View allAll Photos Tagged Unmoving
First Summer Green Heron having some good luck hunting (with the classic Heron 'stopped unmoving' in between.) Here it has a little silvery-colored fish. It had earlier caught a small polliwog (I think. It went down quickly.)
Title.
Backstreets in the Afternoon.2.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 7 / 7
(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)
Images:
Metallica … Enter Sandman
youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=d1rcxkxkvGIu0gB7
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 16😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.
The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.
“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”
“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”
The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.
The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.
Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.
Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.
As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.
Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.
At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.
Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.
In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.
As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.
The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.
By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.
He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.
Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.
As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.
When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.
Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.
The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.
The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.
The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.
Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.
And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.
The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.
When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.
Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
午後の裏通り。２。
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 7 / 7
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Metallica … Enter Sandman
youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=kp4pY2X0_-jFuGQS
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第16弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
夜の帳が低く下り始めたサンフェルナンドバレーの住宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の外には夏の夜の熱気が立ち上り、路面からはまだ昼の光を吸い込んだアスファルトが、赤黒い光の反射を散らしている。移民税関捜査局（ICE）の職員としての彼の一日は、すでにその夜も続いていた。助手席の書類は微かに揺れ、そこに積まれた命令や報告書は、この一日の決断が生身の人々の生活にどう影響するかを、冷たく問いかけていた。
ラジオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら作動し、別の車両との連絡が飛び込んだ。
「確認、住宅街ルート異常なし。熱気のため住民注意」
「了解、次はダウンタウンへの侵入確認」――言葉は簡潔で、しかし背後には重くのしかかる責任が潜んでいた。助手席の彼はその声に耳を傾け、部下たちの緊張や疲労、日々の恐怖を想像する。
静かな住宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る温かい光は家族の生活を、庭に揺れる木々は夏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにとって、守るべき対象であり、同時に判断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。
フリーウェイに合流すると、他の車のヘッドライトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダウンタウンのビル群が夜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を帯び、車内のエアコンでは追いつかない湿気が肌にまとわりつく。助手席のスマートフォンに届くメッセージは冷たく光り、緊急事態や現場からの報告が短く、しかし命を握る重さを帯びて彼の視界に入った。
通勤路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を細め、夏の夜の色彩を読み取ろうとした。ネオンの赤やオレンジ、信号の緑が交錯し、遠くの山並みや海岸線の輪郭がぼんやりと浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲労と責任の影で微かに歪み、部下たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。
夜の住宅街を抜け、ダウンタウンに近づくと、車列は赤い光の帯となり、通勤ラッシュの喧騒とは別の、緊張の波を帯びた流れに変わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳴る救急車のサイレン、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、都市の生の現実を告げている。
車内の会話は最小限に抑えられる。助手席の部下は無言でスマートフォンを操作し、報告書や地図をチェックする。無線が作動するたび、言葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの一語には誰かの生活を左右する重みが宿っていた。
オフィスに到着すると、駐車場には同僚の車が整然と並び、エンジン音やタイヤの振動が微かな呼応を見せていた。夜風が窓から入り込み、紙や書類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に伝える鼓動のように聞こえてくる。
建物内に入ると、冷房の風が肌に触れ、深夜の静けさと相まって、空間に緊張を張り巡らせる。廊下を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貼られた注意書きや掲示板の文字が微かに光を受け、日々の任務とその果てにある現実を思い出させた。
会議室に入ると、部下たちの目が彼を見つめ、報告書がテーブルの上で微かに揺れた。熱気を帯びた夏の空気はエアコンと混ざり、紙の端を微かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の中に緊張を抱え、今日の判断が遠く離れた誰かの生活をどう変えるかを知っていた。
会議が始まると、無線から入る情報がリアルタイムで伝わり、部下たちの視線が交錯する。数字や報告書の行間には必ず生身の人間が存在し、その命を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だと彼らは認識するのだ。
深夜まで続く会議、現場との通信、書類の整理、部下の指示。夜の街は夏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射してちらついていた。その光景を見ながら、ケビンは一日の重みを胸に刻んでいた。
帰路につく頃、通勤路の光景は昼間とは違う表情を見せる。街灯に浮かぶ影、ネオンの赤い反射、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山影が夜空に溶ける。そのすべてが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げていた。
助手席の書類を確認し、深呼吸をひとつついた。夏の夜風が窓を通り抜け、肌に触れる。ケビンの胸には責任感と孤独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の一歩を踏み出す力を与える、都市の息遣いが確かにあった。
夜の光の中、ケビンは夏のロサンゼルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、部下たちの緊張、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海風の匂い、遠くの救急車のサイレン――それらすべてが絡み合い、今日一日の記憶として刻まれていく。車内での沈黙と対話、街の静けさと喧騒、光と影の交錯が、彼の心に都市の立体的な地図を描き、ICE職員としての孤独と責任を鮮明にしていた。
夏の夜が更け、家路につく道すがら、助手席の書類を握り締め、深夜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の影を見つめながら、彼はこの街の声に耳を澄ませる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳴るサイレン、住宅街の静けさ――それらすべてが、ケビンの胸に責任と孤独を刻み込んだ。
ケビンが自宅の扉を押し開けると、夜の熱気はわずかに後退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ込んできた。書類を手から放り投げ、束ねられた紙の重みがテーブルに小さな衝撃を与え、乾いた音を響かせて静けさの中に沈んだ。
彼の肩にのしかかっていた一日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吸い取られたかのように思えた。
しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、見えない振動に触れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎへと変わっていった。家の奥から、微かなきしみが生まれた。木材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楽器の弦を爪弾くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を澄まし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲労による幻聴ではないかと思った。
空気がわずかに震えた。テーブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの水面がかすかに揺れ、光を帯びて波紋を広げた。その波紋は小さくも確かに、家全体の内部に潜む力と呼応しているかのようであった。壁にかけられた額縁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の中で、笑顔を浮かべる人影が、わずかに歪んで見えた。
ケビンは胸の奥にざらついた感覚を覚え、視線を天井へ向けた。天井板の奥で梁が共鳴し合い、低い唸り声のような音を放っていた。それは自然に生まれたものではなく、あらかじめ設計された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を学んだ者ならば知る、木と鉄とコンクリートの呼応だ。その呼応が、今ここで一つの方向へと収束しようとしていた。
床板が低く唸り、足裏に伝わる微細な震えとなった。外の街路灯の光がカーテン越しに入り込み、部屋を淡い橙色で満たしていた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように見えた。家全体が呼吸をしているように膨らみ、そして収縮する。まるで見えない心臓が脈打ち、その鼓動に合わせて梁や柱が響きを返しているかのようであった。
ケビンは両手を膝に置き、動くことなく耳を澄ました。天井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。規則性をもって増幅し、やがて低い波となって部屋全体に広がった。壁紙がわずかに裂け目を見せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を現した。亀裂は細い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。
グラスの中の水が震え、その表面に映る街灯の光が細かく砕けた。外の夜風が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立てた。それに呼応するかのように、梁の唸りが一段と強くなった。その瞬間、家全体がひとつの楽器と化したように、共鳴音を放った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、体内の血流と混ざり合うように感じられた。
ケビンは胸に手を当てた――だが、自分の鼓動と建物の鼓動が重なり、境界が失われていくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み込み、闇の線となった。
梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の命令であり、逃れられぬ下方への召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、夜の街の光が断片となって飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が崩れ落ち、テーブルが傾いた。
そして――天井が裂け、崩れ落ちた。轟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が一気に立ち上った。世界は白く濁り、息が奪われる。
ケビンの体もまた、梁や柱と同じ流れに組み込まれていった。彼は立ち尽くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは引き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇妙な安堵を感じていた。家と共に、自分もまた一つの楽章の終わりとして沈むのだと。
逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき書類も責任も、いまや粉塵の中に溶けていく。
梁が折れ、柱が潰れ、床が裂ける。
そのすべてと同時に、彼の骨も、血も、声も、無数の破片となって夜の空気に散った。崩壊は暴力ではなく、むしろ緻密に設計された楽曲の終章であった。ケビンという存在も、ひとつの音符としてその中に含まれ、やがて静寂に吸い込まれた。
粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。
瓦礫の中にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。
ただ、崩れた梁の影が、彼の名残のように横たわっているだけであった。
遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサイレンが夜を割った。
都市の呼吸は再び続いていたが、ケビンの呼吸はもう戻らなかった。
夜の街に残されたのは、崩壊の余韻と、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の記憶だけだった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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From in to out, from out to in together in light we swim each limb a solar fin as we flow to the sea to the liberty of sea that catches hold of moving stars in reflection only giving them light and life amongst the waves.
There is one way in and in reverse the same way takes you out. Upon the morning of the Twenty First the Sun comes in to clear the old year out and at the setting Sun the last rays take our dead upon their many, many ways to host us around our campfires and welcome us along the routes they took over this place our earthly space and other dead seek out the campfires above that by night have joined us in lighting our fires into the great darkness. Each of us lights beacons each to the others, campfire to campfires showing that warmth and life is only a way away, only the light of one day away and always within reach. We have made our ways with their aid bringing new light in sight by Winter and Summer both, all of us working around the axle light of us all the central star campfire the only unmoving always constant light. Though Sun and Moon, Planet Wandering Lights and Stars Campfire each fixed in distance one from the other and all together, all move across the skies, only the centre star stays central the one true eye within the sky. The rising new stars, the setting old stars sing songs of new seasons approaching of new phases to be begun and of the harvest of just passed and old star months now no longer to be relied upon. The herds move to the way of the stars and they move away even as the stars come and go in circling motions making paths in spiral in our sky as we upon this ground all will make spirals with those stars wherever our spirit is to be found. You come in the warmth of the womb in the earth at birth and you revisit as you age and take new roles in your life. You are a part of the bones in their home of earth and the stones, you are a part of the life of blood til you return to the stars that sent you here and in bone not the flesh your star core rests and in the flesh not the bone your life on earth is given birth and breath for the span of your days ways here til death and star rebirth opens up all of the ways of both nights and days within the Many Mists and the Cosmic Haze.
PHH Sykes 2023
phhsykes@gmail.com
Unstan Chambered Cairn
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/unstan-...
Six Years Ago: The East End
Perched on the fire escape, Eric Needham chapped gently on his apartment's window. “Linda, can we talk?”
No response. He figured that may have been the case. Since he had caught her using again, their relationship had been... Well, ‘strained’ didn’t exactly cover it. But with every dealer he took off the streets, Eric was certain he was making a brighter future for them, for their son. Mikey wouldn’t have to grow up like he did. Mikey wouldn’t have to do the things that Eric had to.
Behind the glass, he could make out his girlfriend’s unmoving silhouette on the sofa, his son sitting on the ground beside her.
No, not sitting… Lying; sprawled out across the ground. Eric’s eyes widened and a sense of dread washed over him. 'God, please, not them too.'
He punched through the glass window, paying no attention to the shards tearing his hand open as he entered the room. He rushed to Mikey first, his eyes drawn to an overturned bowl of cereal and the white powder on the ground beside him. ‘The cereal… He’d put the smack in the cereal… Must have thought it was sugar, I mean, why wouldn’t he?’
‘Please… Please God, let there be a pulse,’ he begged, shaking Mikey’s still body frantically. He turned to Linda next, his face twisted with anger and sorrow.
“Do you know what you’ve done?!” he shook her. “Do you know what-”
His lip twitched. Tears streaming down his fear, he huddled his family together and wept. Not just for his family, but for the death of a normal life.
Now:
Sionis Warehouse: South Gotham
Jenna’s head was spinning. She could just hear Franco arguing with Ferris. She tried to move but found herself unable to; her wrist was wrapped in cold metal: Handcuffs, pinning her to a steel pipe.
“You brought the girl?” Ferris was complaining. “Sloppy, Davey. Sloppy. Fortunately, I can work with sloppy.”
