevant.

Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop

 

Inspired by and Reimagined

 

"In the violet hour, even the night obeys."

 

Beneath the unblinking gaze of a violet moon, she stands as the sentinel of midnight. Her eyes burn like coals fanned by an unseen wind, each flicker a silent warning. Shadows cling to her as if afraid to leave, their edges glowing faintly with the moon’s amethyst light. The forest behind her twists into jagged silhouettes, its trees bowing under the weight of her presence. Every ember in the air seems to pause mid-flight, caught between fear and reverence.

Do you know what it's like to be owned by the sun? It's a curious feeling. When she sinks into the ocean or erupts from the mountain, a desperate piece of your soul slips with her. In the low, low light of early evening, before darkness fully falls and the scavengers come out, her orange-red light bathes and blinds you. Projected through leaves like stained-glass shadows, she lights your skin without warming your body. But on the harshest of summer's midday, she pours molten fire down on your head, boiling your blood and melting your flesh. Only the shade can bring relief, sheltered beneath those lucky trees that thrive rather than shrivel beneath her melting glare. Rocks swell and crack in the pounding light, and every living thing longs for shelter.

 

But when the sun goes away, we wail and moan for her promised return. At first, it seems like a blessing. After all her constant tyranny, shouldn't we celebrate a long-awaited absence? But as the overcast days stack and pile upon one another, and the shortest days and longest nights come in closer and closer succession, we beg for her return. The stars are only distant imitations, and the moon is but a pale mockery with her unearthly glow. Where is that welcoming glory, the holy hand of Ra? We worship the sun god, the God of the sun. We stare into her unblinking eye, and know that it is good.

GREY PEPPER ART

 

‘The Silent Miaow’’...

 

This marmalade cat is giving that unblinking ‘it’s really time for a tasty snack’ stare that is soo hard to ignore...

 

I am a Kent artist and enjoy watching my pets and other beasties, and try to capture their antics in paint.

 

Similar Original Artworks available via ebay as 'greypepper71' .

 

Prints, home goods, phone covers and much more from:

 

greypepperart.pixels.com/

 

Fine Art England/America: Debra Hall / GreyPepperArt

  

Facebook: GreyPepperArt"

抓拍攝影方案: 建築物

street photography: Architecture

拍攝地點: 深圳 崗廈站

location: Gangxia Station, Shenzhen

Listen to while reading to enhance mood: www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzwY6s1yQjQ

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blitzkrieg grabs me and tackles me to the ground. His hands leap to my throat, but with what little remain strength I have, I boot him in the gut, and he stumbles back a bit. Suddenly flooded with adrenaline, I dash for him and grab him by the wrists. He's not particularly heavy, but he's strong, likely just enhanced.

 

I swing him over my head by the wrists and send him crashing into his desk. I let out a massive scream afterwards; I've just about torn my back muscles to shreds and my arms just feel...well... dead.

 

"Whore!! You shall pay! Start running, mien leibling, because when I get ahold of you again... you're dead....!"

 

I start to run, but then my sudden burst of adrenaline leaves me, as I slump to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Blitzkrieg stands over me, grinning.

 

"Get up." He says, sneering. I don't budge.

 

"I said... get... up!!" He says, louder. He kicks me hard in the side, and I swear I feel ribs shatter. He kicks again, this time breaking my nose. I don't cry outer show pain; I can't give him that.

 

"Must I MAKE you get up, you worthless mongrel? Inbreds must listen to their Aryan masters, Zulu, you know this by now, don't you?"

 

"F-f-fuck....you..." I mutter with what little energy I have.

 

"Sorry, what was that?" He kicks me hard in the stomach, and blood begins to run out my mouth. I can't move. Everything is painful all of a sudden. "Repeat, please!"He screams in my face, cackling with laughter.

 

He grabs me by the throat and hoists me up and holds me there, staring dead in my face. Through my blurry vision, I can see all the disgusting scars and wrinkles and evil laugh lines on his face. His shit-brown eyes stare at me, unblinking. Until now I never noticed one eye of his was missing an eyelid. He brings me closer and speaks right to me. His breath smells disgusting as well; like liverwurst and cheap beer.

 

"Mein leibling, you have caused a great deal of trouble within my happy city... wounded civilians, killed the captain of my guard, destroyed property... the list goes on! Anyhow, Zulu... I sentence you to die. Any last words?"

 

He squeezes my throat tighter, making it impossible for me to speak. I gasp and wheeze, and he grins.