Franco ruffled his hair awkwardly. “They got Rosso.”
“Eh. No real loss.”
“You think? If they find out what he did for me, we’re both dead.”
“You’re dead anyway," Jenna spat.
“Ah! The sleeping beauty awakes,” Ferris cocked his head to one side.
“When Gar gets here-”
Ferris flicked his finger on her forehead. “When ‘Gar’ gets here, we’re gonna blast him full of lead. Heh. This girl of yours must be real handy with those lips, Davey, ‘cause I can’t figure out why else you’d let her keep flapping ‘em.”
Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks
The henchmen all wore grotesque masks, loading pallets onto a group of large semi-trucks. One, in a rubber elephant mask, was talking to the others. “There was some killing on Third and Milton. Nasty stuff: had the lieutenants real spooked. Strung him up like a fly.”
“Was it The Bat?” a henchman in a chicken mask asked.
“Was it the-? The Bat don’t kill, moron. Everybody knows that,” a third, in a pink bear mask, chided the second.
“Ain’t what I heard. Heard there was this guy; The KGBeast; a high-profile Russian hitman or mercenary or something? Bat trapped him in a sewer, left him to starve to death,” a fourth in an astronaut helmet chimed in.
“That’s horsecrap. He’d have let the cops know where to pick him up, the Commissioner at least. They’re tight,” a goon in a white rabbit mask stated.
“Nah, man. This Beast guy? Killed 130 people, good half of them were innocents. You don’t fuck with innocents. Not with The Bat,” the astronaut claimed.
“Bull! I’ve met the Beast. He works with the bosses now and then. You’re talking outta your ass,” the bear masked henchman frowned. “It’s probably that new guy, the-”
He didn’t finish his sentence. A strand of red webbing latched itself around his neck and raised him off the ground. His legs flailed helplessly for what seemed like an eternity and then, snap. The body went limp.
“What the fuck was that?!”
“Holy crap, he’s dead!”
The Rabbit fired his machine gun into the rafters, hoping to weed out the assailant. Screams echoed throughout the warehouse. “Come on out, you son of a bitch! You’re outnumbered.”
Something rolled across the ground towards him, shattering his confidence: A bloodied chicken mask, the head still inside. The Rabbit stepped backwards, colliding with an upside-down body; a disembowelled corpse in an elephant mask, pinned to the wall by that same red webbing. Before the Rabbit could call for help, a serrated blade tore his throat open.
“This is fucked, man!” the astronaut panicked. “There were at least twenty other guys in here, where the hell are they?”
He tripped over the chicken’s headless body, falling to the ground. A figure in an orange mask and several layers of body armour grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him close.
“Who are you working for?” the figure asked.
“I don’t-! I can’t-!” the Astronaut stammered.
“This warehouse is the biggest heroin plant in the city now talk!"
"I can't! He'll kill me!"
"I'LL KILL YOU! NOW, WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?!” the Black Spider roared.
"The Black Mask,” the goon spluttered. “We’re working for the Black Mask!”
Before the goon could divulge more information, an armoured fist intervened, flooring Needham. The assailant was dressed in a suit of purple and grey armour, a single red visor across his eyes. Their gloves buzzed with yellow sparks. Needham hadn’t met this one before.
“No-no-no-no, please! I didn’t tell him nothing! I swear to Chri-”
The goon’s shout of protest was muffled by the Lightning Bug’s hand around his mouth. The gauntlet crackled with yellow electricity and lightning shot through the goon’s body, burning them from the inside. The body glowed with brilliant light, and then with a final muffled shriek: the light went out. Lightning Bug slackened his grip, and a charred corpse crumpled to the ground, smoke rising from the mouth of the blackened body. Beneath his mask, the Lightning Bug smirked: now he could turn his attention back to the intruder
As he approached, lightning dragged along the grated floor and railings, every metal surface a death trap beneath the Bug’s boots. So, Needham had to stick to the air; narrowly dodging a blast of yellow electricity, he leapt off the narrow walkway, firing a web at the wooden rafters to keep himself airborne. Recognising the Spider’s strategy, Lightning Bug shot at the rafters; as the blast found its mark, the wooden supports caught fire, the flames carrying down across the walls.
Needham lost his balance when the Bug struck the beams and fell into a pile of wooden crates. Shaking the wooden splinters off his person, Needham fired another web, carrying him onto the opposite end of the gantry. Aiming for the Bug’s visor, Needham grabbed a machine gun from a fallen False Facer and opened fire. The Bug raised his arm out in front of his face and used his gauntlet to shield his eyes, aiming to outlast Needham’s ammunition. And sure enough, the clip was emptied before it could penetrate the Bug’s armour.
As the fire intensified, the sprinkler systems kicked into gear; the water sizzling as it battered down onto the Bug’s armour. Needham discarded the gun, and firing two more webs, he brought a large crane down on top of the Bug. ‘The roof was going to cave in any minute,’ he realised. 'And soon the cops would be here.' Needham fired a web up at the open skylight, and swung out into the night, hoping the flames would finish the Bug off. But as he left, an armoured fist broke free from the debris.
The Gotham Royal Hotel
Lobby: Ground Floor
Time went on, and the remaining Misfits reunited in the lobby. The group’s attention was momentarily drawn to the window; the reporters had started to gather outside, taking pictures and forcibly extracting statements from the irritated witnesses and handcuffed prisoners. From inside the lobby, Sharpe stuck his tongue out at Jack Ryder, and pulled down the curtains. Mayo was slowly waltzing around the lobby. Bridget, who had arrived with Chuck, Kuttler and Ten, kept her distance from the group.
Chuck’s head was resting on the check-in desk, his arms sprawled out in front of him. Beside him, a sorrowful Rigger lay the broken hilt of his katana on the countertop, lamenting the weapon’s loss. Ten sat on his right, wearing a sling around his injured shoulder. Blake joined them last; a series of white bandages wrapped around his bare chest. Smiling, he plopped a quartet of glasses down beside them. “Drink,” he encouraged the trio, pouring a generous amount of dark liquid into each glass.
Chuck smiled back. “Cheers,” he toasted his teammates.
As they drank, Flannegan approached the group, dressed in an ugly, dark green raincoat.
“You’re leaving?” Chuck asked.
“Job’s done, isn’t it?” Flannegan challenged him.
"Unbelievable…” Chuck voiced his disapproval but knew there was little point in keeping Flannegan here against his will. Flannegan saluted the group, and took the remainder of the bottle for himself, tucking it under his overcoat.
Kuttler was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, pressing an ice pack against his bruised forehead. He lowered the ice pack from his forehead and rolled his eyes: Sionis was strutting down the marble staircase, Li by his side. Needham stood at the entrance, his arms folded and his back leaning against the door in defiance of the new arrival.
“What a dutiful bunch you all are. Can’t imagine how anyone got past you,” Sionis addressed the room of downtrodden C-Listers.
“That said..." he cleared his throat as if the words were painful to admit: "Thank you.” Clearly, he had been prompted by Li.
Mayo scratched his forehead as he struggled to make sense of the unexpected compliment. “But we ruined everything. A bunch of people died. The damages to the hotel-”
Sionis flapped his hand at him dismissively. “Oh, I know. But I’m insured on all of that. Well, not the men, but those are replaceable. Good work people, I hope I never have to see any of you again.”
The latter comment seemed to be directed at Kuttler specifically, as Sionis came to a stop at his side, paying no attention to the Black Spider's judgemental glare. “Oh, elevator’s back online, yeah?” he growled at him.
“They’re pre-programmed to shut down in the event of a fire,” Kuttler claimed.
“While occupied?” Sionis asked.
“It’s your building,” Kuttler challenged him, lowering his purple-tinted glasses. “We had no way to know Carson was coming,”
Sionis eyed him up and down, unsatisfied with his response. “Smartass,” he snarled, shoving him aside. "And you, kid, you on their side now?" he examined Bridget.
"Play nice," Needham warned, a hand rested by his sheathed blade. For the first time that night, Sionis noticed him.
"That's right, I forgot we had a Bat-Chaperone with us,” he raised his arms in the air. As he made a beeline for the check-in desk, Chuck looked down into his glass, avoiding eye contact.
“Doubt there’s any point asking the blind man…” Sionis stood intrusively close to Chuck. “So, how about you? You see Tiger Shark pass by here, Kite-Man?” he asked.
Chuck’s back straightened, and he turned to Sionis stone-faced.
“Who?”
Sionis took a step back. If he had eyebrows, he’d have surely raised one. “Well, aren’t you a grumpy little bastard tonight... You hit your head? Maybe fly into my desk headfirst?”
As tensions began to mount, Li stepped between the pair, handing Sionis his tablet. “Sir, you’ll want a look at this. The security footage from the 13th floor.”
As Sionis glanced at the recording, his eyes narrowed. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“Just keep watching,” Li said calmly. As the footage played, a familiar man wearing a wolf-like helmet and purple suit walked into focus and pressed a button on the nearby keypad.
“Ferris-?” Sionis grimaced. “What the hell was he up to-?”
As he finished inputting the code, the wall slid out, and Ferris disappeared behind it, the wall closing back up behind him.
“I told you it wasn’t Day,” Li finished, his tone suggesting he felt vindicated.
“I wish I could say I was happy for you…” Sionis murmured. “Wait a minute,” he gestured to the corner of the screen. “The time stamp… This happened two hours before Day attacked,” he glared at Li, waiting for his explanation.
“If I might suggest something... Kuttler is a tech genius. The only way someone; Krill, Day; could bypass his systems is if they already had the security codes. Or knew someone who did.”
“And?”
“Ferris knew something was going down. That’s why he left the party prematurely.”
“Well,” Sionis scoffed. “It’s a hell of a theory.”
“It is. But I do my research,” Li spoke, swiping his fingers across the tablet to another photo. “This was taken outside the Thompkins Homeless Center. And that’s Ferris, sat across from Abner Krill.”
Sionis gritted his teeth. “Is there anyone who doesn’t want to kill me?” he snarled.
“Nope." Needham’s arms stayed folded.
Sionis growled, as he swung back around. “Hey, Misfits, maybe I could still use you.”
“Are you serious?” Chuck asked. “Drury’s gone. Have someone else do your dirty work.”
“Well, that would be nice, Kite-Man. However, you may not have noticed, but all my employees seem to be betraying me!"
As if on cue, the stairwell door swung open, and Garfield Lynns staggered into the lobby; his shirt drenched in sweat, his face bruised and swollen, and covered in still damp blood.
Joey's eyes widened. "Gar!"
"Here, take it easy, Garfield," Reardon advised him, offering him his seat at the desk.
"Woah," Sharpe whistled. "You look like shit! Like, more than usual. Like, think how bad you must look now if on your best day, you look like a shaved testi-"
"Gar, what happened?" Chuck asked, expressing concern as Lynns collapsed onto the stool beside him and drank his half full glass of alcohol.
"Gar, where's Jenna?" Joey asked anxiously. "Gar?"
Gar didn't respond. His eyes appeared to stare off into nowhere. “He took her," he said finally, his jaw slackening. "I tried to stop him, but he took her."
“Who? Franco?” Joey asked. That got Sionis’ attention, whose previous reaction to the conversation had been one of pure apathy.
"Franco did that?” Sharpe gestured to Gar’s wounds. “I’ll be honest, between this and the car crash, I think you might be losing your touch.”
"No, not him... His assistant… bodyguard. He is… was a metahuman. A blood monster. Took him out with a Molotov but... By that point, Franco had already sealed the upstairs passage."
“Cool,” Sharpe and Mayo nodded in admiration. The former, stuck his head around the door Gar had come through, hoping to catch a glimpse of the 'blood monster.'
“That tunnel, where does it come out?” Gar asked Li frantically.
“One of our old warehouses, South Gotham, I think. You said it was a blood monster?” he asked Gar.
“What?” Gar asked, failing to see the relevancy. “Yeah, some kinda bloodbender. Like, from Avatar. Have you seen Avatar?”
“No.”
“Well, I have. Blame Rigger.”
“I shall.”
“You shouldn’t, it’s a good show!” Joey interjected.
“It’s fine," Gar conceded, realising he was getting off-topic. "This guy made me beat myself within an inch of my life, made Jenna watch, healed Franco’s injuries… Bloodwork, he said his name was.”
“And where is he now?”
Gar paused. “He’s splattered across the east stairwell.
“Aw, that’s not a monster!” Sharpe complained loudly as he re-entered the lobby. “That’s just a pile of blood.”
Li and Sionis looked at each other.
Li swallowed. “Sir… You don’t think-?”
“I want Franco's blood tested," Sionis ordered. “Dig up any files we have on Blackgate, including his connection to Gaige, and find out when his correspondence with Ferris first began; I need to know if they were conspiring before we lifted his exile...”
"That may take time," Li stated. "We'd need to find an uncorrupted blood sample, run it against the one we received from Blackgate."
"Franco took a polka dot to the stomach earlier," Gar stated. "I'd start there."
"Hmff," Sionis grunted. "Richardson's still on the take," he reminded his assistant. "Have him swipe a sample from upstairs. While we wait, I want you to surround the South Warehouse. No one in or out, capiche?”
“That may prove difficult. If Franco indeed got to Ferris, while he was exiled on another continent, he may have also enlisted your captains. We’re talking about a full-scale power play.”
“Then we’ll do it.”
Sionis tilted his head back. "Hm?"
Gar had risen from the stool and stepped between Sionis and Li. “We’ll take the job,” he clarified.
"Now, Gar, wait a minute-" Chuck protested, following him as he offered Sionis his hand.
"Bookworm’s right. You can't trust your own guys. Franco could've already bought them off. But you can trust me, because there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do to protect that woman.”
“Well, aren’t you the romantic.” Sionis smirked as he accepted the handshake. “You remember Iron-Hat Ferris, I take it?”
Behind them, Blake laughed. “’Iron-Hat?’ What does he do, haunt abandoned fairgrounds for the insurance money?”
“Didn’t realise we were taking pointers from the Catman.”
“You’re not coming,” Gar shook his head. “Not with that stab wound. Ten neither. And Mayo... Not Mayo."
“Hold that thought,” Sionis’ phone buzzed, and he rolled his eyes. “Penguin.” He turned his head to the quarrelling Misfits. “I have to take this. Mingle among yourselves," he said patronisingly, as he left the room, followed by Li.
As Sionis departed, Joey shook his head. “That man deserves a fiery death...” he muttered.
“Yes,” Reardon murmured in agreement. “And for some reason, we prevented one.”
"What's your problem?" Gar glared at Chuck.
"My problem?" Chuck squinted.
“Franco has Jenna. Jenna! This might be my only chance of getting her back. Why are you trying to mess that up?”
"Why? Because we're not his personal kill squad. Look, Julian was one of us, as were the rest of the Outcasts; to an extent, but I draw the line with Franco and this Ferris guy. That's mob business and I don't want to see any more of us caught in the crossfire."
“And you'd leave Jenna to die instead?” Gar spluttered in indignation. "Isn't she one of us?"
Chuck sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying! But God, Gar, at least think it through. You do what you’re planning, if you kill Franco, do you really think she can love you? You’re being used. You’ll be little more than Sionis’ executioner. Again.”
"You don’t understand! I love her!”
"Of course, I understand, but she’s a grown woman. A grown woman, who, I might add, managed to hit Carson with a car.”
“To be fair though, who hasn’t,” Sharpe interjected.
“Just have faith in her! Give her some credit, please," Chuck urged.
"It's not just mob business."
"What?" Chuck stared at Bridget.
"It's not just mob business,” she repeated, a little unsure of herself.
“Go on," Needham encouraged her. "It's alright."
Bridget turned to Gar. “Dad followed Carpenter home one night. He was looking for you; must’ve thought that she’d lead him to you and Walker. But he found Franco instead. I guess they developed some kind of understanding, because, well they’re both still breathing. Tonight, Franco phoned dad out of the blue. Said he knew where to find Drury. And his friends.”
“Franco phoned him? Not Jules?” Blake asked.
Bridget scratched her arm. “Uh-uh. Day thought Dad was beneath him. He was always bragging about these secret partners of his. Seemed to think they were going to take over the city.”
“Drury,” Gar whispered. He looked ashamed, disgusted that he hadn’t noticed his best friend’s absence. “Where is Drury?”
The Misfits looked at each other guiltily. Ten swallowed. “You don’t know?”
Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks
Roman Sionis stood by the harbour. Smoke was still billowing from the charred warehouse. His warehouse. “30 men dead. 30. The East End operation is fucked…” he gritted his teeth. “What the hell happened exactly?” he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
A man in a violet mask and a red suit and cape stepped forward. “Per the Bug’s account, this was the work of one man; calls himself Black Spider. He’s been active for a couple of years, never been worth our time; went after street dealers, the small stuff,” he explained.
“And? What changed?”
James Carter lowered his notepad. “We’re still working on that, sir. Still, it’s not uncommon for these types to get reckless, or cocky. Take down one street thug and they think they’re invincible all of a sudden. The Bug said he likely died in the blaze. We’re checking the river for a body. It’ll turn up soon enough.”
Sionis reached into his pocket and opened a bottle of his prescription heart medication. “30... Shit. You’re the PI, right? Gaige’s,” he inquired, swallowing a handful of orange pills.
“Incognito,” the red suited man introduced himself.
Sionis snorted derisively. “Yeah, with that cape?”
The Gotham Royal Hotel:
Room 792: Floor 25
A lone GCPD officer, Richardson, shone a torch at the wall. What looked to be Walker’s signature cocoon formula was peeling off the wall. A good chunk of the residue appeared to have been removed somehow, eaten, the cop suspected. And whatever the webbing had held, was gone
Six Years Ago: Sionis’ Penthouse. Diamond District
Sionis poured a bottle of scotch into a pair of glasses, offering a tumbler to his guest first. The guest declined, instead retrieving a thin cigarette from a pouch in his dark grey utility belt. Sionis shrugged, and after chugging down his whiskey, got down to business: “You come highly recommended from a… mutual friend of ours. Can’t say I’ve ever held his opinion in high regard, but my boys vouch for you. That kid, Joseph, he’s the one who set up the initial meet between me and your... manager.”
“He’s not my manager,” the guest frowned, flicking his lighter on and off compulsively.
“Well, he hyped you up plenty.”
“That’s just Drury. He exaggerates.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Sionis inhaled. “Joseph... is getting cold feet. Guess that mess in the East End was too much for him to handle: bit of a softie, that one... I take it you saw the news?”
The guest, dressed in a dark grey jumpsuit and a bandolier lined with explosives around his torso, smiled thinly. “Saw your warehouse up in smoke, if that’s what you mean. Helluva blaze. Wish I’d been there in person.”
“You and me both,” Sionis glared at him. “That little... accident cost me a dozen of my best guys. High earners. I need someone to pick up the slack, recoup our losses. That gonna be you, Lynns?”
The guest closed his lighter suddenly. “Please, sir. Call me Firefly.”
The Gotham Royal Hotel
Lobby: Ground Floor
Gar sat back down as he processed this. Franco sent Carson. Carson, who Drury had sacrificed his freedom to take down. He remembered the look Drury gave him in that hallway, a non-verbal plea to find Jenna, to be happy. And his hand formed a fist.
“That settles it.”
The Misfits looked at Gar.
“Franco’s just given me two reasons to kill him.”
“I’m in,” Rigger patted him on the back, tucking the broken katana into its sheath. “A guy’s gotta have his wingman.”
Gar nodded appreciatively, then turned to Chuck, gesturing to Blake and Reardon. “Those two need a doctor. Can I count on you to be their designated driver?”
Chuck nodded hesitantly. “Sharpe says he knows a guy.”
The two stared at each other as realization washed over them.
“The lizard?”
“The lizard.”
Gar scoffed, then turned to Joey. “Suit up.”
“Already have!” he beamed back as he ripped his shirt open, revealing the red and yellow fireproof spandex beneath.
Needham’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been wearing that the whole time?”
Gar scratched his scalp. “Christ. You must smell like an old boot...”
“Like my pop’s old flip flops!”
~-~
“Oswald, this had better be good,” Sionis drawled into his phone. As Cobblepot spoke, Sionis’ eyes widened. “What?” he snapped.
Li watched from the side, concerned.
“Where? Yes, I’ll be there. Tell White to meet me there.”
“Sir?” Li tilted his head to one side.
Sionis didn’t elaborate. Instead, he swung around, placing a hand around his assistant’s arm.
"You still got that gun I gave you?" he asked. His tone was one of uncharacteristic concern.
Li nodded, gesturing to the bulge behind his tweed jacket.
"Good,” Sionis’ head swayed from side to side. And without another word, he stepped into the awaiting black limousine.
~-~
Li re-entered the Royal alone, his coat damp from the snow outside. “Have we reached a consensus?” he asked the group.
“Chuck here is gonna take care of our wounded,” Gar stated, “So Joey and I are all you’ve got.”
...
“Very well,” Li said, although he was clearly disappointed with this turn of events. “But be aware: Henry Ferris is not to be underestimated. He is a ruthless, unrepentant monster."
“Yeah, um, your boss is Black Mask. All things considered, isn’t that a little hypothetical?" Blake scratched his head.
"Hypocritical," Kuttler corrected him.
“You don’t understand,” Li shook his head. “Upon his return, I did some digging; research into the circumstances behind his exile, behind that mask he wears... Six years ago, Henry Ferris increased the potency of our drugs, and distributed them among poor neighbourhoods. Black neighbourhoods.”
‘Six years...’ Needham thought to himself, as he was filled with dread. ‘It wasn’t an accident...’ He remembered little Mikey on the floor, an overturned bowl of cereal at his side. Linda, her face white, stained with vomit. The still hot spoon on the table… The bag of heroin spilled across the sofa and along the floor...
‘It wasn’t an accident.’
Suddenly he leapt to his feet and grabbed Li by his collar. “Did you say six years?”
Six Years Ago: The Monarch’s Court
“Henry Ferris. You stand before the High Table, today, on July 14th, 2013, accused of the reckless endangerment of our assets and of drawing unwanted attention to our East End operations. How do you plead?” the red-suited man at the end of the table asked.
“How do I plead?” the accused repeated, a bewildered look upon his chiselled face. “This is a joke, right?”
“Hardly,” the man in the striped scuba suit snarled.
“Uh, should I repeat the question-?” the speaker asked his superiors.
“I heard you fine, Incognito,” Ferris responded. “I’m just confused. Confused why I’m on some sham trial and not shaking hands with the big bosses; No offense, pirate; in the Falcone penthouse.”
Ferris ran his finger along his crooked nose. “If I’m guilty of anything, and I do mean ‘if,’ it’s of maintaining the high standards that you’ve all let slip in Falcone’s absence. If the Roman were here-”
“He’s not,” the scuba-suited enforcer spat.
“If the Roman were here, I can guarantee you all that he’d be thanking me for purifying that disgusting, dirty little corner of Gotham.”
“Enough.” The man to Carter’s right raised his hand, a golden crown atop his head. “I’ve heard enough. 30 of our own men dead. 42 of our buyers dead from a modified supply of heroin you approved without our consent.”
“Drugs kill, who knew?” Ferris whistled.
“Enough!” The Monarch spat. “If you want to draw attention to yourself like a demented court jester, to hue and cry, then so be it. But you shall do so on my terms.”
The large man behind Ferris placed his hand on his shoulder, forcing Ferris to his knees.