 

"Ah yes, thought so..."

 

Suddenly, the door bursts open and a blurry dark figure stands there. Jerrick?! It holds a gun, but from where I am and with my fading vision, it looks exactly like him and then--

 

BANG!

Name: Ning An

Challenge Name: Birds of a Feather

Artwork Title: The Wait

Size: 9in x 12in

Materials used: Prisma colored pencils and black marker on black drawing paper

Category: Beginner

 

Kingfishers are known for their flying skills and fish hunting prowess. But what attracts me the most is when a kingfisher is waiting for the best moment to strike. Their motionless posture full of power and their unblinking gaze capable of detecting the slighted sign of prey. To capture this dramatic moment, I used colored pencils with blues and greens to bring out the bird’s brilliant feathers, variable colors for the locus pod that it perches upon, and slightly less complex colors for the leaves. I also used a black marker for the eye to make it more shiny.

The Toronto City Hall, or New City Hall, is the seat of the municipal government of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and one of the city's most distinctive landmarks. Designed by Finnish architect Viljo Revell (with Heikki Castrén, Bengt Lundsten, and Seppo Valjus) and landscape architect Richard Strong, and engineered by Hannskarl Bandel, the building opened in 1965. It was built to replace Old City Hall, which was built in 1899. The current city hall, located at Nathan Phillips Square, is actually Toronto's fourth and was built in order to replace the former city hall due to a shortage of space. The area of Toronto City Hall and the civic square was formerly the location of Toronto's Old Chinatown, which was expropriated and bulldozed during the mid-1950s in preparation for a new civic building.

 

In 1958, an international architectural competition was launched by Mayor Nathan Phillips in order to find a design for the new city hall. Revell's winning proposal came first among submissions from 42 countries. It consists of near-twin towers surrounding a white disk-like council chamber, which is mounted on a raised platform with entrances located below. There is also a ramp from connecting the square to the podium roof, from which there is access to the council chamber. The two towers are of unequal height, the east tower being taller than the west. The building was nicknamed "The Eye of the Government" because it resembles a large eye in a plan view. Revell died a year before New City Hall was completed.

 

While the building's base is rectangular, its two towers are curved in cross-section and rise to differing heights. The east tower is 27 storeys (99.5 metres (326 ft)) tall and the west tower is 20 storeys (79.4 metres (260 ft)). Between the towers is the saucer-like council chamber, and the overall arrangement is somewhat like two hands cradling the chamber. The outer concrete surfaces of the towers have been ribbed, to prevent collapse of the fabric as a result of the expansion of the exterior surfaces, and the tearing apart of the fabric as a result of differences in air pressure on the two sides of each wing-like tower during the high winds characteristic of the Great Lakes. The north, west, and east elevations are more abstract and sculptural in contrast with the extensive glazing of south elevation facing the square; each presents a view of concave panels of concrete textured with split-faced strips of Botticino marble. To the east of the square is Old City Hall which is now a courthouse. From the air, the building is seen as a giant unblinking eye, thus the building's original nickname of "The Eye of Government".

 

The design for the public space in front of the new city hall, Nathan Phillips Square, was part of the competition. The square's reflecting pool and concrete arches, fountain, and overhead walkways were thus also part of Revell's submission. It has since seen several monuments, sculptures, and other works of public art added, and was renovated, but it continues to complement the city hall with its original Modernist design elements.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toronto_City_Hall

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Text_of_Creative_Commons_...

I thought I'd give this film a tryout. This is the so-called 'New' emulsion, and timings for 'old' APX-400 development are not recommended.

 

There aren't any unambiguous 'official' timings for developing this film in HC-110 (the Agfaphoto brand licensees give times for other developers).

 

Researching the Internet, some guys on photo.net (photo.net/black-and-white-photo-film-processing-forum/00dVbc) reckon that the film is closely related to Kentmere 400, where a 1:79 dilution (F) will need 16 mins at 20 C. This is the time cited on the Massive Dev Chart.

 

Film and Darkroom User (www.film-and-darkroom-user.org.uk/forum/archive/index.php...) suggest using a dilution of 1:49 for the same time, 16 mins. A temperature is not specified (!) but I assume they are fastidious and use 20 C / 68 F

 

The unblinking eye (unblinkingeye.com/Articles/Times/APX400/apx400.html) quotes an Ed Buffaloe and suggests 9 mins at 70 F (21 C) using dilution B (1:31).

 

If anyone has further thoughts or advice on the film with HC-110 do leave a comment!