“Rhino, you sack of shit-” he protested, spit flying from his mouth. “What the hell is this?!”
The Monarch rose from his throne, holding an iron mask in his hand. It was green in colour, with pointed ears attached to either side. “This, is a mask of shame. Rather popular in the 16th century… It’s also known as The Gossiper’s Bridle, used to punish women accused of witchcraft and so forth. It’s archaic, barbaric, needlessly cruel… And I’m sure it will fit you like a glove.”
In the hustle and bustle of a busy train station, this couple stood, unmoving, staring into each other's eyes, like they were in their own little bubble.
The elastic was spent long ago
A sparkling stare from vacant eyes
Laughter from an enigmatic smile
Unmoving lips
Spoke words of an unknown world
Held captive behind a plastic smile
Ideas cloaked in darkness
Hidden in absent eyes
The hollow laughter echoed false
Left emotionless
the mask hid the story well
the story it was fated to tell
Photo: ©29/12/2023-Phil Wahlbrink
Bain-de-Bretagne, Brittany, France
Camera: FUJIFILM X-Pro3
Lens: 23mm
ISO: 500
1/4000” f3.6
I saw a shadow passing by,
Thinking it just a trick of the eye.
I turned on the light, but no one was there,
Though I noticed a fragrance, thick in the air.
Convinced all was well, I lay myself down,
But then, without warning, came a frightening sound.
I could hear right beside me, so crystal clear,
Someone was breathing right in my ear.
I turned on the light and jumped out of my bed,
This time I was certain it was not in my head.
The quiet that followed seemed abnormally loud,
And there, in the doorway, I saw a dark cloud.
It floated right toward me as fast as could be,
And then it just stopped, quite suddenly.
And there I could see an old woman's shape,
Dressed in a flowing, black, hooded cape.
Slowly her eyes looked straight into mine,
I felt locked in her stare for what seemed a long time.
But then she just smiled a sick, toothless grin.
As she lapsed into a wild and swift, twirling spin.
I felt mesmerized by this terrible sight,
Unable to move, paralyzed with fright.
And then once again came that sweet, sickening smell,
Perhaps, I was smelling the doorway to hell.
A sinister cackling filled up the room,
She sounded like a murderous, malevolent loon.
She reached out her hands with black, claw-like nails,
And then from her mouth came a torturous wail.
Her spinning slowed down and came to stop,
Just like a child's toy, spinning top.
And then she was gone, she just disappeared.
But I sat there unmoving, still lost in stark fear.
Then I crawled back to bed and curled up by the light.
Grasping my Bible with all of my might.
Praying and praying with heartfelt concern,
That this monstrous spirit might make a return.
I watched as the clock ticked the long night away,
Longing for the light of a brand-new day.
And over and over, I relived what I'd seen,
And then suddenly remembered, it was Halloween.
Well, it gave me relief; I now lay there quite calm,
The horror I felt was suddenly gone.
That crazy old woman was supposed to be there,
On this day, above all, I deserved one good scare.
Well, I felt like a load had been lifted from me,
And as I relaxed, I fell quickly to sleep.
But I never forgot what that night I had seen,
And when I was treated to a true Halloween.
By: Patricia A Fleming.
For Halloween I made a 9x13 Devil's Food Cake for Doc and me and topped it off with a creamy butter cream frosting, sprinkled with toasted pecans. Since the nights are so chilly, it will go good with hot cup of cocoa, as we await all of the ghosts and goblins.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN to All!
EXPLORE 437 on Sept.7-07 THANKS!!!
fugue [from French fugue, an adaptation of the Italian fuga, literally 'flight'; from the Latin fuga, related to fugere to flee.]
1. A polyphonic composition constructed on one or more short subjects or themes, which are harmonized according to the laws of counterpoint, and introduced from time to time with various contrapuntal devices. [You get the drift, don't you?! :)))]
2. Psychiatry. A flight from one's own identity....
(The Oxford English Dictionary)
PLEASE view LARGE - to get the full impact!
When I saw these birds sitting, nearly unmoving and quite uncharacteristically quiet, I had this very strong ANTONIO GAUDI feeling, but after I 'converted' the quite colourful photo to B&W and Sepia; the 'treatment' took the shine off GAUDI, sinces he was known as the Catalan artist with the most expressive architectural style, wavy façades, strong colours....! Learn more about GAUDI here.
Following that mental excursion, my mind drifted back to the word Fugue.... or here Fugue for Pigeons - and if this doesn't make any sense to you, there probably isn't any to be had!!!! And if all this sounds strange, forgive me - maybe I just haven't got any brain left.... right now - understandably under all the given circumstances!
Ah, maybe that's why you get a 'grey' photo today, because MY grey matter is all gone into that shot!!!! :)))) Which would mean that there's still hope for me....
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Visit my Flickr DNA
An interesting port of call, Gran Canaria, a great opportunity to stretch our legs on solid unmoving pavement. Aurora 2015.
The story Below is derived partially from actual occurrences experienced ( sadly,not by me) with- in the house pictured above
*********************************************************************************
To Quote:
“Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone."
…The Haunting of hill house by Shirley Jackson
Unlike Shirley Jacksons story, the house haunting events written below, although a bit fictionalized, are all based on actual experiences. Not my own( to my chagrin), but by others I have had the pleasure to know personally enough that they have confided them to me.
The house described actually exists, but, although by my opinion it has every rite to be haunted, has never given up its ghosts to anyone yet. The events depicted in this chronicle have actually occurred at several different houses, all quite old, all located in the same general area.
The story below may not be an incredibly horrific ghost story….but then, when supernatural things got bump in the night in real life, it does not necessarily have to be….. now does it?
_____________________________________________________________
A bit of a prologue…
It took me some time to be able to write my story down, the experiences I had had while staying at the old Froes house.
Since I am not a writer ( of stories) and seeing that I had already recorded the events that occurred in me Journal, I decided to approach the subject that way….
A friend of mine while in college had rented an old house with a group of friends. One night she was alone with the dog of a roommate, ( a quite friendly German Shepard named Barron).
The dog , who had been layin next to my friend, suddenly raised its head and baring his teeth, uncharacteristically started to snarl, his hair raising up. Barron was looking towards the stairway leading to the upstairs bedrooms. My friend looked over there,and as she did, heard small footsteps moving back up the stair, and at the same time, a small wisp of shadow appeared to move out of sight.
Rising she went up the stairs, as she did, Barron came to the bottom landing, and barked, causing my fiend to jump out of her skin, so to speak. My friend, her heart now pounding, started to go up, motioning Barron to follow. But Barron refused, laying down and actually starting to whimper as she gave the command. My friend at this point heard, quite distinctly, a pair of small feet and a set of larger ones, moving quickly along the hallway upstairs. My friend went up, turned on all the lights but saw nothing in the corridor. She also failed to find or heard anything out of the ordinary in any of the 4 bedrooms, or single loo, that were built off the corridor. She went back downstairs to Barron, who was lying to the foot, still whimpering. She petted the dog, as she looked back up the stairs, wondering what it had all been about.
Later, the landlord heard of the story, and confessed that the old house they were staying at one time had a small wing off the main bedrooms that had burned to the ground. That wing had had a loft bedroom, and 3 people perished in that room, a grandmother, and her two young grandchildren. He couldn’t ( or wouldn’t) say if there had been any previous unearthly activates witnessed by anyone.
Despite the above, me friend to this day still does not believe in ghosts, but is unable to explain the experience rationally.
As for me, I used to agree with her feelings on the subject, until………………..
Part 1
October 8, 19__ 7:00 Friday early evening
It appeared that fall was coming early this year. Today had been blustery, overcast, and cool. Leaves were already starting to die and turn.
I meandered up along the cobblestone path that followed the rutty road that led off the main street. I had left me car parked in a small lot on the corner. It would be safe there, I had no company for several Kilometres in either direction. I had driven here directly after work, traveling the 110 kilometre’s in just under 2 hours
I approached the house, stopping at the foot of the stone steps that led up , it had been awhile, and I let the distant memories come back. I stared up at the house that dominated the small hill upon which it had been built . Hill House I thought, remembering a bit of the title from a book in me fathers small library. It was a ghost story book, and as such, I never bothered to read it past the opening paragraph. My feelings about ghosts at the time being that they really do not exist outside people’s somewhat overactive imaginings.
The house in looming above me had stood for over 110 years ,built by Jacob Froes, a great uncle of ours. Old Jacob had been a brooding sort of man, or so I had heard tell, him having died 15 years before my brother and I had been born. But he had definitely built a brooding sort of house, with many crooked corridors, and small rooms, all of which had shutting or sliding doors to keep the heat in. All the rooms still were furnished with old style gas lighting, small lamps on the walls that liked to cast shadows in the rooms that they were hung. The plentiful oak woodwork was very heavily scrolled and decorated with wooden roses and petals, all done by old Jacob, along with most of the houses furniture. I mention the woodworking, for as a young girl, I had thought the roses looked like small shadowy faces, some of them not very pleasant looking, and the thorns looked like spiked teeth waiting to tear and devour one up. Needless to say, the house at that time of my life, gave me the creeps. As did all its occupants at the times I had visited.
There were three of them still living in the house at that time. Three of the six children of the late Jacob and Adelaide Froes.
Jacob had been 45 and a Batchelor, living in the house he had been building and furnishing since he was 25. Twenty long years later he had finished it to his liking. It was then that Jacob decided it was time to start a family. He courted Adelaide, a sheltered 23 year old second cousin still living out in the far country with her family. It was an 8 hour ride by buggy, so it was a long distance courtship.
Once Married, Jacob took Adelaide from her family, and quite soon they started one of their own in the house he had built. They brought forth 6 children into this world, the first 5 ( 2 girls, 3 boys) born in in a period just shy of 5 years. The burdens of bearing and taking care of so many children, in such a short period, all by her young self( apparently Jacob was always working in his basement shop) and added to that her homesickness at being so far away from her family home, cost poor Adelaide her health, and ultimately, after bearing her six child 2 years later, her remaining sanity.
With her mother, In and out of sanatoriums for the rest of her shortened life, it fell upon the eldest daughter, the all of 8 year old Frances, to take over the majority of the responsibilities of raising her siblings. One or another of Adelaide’s sisters did come and stay a spell to help out also for the first few years, but eventually their own Family commitments took precedence and poor Frances was eventually left on her own, to be helped mainly by her younger sister Mary, to care for the youngest four, all boys….
The family had no near neighbours, and lived pretty much an isolated existence, with themselves as company; the 6 children, their frail, wasting away mother Adelaide, and their anti-social, strict church going father Jacob. It should come as no surprise that, that the children took on the characteristics of their parents, all were sullen, lifeless and obedient to a fault. None of em ever dated, or married. After their parents passed on, four of them, the two daughters, and the two youngest sons, lived in the same old stone house together in strained harmony. The two oldest boys would have probably followed suit, but their young lives were tragically cut short in the battle trenches of World War 1 France.
In the dead of winter, 5years after their father Jacob had passed on,, second youngest son, Stephen, packed his bags and left the house one misty morning never to return. He had walked the 4 miles to the small terminal in town, bought a bus ticket to somewhere and was never heard from again. His sisters had found pamphlets about gold prospecting in Alaska, and as they grumbled about how stupid he was to have left, it wasn’t hard to understand at how, at the age of fifty, he had had enough of the constant bickering and complaining that left an unhappy air about the musty old place, and had sought solitude elsewhere.
And so, my earliest recollections of the house and its inhabitants was of the three, Frances, Mary, and Joseph. Joseph, as the youngest, was well into his seventies at the time. Three sourly cranky, unhappy souls. Not a happy family atoll, and not a happy house to be spending time in, even just for a visit while my uncle worked on maintaining the house for them( which, being a relative, he never received more compensation than a grumbled thank you.) Me brother ,Cousin Jesse and I were usually dragged along on Uncles excursions, to keep the “occupants” occupied and out of his hair. The two sisters had been teachers until their retirement, and took great pleasure in having us read to them, happily correcting any errors we made. Not sure what Jacob had done for his living, for he never talked much, just sat in a corner working on his stamps, smoking his smelly pipe, and getting yelled at by his two cackling spinster sisters.
The trio never updated the house much, leaving it as their father had built it. They had one car ( now an antique still sitting in a side yard) between the three of them, but I only ever saw them walk anywhere they went. Which was just to town for food or Sunday Service.
It was during one of the walks back from Sunday mass that a car, taking a corner too fast, lost control and ran into the 3 of them. Mary took the brunt of it, and for the last 3 years of her life became an invalid, much like her mother had been, finally passing on in her bed at the age of 90. Two years later, Old Joseph was found sitting on one of the garden benches by the victory garden he still kept, pipe clenched between his teeth, still smouldering, paralyzed by a stroke at the age of 86, he was sent to an infirmary to live out the last of his days, which as of this writing had not yet ocurred.. So Frances, the oldest child, and oldest living resident of the creepy old house, had dwelt on in solitude, passing on the night of her birthday, some four years later, at the age of 101. She died in her bed, in the house she had been born in and had lived her whole life. She had been dead 3 days they figured, before my cousin Jesse, who had made it a habit to check on her once a fortnight or so, found her cold lifeless form.
*********
These were me thoughts as I stood there looking up at the dark house where I would be spending the next four days until the Funeral for Frances would take place.
I would be alone for at least the first night, which had not bothered me at the time! Me uncle was away on business, and would not be there until the funeral. Me brother was still away on something called a honeymoon, the selfish prig! Jesse had other matters to attend to and would be joining me as soon as he was able. And so here I was, standing there in the ever darkening twilight, thinking me random thoughts…
Quite suddenly those thoughts were rudely interrupted as I realized a light had turned on in one of the upper front rooms, and a black shadow, unmoving, appeared to be looking down at me from the room’s partially curtained window.
Jesse! I thought, you’re here! He had asked me to come down to spend the time with him, did not want to be alone in the house. But he had rang and told me the night before that he couldn’t make it till Sat Afternoon, and would I be a dear and watch the house till then , leaving me alone! I reluctantly agreed, for I found the house dark and creepy, but at least the Body had been removed from the mourning parlour, I had made sure of that.
My heart racing in pleasure I ran up the stairs and turned the knob of the great oak front door. It was still locked, I ponded over for a sec, and then used me skeleton key and opened it. Oui, Jesse Im Here I yelled happily, but me words were met by dead silence, broken up as my shouts echoed through the large , fast darkening house.
The stairway to the second floor was just off to the side of the long entrance way. I went to the landing and yelled up, Hey lad, didn’t ya hear me. I heard my voice echo a bit upstairs and through the corridor above. I sat down me bag, and took the stairs two at a time, thinking this was no time for teasing. Apparently, it was I thought to me self, for when I reached the upstairs landing and turned towards the room I had seen the figure standin in, the lights were now out, but the figure still stood in front of the window, just visible in the fading light from outside. Very funny Jess I scolded, I can still see you standing in front of that window, so what games are you playin at now lad, I said admonishingly as I turned on the switch. As the room was lit up and I saw clearly what was standing in front of the window, I jumped back with a startled scream.
End Of part 1
to be continued …..
For six word story.
Taken at The Regency, Laguna Woods, Orange County, California.
© 2016 All Rights Reserved.
My images are not to be used, copied, edited, or blogged without my explicit permission.
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Many thanks for every kind comment, fave, your words of encouragement, and the inspiration of your fine photography,
my friends! You make my day every day!
She and Brine turned around to see a trio of autonomous footsoldiers – similar to the ones they had seen earlier – approaching in a triangular formation. They walked with their usual stiff preprogrammed walking cycles and held their assault rifles tight across their chests.
Once they got within range of the pair, they suddenly and all together came to a stop.
The front-most drone did the talking.
“THIS IS A RESTRICTED AREA FOR CIVILIANS. PLEASE PROVIDE APPROPRIATE IDENTIFICATION AND WE SHALL ESCORT YOU TO THE NEAREST SUPPORT CENTRE.”
Kelly looked to Brine as she reached to her belt. “Hold on, I’ve always wanted to try something.”
She unclipped her identification card; issued to anyone who leaves the outposts, and especially so for proxy operatives.
“How about this ID?” she said, holding up the plastic laminated card in front of the drone's eye.
The three droids stood unmoving like statues without a response. Three seconds past before the central drone resumed speech.
“INVALID IDENTIFICATION. I REPEAT, PLEASE PROVIDE APPROPRIATE IDENTIFICATION.”
“Worth a try.” Kelly shrugged, clipping the card back in place.
The right drone suddenly began speaking.
“FIREARMS DETECTED ON PERSONS." It said with no change in tone or urgency compared to its mechanical colleague. “PLEASE SURRENDER ALL WEAPONRY OR YOU SHALL BE DETAINED.”
Kelly and Brine looked back to each other once again.
“You good with taking them out?” Kelly asked through their private comms channel.
“Fine by me.” Brine responded.
Kelly turned back to the trio of drones.
“Could you boys wait for a moment,” she said with a raised finger. ”I need to check something.”
Kneeling down, she opened the bolt handle of her shotgun, ejecting the chambered buckshot round. She then produced two solid slug rounds, loading one in the chamber and the other in the feeding tube.
She stood back up and looked to the drone.
“Okay, we’ve got our ID now.”
“FINAL WARNING, SURRENDER YOUR WEAPONRY OR WE WILL-“
--------------------------------
Lens used:
Sigma Mini-Wide 28mm f/2.8
Set at f/8
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The Wild Reindeer Of Sunny California
In the middle of the cotton and polyester blend field of snow stood the majestic wild reindeer of sunny California, unmoving, its fur thick and black as night, its eyes unblinking. I slowly crept up to the beast striving not to startle it. I reached out softly and stroked its back gently as I whispered into its ear. It seemed to calm it for it sat down, momentarily relaxing. It reached up with its hind leg and vigorously scratched its ear, ridding it of whatever unwanted thing or creature was in there. The little gold bells on its grandiose antlers jingled as it scratched, distracting the wild reindeer momentarily. Jingle Jingle Jingle. Its eyes wide, it searched the horizon for the mysterious sound. In the distance, on the edge of the field near the square caves of white, it spotted another of its kind lying down, facing it with a pursuant look. It stared back.
It was strange seeing another of its kind, being as rare as they are, but against all odds there it was across the field at the edge of the world. It glanced away from the new arrival to scout other areas for just a moment. Seeing nothing else, it turned back, the new arrival seemed minutely closer. It cocked its head slightly to the left wondering was it really closer, when the mysterious jingling came back. Jingle Jingle Jingle. Madly, it looked around for the source of the sound. Not able to locate the sound he turned back to the new arrival. It was closer, almost half the distance it was before. It was still lying down, facing it, its eyes staring unwaveringly.
Its eyes glared at the new arrival as it dropped its own body down to the ground in quick motion. Jingle Jingle Jingle. Frantically, its head swinging in all directions, the sound getting louder and stronger, it searched to no avail for that horrible sound. It turned its attention back to the new arrival, it was gone. With a quick jerk to the left it saw nothing. Jingle Jingle Jingle. A quick jerk to the right, it was too late, all he could see was black fur flying at his face at supersonic speed.
The new arrival attacked from the right, flying through the air like a bad walnut chucked out of a hole in a tree by a really mad squirrel. It could feel the front legs of its attacker wrap around the back of its head, teeth bared, biting into its antlers. Jingle Jingle Jingle. The sound drove the wild reindeer insane, he fought back. Bringing its hind legs in and under the new arrival, it pushed with all its might and flung the brute over its head and onto its back. Jingle Jingle Jingle. Its mind foaming from the horrible sound, it leapt and attacked back. A swipe with its hoof connected directly to its attackers antlers. Jingle Jingle Jingle. The wild reindeer's ears pricked up, the sound, the maddening sound, it was the new arrivals antlers. With a new ferocity it attacked, with its site on stopping the horrible sound.
Arms entangled, legs flaying, bodies rolling as one, they fought, each going for the majestic antlers of the others. They rolled and fought across the great field, crashing and bumping. Jingle Jingle Jingle. I dove out of the way, escaping being crushed, or worse yet, scratched. They crashed into the square caves of white so strong it created a great avalanche. Little bits of antlers flew from the big ball of fur rolling across the field. Jingle jingle jingle. I could not believe my eyes. I stared in wonder, watching in awe as these great and rare creatures…
Suddenly and unexpectedly, I was dragged out of my hypnotic state as I watched the majestic creatures do battle. The earth shook and the heavens above opened up as a big booming voice emanated,
"Oh good gawd, take those damn antlers off the cats before they kill themselves!"
View on Black or I'll put Antlers on you too!
Our Daily Challenge: Red White and Blue
From in to out, from out to in together in light we swim each limb a solar fin as we flow to the sea to the liberty of sea that catches hold of moving stars in reflection only giving them light and life amongst the waves.
There is one way in and in reverse the same way takes you out. Upon the morning of the Twenty First the Sun comes in to clear the old year out and at the setting Sun the last rays take our dead upon their many, many ways to host us around our campfires and welcome us along the routes they took over this place our earthly space and other dead seek out the campfires above that by night have joined us in lighting our fires into the great darkness. Each of us lights beacons each to the others, campfire to campfires showing that warmth and life is only a way away, only the light of one day away and always within reach. We have made our ways with their aid bringing new light in sight by Winter and Summer both, all of us working around the axle light of us all the central star campfire the only unmoving always constant light. Though Sun and Moon, Planet Wandering Lights and Stars Campfire each fixed in distance one from the other and all together, all move across the skies, only the centre star stays central the one true eye within the sky. The rising new stars, the setting old stars sing songs of new seasons approaching of new phases to be begun and of the harvest of just passed and old star months now no longer to be relied upon. The herds move to the way of the stars and they move away even as the stars come and go in circling motions making paths in spiral in our sky as we upon this ground all will make spirals with those stars wherever our spirit is to be found. You come in the warmth of the womb in the earth at birth and you revisit as you age and take new roles in your life. You are a part of the bones in their home of earth and the stones, you are a part of the life of blood til you return to the stars that sent you here and in bone not the flesh your star core rests and in the flesh not the bone your life on earth is given birth and breath for the span of your days ways here til death and star rebirth opens up all of the ways of both nights and days within the Many Mists and the Cosmic Haze.
PHH Sykes 2023
phhsykes@gmail.com
Unstan Chambered Cairn
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/unstan-...
"Well, that is odd."
To describe the garish myriad of colors and sparkles that composed the strangely cut, eye-bending, angles of the obscure cosplay the girl in front of him was wearing would be to describe a strange hybrid of cotton candy, unicorns, and pure insanity.
Every time he came here, to this city, he saw something new, something strange.
The world changed. A lot. And often. Japan was no exception. The pinnacle of a world caught up in the giddy supersonic rush of technological expansion, each month seemed to display a different trend, different tech, different annoyingly cute TV show avatar.
Yes, this was something that didn't change. The visuals may swiftly sweep in and out like a spinning wheel, but underneath there was a iron core that only slowly altered.
Altered by men like him, working in the shadows in the wide open plain sight.
He silently threaded a sophisticated suppressor on to the end of his snub nosed pistol. If anyone on the tram with him noticed, they were smart enough to pretend not to see anything.
The suppressor was fresh cutting edge tech, if anything could be called that in the technological whirlwind that was the year 2103.
The tram slid into the station with a series of skull shaking bumps and clanks, the doors squeaking upon to reveal the glowing, glittering, blinking, strobing lights of signs, billboards, and building facades that was known as Tokushima Downtown.
He blended into the crowd, nestling between a headphone wearing teen sipping a UCC canned coffee and a tight grouping of clean suited business men doing their best to look dignified amidst the colorful near blinding displays that filled every surface of every unmoving object.
He, Jacob Salem, was just another face in the crowd. Dressed in a simple dark grey track jacket, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and front unzipped revealing a white graphic tee sporting meaningless light grey swirls, and a pair of old faded jeans. Outdated in style, and boring in every aspect compared to current trends, he elicited no attention from the people who passed.
Further down the street he took a sharp turn into an alley, swiftly dropping into peaceful darkness that came with leaving the advertisement infested downtown streets. All that was left to hint of what he left was a distant throbbing beat of some popular song that was blaring far too loud from one of the shops.
A couple turns, a slip through an old gate, and crossing a rusty old catwalk over an overgrown traintrack, and he had arrived in his desired destination. The industrial quarter, home to the corporate giant Tokushima Industrial, was the location to one of their original buildings, now a museum to their overbloated ego, but also home to a subterrean laboratory supposedly unknown to anyone outside of the company. This, however, wasn't true, or Jacob Salem wouldn't be here on a mission to infiltrate and obtain a piece of valuable prototype code.
A pair of guards stood at either side of the museum doors, weilding assault rifles.
A smile crossed Salem's lips. This would be a fun challenge.
*NOTICE: The above text is a work in progress trail run for a planned
literary work. Though subject to change and alteration, it represents
the majority of planned content for the final product. As such, the
ideas, characters, setting, and story written above is reserved as
intellectual property of C. J. King.*
Feedback and comments on the story are more than welcome, wanted in
fact.
The clouds were amazing this day. High winds were making them drift by real fast.
What I'm trying to show with this series is a progression and unfolding of awareness. It was like a day of photographic meditation. At first I was frustrated because I didn't find what I wanted. But then, once I was able to let go of that, I found something better than I imagined.
I wanted to get there for sunrise, but we were about an hour and a half late, so I was in a bad mood. Then, I wanted a bright blue sky to contrast against the tan colored stone. But the sky was overcast and the clouds were creating diffuse, muted, constantly changing light. Then something changed in me. I started noticing how amazing the sky was in itself and the contrast between the wispy, soft-edged, quickly changing clouds and the solid, hard-edged, unmoving rocks caught my eye. So I focused on that instead.
I noticed how the curve of the clouds matched the shape of the wall here and I thought it might make an "OK" shot. I was surprised when I saw it on the computer. And then, when I started playing with it, it just popped as a B/W and I knew it was a keeper. It felt like something I had seen before, but I don't remember ever seeing anything quite like this...
Transformation of A Farmer, Part Two; The Ambush
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A cool breeze blew across Wallace’s face, bringing him out of a daydream about his farm. He had been wondering how it was doing under Bill’s care. He hoped Galainir’s troops hadn’t found his or Bill’s farms’ yet.
Shaking his head, Wallace breathed in the crisp mountain air, and looked around at the beautiful country all around him. He had been riding for many days now, heading further into the Dragonscale mountains with each passing hour. Soon, he hoped to reach the area the rebel group was rumored to be in.
For the rest of the day, Wallace rode steadily deeper into the mountain range, enjoying the natural beauty all around him. Funny, Wallace thought at one point, I used to never care about the beauty of nature. It was simply something to be used, not cared about. But since——. He refused to allow the thought to finish. It was still too painful for him to think about.
When night fell, he found a small clearing, set far back from the road, and made camp. He couldn’t afford the risk of a campfire, so he made do with a meal of cold meat, and water, then rolled into his blankets, and slept.
In the morning, Wallace ate another cold meal, this time stale bread and leathery tasting ale, then broke camp, and continued down the road.
Around midday, he came to a fork in the road. One continued the direction he was heading, the other disappeared into the trees to his left. Large, olive colored bushes lined both sides of the trails. After a moments thought, Wallace decided to continue following the path he was currently on, and spurred Dasher forward.
“Hey, you there!” A voice said suddenly, from off to his left. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Wallace turned to look. His blood froze.
A group of Queen’s soldiers were coming down the left-hand path. The voice belonged to their leader, a tall man, wearing a great helm with a red feather on top. There was eight or nine other men behind him, all of them very mean looking. They came onto the main path, and quickly fanned out, surrounding Wallace. Their leader strode up to the spot where the paths joined, and stopped, leaning to glare up at Wallace.
“Answer my question, peasant.” He sneered up at the other.
Wallace thought fast. “I’m going to Durrough, to look at getting some chickens.”
The other laughed harshly. “You’re either stupid, or you’re lying. Durrough is two days back that way.” He said, pointing back the way Wallace had come. “So, which is it?”
Wallace winced. So much for talking his way out of this mess. Instantly, his old training
kicked in, though he hadn’t used it in many years, and he quickly scanned the mean group around him, looking for the weak link. Almost instantly,he found what he was looking for. It was the soldier directly behind him. He was nervous looking, which led Wallace to conclude, that he was new, and this was probably his first confrontation.
“Hey, peasant, I asked you a question.” The lead soldier said, in an impatient voice.
Wallace thought it best to play dumb. Galainir’s troops were rather stupid, and it was often easy to fool them.
“Well, I thought it was this way, honestly, I did.” He said, hoping the other would buy it. He didn’t.
“Yeah, right. Sure.” The other said. “I’m not stupid.”
“Shame.” Wallace said, “Because I thought you were.” He wheeled Dasher, reached back to his quiver, withdrew an arrow, nocked it to the bowstring, and, bringing the bow up, drew the string back. As he was about to release the arrow, with the soldier’s shouts ringing out all around him, Wallace saw movement, in the big bushes, out of the corner of his eye. He caught a glimpse of a dark green bandanna. Scout Snipers. He thought in surprise. Then he released the arrow. It slammed into the nervous soldier, who dropped to the ground, without a sound.
“FOR GREAT LENFALD!!!” a voice yelled, from the bushes, and a hail of arrows slammed into the soldiers, from both sides. Dasher reared, as confusion reigned. Wallace, struggling to hold on to the saddle, saw the soldier’s leader, using one of his own men as a shield, turning, and fleeing back down the path.
“Oh no you don’t.” Wallace muttered, and, as Dasher landed on all four feet again, he nocked another arrow, drew, sighted, and released. It struck the fleeing man square in the back, and he flopped, unmoving, to the dirt.
Silence descended on the scene. For a long moment, nothing moved. Then, suddenly, a group of figures, two on the right, three on the left, appeared from the bushes. Wallace watched them approach, cautiously. The two from the right were Lenfel Scout Snipers, no question about it. Of the three on the left, two were men, the final was a young woman, he saw with surprise. She had dark brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail. One of the men was a Scout Sniper, of that he was sure, and the other, cloaked and hooded, was a Ranger, Wallace decided, based on the clothes he was wearing. But who was the young woman? Could she be one of the rumored female Scout Snipers? Wallace had heard rumors that Sir Haymar’s group of Scout Snipers were the only ones with female members. The recruitment test was immensely difficult, and he had heard that only three women had ever passed the test. This girl was apparently one of those three.
The Ranger came up to Wallace, and lowered his hood. He had shoulder-length red hair, and about three days of stubble on his face. And Wallace knew him. “McGraven?” He gasped, the memories coming, unbidden, back to him.
McGraven looked closely at Wallace. “Wallace?” He asked, shocked. “Wallace Rand, is it really you?”
“It’s me, McGraven.” The other replied. “Aged, but it’s me.”
“By golly, it is!” McGraven exclaimed. ‘What are you doin’ up here? I thought you had a little farm, somewhere near Cragfall.”
The other looked at him, weary, but determined. “I’m coming to fight.” Wallace said.
“But you said you’d never come back!” McGraven gasped. “After what happened, I thou-.” Wallace cut him off.
“I know what I said.” But things change. And here I am.”
McGraven shrugged, and looked around, at the dead Queen’s Soldiers lying around them.
“Well, we’d best be going.” The female Scout Sniper said. “Locvale is two days away, and it’s almost noon already.”
“Right.” McGraven said. “We’d better clean up the bodies before we leave, lest another patrol comes along, and finds them.”
They threw the bodies into the bushes, retrieved the partys’ horses, mounted up, and continued down the path, heading towards the safety of Locvale. McGraven led, followed by Wallace, and the two male Scout Snipers. Lina, the female Scout Sniper, rode behind them, watching for pursuers.
For the rest of the day, they rode hard, eager to gain the safety the cliffs offered, before sundown. Come nightfall, they made camp, in the relative concealment of a small cave, ate a hasty dinner, then went to bed. “Tomorrow, we should reach Locvale.” McGraven had said to Wallace, during dinner. After the small meal, Wallace rolled himself in his blankets, and lay awake a long time, thinking of times past.
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To be continued!
Cliff lies sprawled out on the living room sofa, cloaked in darkness. The faint light of the TV casts a hazy glow over his face as he sits, unmoving, watching an old tape of Niles’ he’d found in a box labelled ‘VHS – FOR ATTIC.’ The noise of the box fills the room as Rita appears and stands, hands on hips, in the doorway and sighs.
“That dastardly Multi-Man -- he’s got us this time!”
“This lead-lined vat he’s trapped us in is filling with quick-dry cement!”
“We’d better work a way out of this -- fast! Or we’ll be gone before you can say ‘bricks and mortar’!”
“We’re surely doomed!”
Will our fantastical foursome make it out alive? Or will our intrepid heroes meet a quick-drying end? Find out in the next exciting instalment of… Challengers, of the Un-
Rita: Urgh! We can’t keep doing this!
Rita strides across the room and turns off the TV. Cliff makes little effort to move, eyes still fixed on the now blank reflection of the screen.
Cliff: Doin’ what?
Rita: This! Just moping around all day! You haven’t gotten up off that sofa in days, Larry, who by the way still won’t speak to me, has barely left his room and we’re no closer to finding out where in God’s name Niles has gone!
Cliff doesn’t move.
Rita: And just when exactly do you plan on clearing up that mess in the garden? It’s been there almost a week! I’m half convinced some of those bushes will never grow back!
Cliff: I’ll do it later.
She throws her arms to her sides angrily.
Rita: Argh! Just because Niles is gone doesn’t mean we have to just sit around and give up!
Cliff: Just chill out, man.
Rita paces on the spot.
Rita: Chill out? Chill out? Oh of course…
She stops pacing and turns to Cliff. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.
Rita: You know Cliff, before you were switched on, I used to go down to the lab every day and watch you – being built. It gave me something to do, after all. Something to take my mind off the crumbling wreck that was my life. I’d sit there and watch as Niles toiled away at you day and night and I’d think to myself, what a remarkable thing you were.
Cliff sits up and turns his head slowly to face her.
Cliff: Really?
Rita: Yes, really. An actual robot, being built before my own eyes! I could hardly believe it. But then again, my world view had just been drastically altered, so I did find my disbelief significantly easier to suspend. I couldn’t wait to see what became of this remarkable project. I oh so longed for the day when you were finally activated and I could speak to an actual, real life robot. And do you know what, Cliff?
Cliff: What?
Rita: You’re really starting to make me wish I hadn’t.
It’s like someone just shot a puppy. They both stare blankly at each other. Cliff tries to speak but doesn’t know what to say as Rita folds her arms and slumps down into her chair.
Rita: Look at us. What would Niles say if he could see us now?
Cliff: I dunno. Maybe… Rita? Are you aware Cliff was watchin’ that shit? Turn it back on, would you?
Rita: Not helpful.
She scowls.
Rita: Between you acting like some college dropout and Larry not speaking to me, I’m half convinced I’m going completely insane.
Cliff: Maybe you are.
Rita: Cliff! Please! You’re not-
She pauses abruptly as an unusual sound fills the air, a sound rarely heard under this roof. It’s distant yet jovial, and before long Rita realises what it is – the doorbell.
Rita: …helping.
They look at each other for a moment, Cliff tilting his head slightly, before the sound occurs again. Neither of them move. From the hallway comes another sound, heavier this time and more urgent. Footsteps. Cliff rises to his feet as the doorbell goes for a third time.
Cliff: Probably Ricardo. Must’ve forgotten somethin’. C’mon.
He heads out of the lounge and moves into the hallway, peering nervously towards the front door. Rita follows suit, taking up a position far enough behind Cliff to ensure he won’t notice her hiding behind him. They both clock Larry at the window, head covered by a curtain draped over him as he stares out into the night.
Cliff: Larry? You gonna answer that?
He emerges from the curtain and beckons them forwards silently. As he does, the doorbell rings once more. Cliff and Rita approach apprehensively and take up a position next to Larry at the window.
Larry: Guys, look…
Cliff pulls open another curtain as Rita stands and folds her arms.
Rita: Oh, so we’re talking again are we?
Larry: Not now, Rita. Just look!
She pulls back her own section of curtain and looks out onto the porch.
Rita: At what?
Larry: Exactly.
Someone walks over her grave. If her hairs could stand on end, they would. The once cheerful sound of the doorbell now fills the air one more time with an ominous malice. Rita steps back.
Rita: But there’s no one there…
And then comes another sound, so close and unexpected it sends them back from the windows with an almost electric jolt. The three of them frantically scan the area as a disembodied voice fills the air and begins to sing:
“Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today,
I wish, I wish he’d go away…”
No one moves an inch as the voice turns into a sinister cackle.
“When I came home last night at three,
The man was waiting there for me.
But when I looked around the hall…”
They feel something behind them – a rush of displaced air; a sense of disorientation. They all turn around as the voice, now ominously familiar, concludes-
Nobody: I couldn’t see him there at all…
Without hesitation, Cliff lunges forwards and takes a swing. Mister Nobody howls as he grabs Cliff’s arm, mid-flight, and twists. There’s a clatter of metal as Cliff drops to the ground with a yelp.
Cliff: You sunovabitch!
Nobody grins and waggles a finger.
Nobody: Now now, Cliff. That wasn’t the welcome I was expecting. Is that any way to treat your guest?
Cliff: One day you asshole, one day…
He looks to Larry and Rita. Neither of them move.
Nobody: You guys’ve got it! Calm and collected, very polite. Like cute little lambs!
He clears his throat and takes a moment to compose himself.
Nobody: Larry. Rita. It’s good to see you again. Feels like it’s been forever…
Larry: What do you want?
Nobody: Oh, Larry. Why so negative, man? Hehe. Can one not just visit his friends without wanting something?
Rita: You’re not our friend.
Nobody: You wound me.
Cliff gets to his feet.
Cliff: You’ve got precisely five seconds to get the hell outta here before-
Nobody: Before what, Cliff? You take another robot pot shot and get your shiny ass handed to you again, hmm? What’s the view like from down there?
Cliff: Fuck you.
Nobody: My my, you’ve got even more spirit than old misery-guts here! Where was that when you were looking for Daddy Caulder, huh?
No one says a thing.
Nobody: That’s right, I know what you’ve been up to. And I’ve gotta say, I’m disappointed.
Larry takes a step closer.
Larry: I’ll ask you one more time. What the hell do you want with us? Haven’t you done enough damage?
Nobody: Okay, okay. Fine! Jeez, I’ll cut to the chase. Clearly it’s past your bedtimes.
He moves in closer so only Larry can hear.
Nobody: So angsty, Larry. I’m liking it.
Nobody adjusts himself accordingly and clears his throat.
Nobody: I’ve been watching you three simpletons meaninglessly meander about for days now, weeks even! Honestly, who even knows at this point, I’ve lost the damn plot! Frankly I’m bored stiff, and your pal Niles isn’t bringing me much joy either. I’ve had more enjoyable tooth extractions.
Larry: Where did you take him?
Annoyance grimaces across Nobody’s face and he holds up a hand.
Nobody: Uh uh uh, just a minute. It’s clear you’re getting absolutely nowhere here. So, I’d like to offer you a deal.
The trio shoot each other as much of a glance as they can manage without trying to look too interested.
Nobody: I can send you away from this…
He looks around the hallway, unimpressed.
Nobody: …charming abode you call home and send you to the White Space, where Caulder is currently having the time of his silly little life as my prisoner. Survive the White Space, maintain your sanity, and I’ll let you keep that contemptuous old grouch and bring him home. But fail…
He goes quiet and shakes his head gravely.
Rita: What? What happens if we fail?
Nobody: That’s just the thing. Nobody knows!
He gives them a wink and Rita’s face sours.
Nobody: But won’t it be fun finding out?
Silence. No one says a word, but they don’t need to. They know what each other’s thinking. Nobody notices their unease and smirks. Cliff looks down to Rita, who in turn looks over to Larry. He inhales and licks his dry lips underneath his bandages. Rita whispers.
Rita: As much as I hate to say it, he’s right. We’re getting nowhere just sitting here.
The others are silent.
Rita: But if we do this, Larry – if. We do it together. No more of this solo-adventure shtick.
Larry pauses and remembers the words scrawled across the whiteboard in his room.
Larry: We do it together.
Rita flashes a brief smile as Cliff slumps over and sighs.
Cliff: Yeah, I was worried you’d say that.
They look to him and Rita raises an eyebrow.
Rita: Cliff?
Cliff: Yeah yeah, I’m comin’. Just don’t expect me to be pleased about it.
Nobody grins excitedly.
Nobody: So…?
Larry grits his teeth.
Larry: We accept your offer.
Nobody shoots him a wink and claps his hands.
Nobody: Now that’s more like it! Perhaps you aren’t as useless as you make out. Good luck, friends. You’ll need it. Even I don’t know what you’ll see.
He shifts his weight and shakes out his arms with a flourish. Cliff, Rita and Larry look at each other nervously.
Nobody: Oh, and if you happen to run into Brain and that great stinking oaf on your travels, do tell them I say hi, won’t you?
Cliff: So how the hell are we-
Nobody interrupts with a clap of his hands. There is a rush of displaced air and then they’re gone, leaving Nobody alone in the hallway. He chuckles to himself and disappears.
Title.
Backstreets in the Afternoon.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 6 / 7
(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)
Images:
Metallica … Enter Sandman
youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=d1rcxkxkvGIu0gB7
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 16😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.
The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.
“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”
“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”
The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.
The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.
Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.
Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.
As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.
Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.
At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.
Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.
In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.
As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.
The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.
By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.
He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.
Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.
As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.
When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.
Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.
The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.
The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.
The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.
Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.
And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.
The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.
When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.
Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
午後の裏通り。
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 6 / 7
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Metallica … Enter Sandman
youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=kp4pY2X0_-jFuGQS
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第16弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
夜の帳が低く下り始めたサンフェルナンドバレーの住宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の外には夏の夜の熱気が立ち上り、路面からはまだ昼の光を吸い込んだアスファルトが、赤黒い光の反射を散らしている。移民税関捜査局（ICE）の職員としての彼の一日は、すでにその夜も続いていた。助手席の書類は微かに揺れ、そこに積まれた命令や報告書は、この一日の決断が生身の人々の生活にどう影響するかを、冷たく問いかけていた。
ラジオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら作動し、別の車両との連絡が飛び込んだ。
「確認、住宅街ルート異常なし。熱気のため住民注意」
「了解、次はダウンタウンへの侵入確認」――言葉は簡潔で、しかし背後には重くのしかかる責任が潜んでいた。助手席の彼はその声に耳を傾け、部下たちの緊張や疲労、日々の恐怖を想像する。
静かな住宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る温かい光は家族の生活を、庭に揺れる木々は夏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにとって、守るべき対象であり、同時に判断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。
フリーウェイに合流すると、他の車のヘッドライトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダウンタウンのビル群が夜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を帯び、車内のエアコンでは追いつかない湿気が肌にまとわりつく。助手席のスマートフォンに届くメッセージは冷たく光り、緊急事態や現場からの報告が短く、しかし命を握る重さを帯びて彼の視界に入った。
通勤路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を細め、夏の夜の色彩を読み取ろうとした。ネオンの赤やオレンジ、信号の緑が交錯し、遠くの山並みや海岸線の輪郭がぼんやりと浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲労と責任の影で微かに歪み、部下たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。
夜の住宅街を抜け、ダウンタウンに近づくと、車列は赤い光の帯となり、通勤ラッシュの喧騒とは別の、緊張の波を帯びた流れに変わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳴る救急車のサイレン、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、都市の生の現実を告げている。
車内の会話は最小限に抑えられる。助手席の部下は無言でスマートフォンを操作し、報告書や地図をチェックする。無線が作動するたび、言葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの一語には誰かの生活を左右する重みが宿っていた。
オフィスに到着すると、駐車場には同僚の車が整然と並び、エンジン音やタイヤの振動が微かな呼応を見せていた。夜風が窓から入り込み、紙や書類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に伝える鼓動のように聞こえてくる。
建物内に入ると、冷房の風が肌に触れ、深夜の静けさと相まって、空間に緊張を張り巡らせる。廊下を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貼られた注意書きや掲示板の文字が微かに光を受け、日々の任務とその果てにある現実を思い出させた。
会議室に入ると、部下たちの目が彼を見つめ、報告書がテーブルの上で微かに揺れた。熱気を帯びた夏の空気はエアコンと混ざり、紙の端を微かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の中に緊張を抱え、今日の判断が遠く離れた誰かの生活をどう変えるかを知っていた。
会議が始まると、無線から入る情報がリアルタイムで伝わり、部下たちの視線が交錯する。数字や報告書の行間には必ず生身の人間が存在し、その命を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だと彼らは認識するのだ。
深夜まで続く会議、現場との通信、書類の整理、部下の指示。夜の街は夏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射してちらついていた。その光景を見ながら、ケビンは一日の重みを胸に刻んでいた。
帰路につく頃、通勤路の光景は昼間とは違う表情を見せる。街灯に浮かぶ影、ネオンの赤い反射、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山影が夜空に溶ける。そのすべてが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げていた。
助手席の書類を確認し、深呼吸をひとつついた。夏の夜風が窓を通り抜け、肌に触れる。ケビンの胸には責任感と孤独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の一歩を踏み出す力を与える、都市の息遣いが確かにあった。
夜の光の中、ケビンは夏のロサンゼルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、部下たちの緊張、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海風の匂い、遠くの救急車のサイレン――それらすべてが絡み合い、今日一日の記憶として刻まれていく。車内での沈黙と対話、街の静けさと喧騒、光と影の交錯が、彼の心に都市の立体的な地図を描き、ICE職員としての孤独と責任を鮮明にしていた。
夏の夜が更け、家路につく道すがら、助手席の書類を握り締め、深夜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の影を見つめながら、彼はこの街の声に耳を澄ませる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳴るサイレン、住宅街の静けさ――それらすべてが、ケビンの胸に責任と孤独を刻み込んだ。
ケビンが自宅の扉を押し開けると、夜の熱気はわずかに後退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ込んできた。書類を手から放り投げ、束ねられた紙の重みがテーブルに小さな衝撃を与え、乾いた音を響かせて静けさの中に沈んだ。
彼の肩にのしかかっていた一日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吸い取られたかのように思えた。
しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、見えない振動に触れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎへと変わっていった。家の奥から、微かなきしみが生まれた。木材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楽器の弦を爪弾くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を澄まし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲労による幻聴ではないかと思った。
空気がわずかに震えた。テーブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの水面がかすかに揺れ、光を帯びて波紋を広げた。その波紋は小さくも確かに、家全体の内部に潜む力と呼応しているかのようであった。壁にかけられた額縁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の中で、笑顔を浮かべる人影が、わずかに歪んで見えた。
ケビンは胸の奥にざらついた感覚を覚え、視線を天井へ向けた。天井板の奥で梁が共鳴し合い、低い唸り声のような音を放っていた。それは自然に生まれたものではなく、あらかじめ設計された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を学んだ者ならば知る、木と鉄とコンクリートの呼応だ。その呼応が、今ここで一つの方向へと収束しようとしていた。
床板が低く唸り、足裏に伝わる微細な震えとなった。外の街路灯の光がカーテン越しに入り込み、部屋を淡い橙色で満たしていた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように見えた。家全体が呼吸をしているように膨らみ、そして収縮する。まるで見えない心臓が脈打ち、その鼓動に合わせて梁や柱が響きを返しているかのようであった。
ケビンは両手を膝に置き、動くことなく耳を澄ました。天井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。規則性をもって増幅し、やがて低い波となって部屋全体に広がった。壁紙がわずかに裂け目を見せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を現した。亀裂は細い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。
グラスの中の水が震え、その表面に映る街灯の光が細かく砕けた。外の夜風が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立てた。それに呼応するかのように、梁の唸りが一段と強くなった。その瞬間、家全体がひとつの楽器と化したように、共鳴音を放った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、体内の血流と混ざり合うように感じられた。
ケビンは胸に手を当てた――だが、自分の鼓動と建物の鼓動が重なり、境界が失われていくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み込み、闇の線となった。
梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の命令であり、逃れられぬ下方への召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、夜の街の光が断片となって飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が崩れ落ち、テーブルが傾いた。
そして――天井が裂け、崩れ落ちた。轟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が一気に立ち上った。世界は白く濁り、息が奪われる。
ケビンの体もまた、梁や柱と同じ流れに組み込まれていった。彼は立ち尽くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは引き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇妙な安堵を感じていた。家と共に、自分もまた一つの楽章の終わりとして沈むのだと。
逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき書類も責任も、いまや粉塵の中に溶けていく。
梁が折れ、柱が潰れ、床が裂ける。
そのすべてと同時に、彼の骨も、血も、声も、無数の破片となって夜の空気に散った。崩壊は暴力ではなく、むしろ緻密に設計された楽曲の終章であった。ケビンという存在も、ひとつの音符としてその中に含まれ、やがて静寂に吸い込まれた。
粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。
瓦礫の中にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。
ただ、崩れた梁の影が、彼の名残のように横たわっているだけであった。
遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサイレンが夜を割った。
都市の呼吸は再び続いていたが、ケビンの呼吸はもう戻らなかった。
夜の街に残されたのは、崩壊の余韻と、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の記憶だけだった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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An out-of-body experience (OBE or sometimes OOBE) is an experience in which a person seems to perceive the world from a location outside their physical body. An OBE is a form of autoscopy (literally "seeing self"), although the term autoscopy more commonly refers to the pathological condition of seeing a second self, or doppelgänger.Do you want to float around the astral plane without dying first? Are you longing to leave your body at home for a few hours to explore the cosmos? People report out-of-body experiences (OBEs) while dreaming, during near-death experiences, or through relaxation techniques such as meditation. For some people, having an OBE can be like being Alice in your very own Wonderland. Read on to learn how to experience this on purpose.Ready your mind and body. Choose a quiet place you find relaxing. You can be indoors or outdoors, as long as you are comfortable. Make sure you won't be interrupted. OBEs are most common in the morning at 4:00am-6:00am, however trying this at night or when you are tired will probably just make you fall asleep.
Find a comfortable position, either sitting or lying down. Many people choose to lie down on their backs, but be forewarned that temporary sleep paralysis is more likely in this position if you do fall asleep. These may consist of dark figures, ghosts or whatever you fear entering your room. Though this may sound scary, the more you realise they cannot physically harm you for they are your mind's creation, the less scary it is to endure.
Affirm to yourself that you are going to have an out-of-body experience. Say to yourself "Mind awake-Body Asleep" or "I will have a lucid dream." Repeat this several times until it is the only thought left in your mind. Close your eyes and relax. Become less conscious of your external surroundings. Empty your mind of thoughts and ideas. Meditation techniques can be helpful here to maintain an empty mind while still remaining focused and aware. Allow yourself to almost fall asleep. Actually sleeping would defeat the purpose. Instead, let yourself drift close to sleep while concentrating on being conscious of your sensations and mental state. Feel a vibrating sensation in your body. As you relax further, you should become more aware of what's happening inside your mind and body than anything happening in the room around you. Try to feel the vibration of your body, coming from both the larger pulse of your blood and breath to the individual movements of your cells. You may think you hear sounds like a tornado/wind. The urge to move here will be tremendous, especially if it's your first time. Just relax deeper and deeper until the sounds passes, but avoid falling asleep.
Try to slow the vibration. Visualize the movements of your body slowing and the sounds and sensations of vibrations getting fainter. Soon everything will be completely silent and your body will be still. Let your body become paralyzed. Some say it feels like a lead blanket has been placed over you. You may notice all of a sudden that you can't move your arms or legs. Don't panic! If you try to force yourself to move you may wake up. You will, however, be able to move your eyes, mouth, nose, and face, so try moving those slightly instead. Feel your hands grasping an invisible rope. Don't move your actual hands or visualize the rope. The "rope method" relies on the imaginary feeling of the rope, not a mental image. Focus on the texture, thickness and heftiness of the rope. Feel the tension in your arms between the strength of the rope and the pull of your weight. If you have trouble using the rope technique, try imagining a ladder instead. Some people find this easier, especially if they are more accustomed to climbing ladders than ropes.
Use the rope to pull yourself up and start climbing. Feel your muscles contract and your body move upward when you pull. Don't visualize: imagine you are doing this in pure darkness. Keep going up. Soon you will find yourself out of your body, triggering the "projection reflex."
If you experience vibrations in your body as you climb, try to relax more, or else you will only lose more energy and it will become harder.
If you have trouble, try climbing up as you inhale and then resting as you exhale.
The rope method is a more practical variation on the more iconic technique of visualizing yourself floating up. Though floating out of one's body all at once makes for a better image in the movies, it's not as effective in real life.
Open your astral eyes. Once you know you are out of your body, open your eyes. You should be viewing your room from the side of your bed, with your body still lying there still with eyes closed.
If you want, try to open your third eye first, low on the center of your forehead.
Visualize every detail of the space around you. Make sure you get a good look at your surroundings before you lie down. Now try to recall and feel the location and shape of every object in the room, as it looks from where you are resting.
Visualize the space around you as seen from a different point in the room. Once you have the image of the room clear in your mind's eye, shift that perspective to try to see that image as though you were standing over or near your body. In some ways you should already feel like you have left your body.
Rise from your body to the spot you were visualizing from. Stay very relaxed, but be forceful in your will to gently bring yourself to that point. Feel yourself moving up and over to that space, and visualize your perspective changing. Then open your astral eyes.
www.wikihow.com/Have-an-Out-of-Body-Experience
The term out-of-body experience was introduced in 1943 by G. N. M. Tyrrell in his book Apparitions, and was adopted by researchers such as Celia Green and Robert Monroe[3] as an alternative to belief-centric labels such as "astral projection", "soul travel", or "spirit walking". OBEs can be induced by brain traumas, sensory deprivation, near-death experiences, dissociative and psychedelic drugs, dehydration, sleep, and electrical stimulation of the brain, among others. It can also be deliberately induced by some. One in ten people have an OBE once, or more commonly, several times in their life.
Neuroscientists and psychologists regard OBEs as dissociative experiences arising from different psychological and neurological factors.
Those experiencing OBEs sometimes report (among other types of immediate and spontaneous experience) a preceding and initiating lucid-dream state. In many cases, people who claim to have had an OBE report being on the verge of sleep, or being already asleep shortly before the experience. A large percentage of these cases refer to situations where the sleep was not particularly deep (due to illness, noises in other rooms, emotional stress, exhaustion from overworking, frequent re-awakening, etc.). In most of these cases subjects perceive themselves as being awake; about half of them note a feeling of sleep paralysis.
Near-death experiences
Main article: Near-death experience
Another form of spontaneous OBE is the near-death experience (NDE). Some subjects report having had an OBE at times of severe physical trauma such as near-drownings or major surgery. Near-death experiences may include subjective impressions of being outside the physical body, sometimes visions of deceased relatives and religious figures, and transcendence of ego and spatiotemporal boundaries.Typically the experience includes such factors as: a sense of being dead; a feeling of peace and painlessness; hearing of various non-physical sounds, an out-of-body experience; a tunnel experience (the sense of moving up or through a narrow passageway); encountering "beings of light" and a God-like figure or similar entities; being given a "life review", and a reluctance to return to life.
Resulting from extreme physical effort
Along the same lines as an NDE, extreme physical effort during activities such as high-altitude climbing and marathon running can induce OBEs. A sense of bilocation may be experienced, with both ground and air-based perspectives being experienced simultaneously.
Induced
Chemical
OBEs can be induced by hallucinogens (particularly dissociatives) such as psilocybin, ketamine, DMT, MDA, and LSD.
Mental induction
Falling asleep physically without losing awareness. The "Mind Awake, Body Asleep" state is widely suggested as a cause of OBEs, voluntary and otherwise. Thomas Edison used this state to tackle problems while working on his inventions. He would rest a silver dollar on his head while sitting with a metal bucket in a chair. As he drifted off, the coin would noisily fall into the bucket, restoring some of his alertness. OBE pioneer Sylvan Muldoon more simply used a forearm held perpendicular in bed as the falling object. Salvador Dalí was said to use a similar "paranoiac-critical" method to gain odd visions which inspired his paintings. Deliberately teetering between awake and asleep states is known to cause spontaneous trance episodes at the onset of sleep which are ultimately helpful when attempting to induce an OBE. By moving deeper and deeper into relaxation, one eventually encounters a "slipping" feeling if the mind is still alert. This slipping is reported to feel like leaving the physical body. Some consider progressive relaxation a passive form of sensory deprivation.
Deep trance, meditation and visualization. The types of visualizations vary; some common analogies include climbing a rope to "pull out" of one's body, floating out of one's body, getting shot out of a cannon, and other similar approaches. This technique is considered hard to use for people who cannot properly relax. One example of such a technique is the popular Golden Dawn "Body of Light" Technique.
Mechanical induction
Brainwave synchronization via audio/visual stimulation. Binaural beats can be used to induce specific brainwave frequencies,[30] notably those predominant in various mind awake/body asleep states. Binaural induction of a "body asleep" 4 Hertz brainwave frequency was observed as effective by the Monroe Institute, and some authors consider binaural beats to be significantly supportive of OBE initiation when used in conjunction with other techniques. Simultaneous introduction of "mind awake" beta frequencies (detectable in the brains of normal, relaxed awakened individuals) was also observed as constructive. Another popular technology uses sinusoidal wave pulses to achieve similar results, and the drumming accompanying Native American religious ceremonies is also believed to have heightened receptivity to "other worlds" through brainwave entrainment mechanisms.
Magnetic stimulation of the brain, as with the God helmet developed by Michael Persinger.
Direct stimulation of the vestibular cortex.
Electrical stimulation of the brain, particularly the temporoparietal junction (see Blanke study below).
Sensory deprivation. This approach aims to induce intense disorientation by removal of space and time references. Flotation tanks or pink noise played through headphones are often employed for this purpose.
Sensory overload, the opposite of sensory deprivation. The subject can for instance be rocked for a long time in a specially designed cradle, or submitted to light forms of torture, to cause the brain to shut itself off from all sensory input. Both conditions tend to cause confusion and this disorientation often permits the subject to experience vivid, ethereal out-of-body experiences.
Strong g-forces that causes blood to drain from parts of the brain, as experienced for example in high-performance aircraft or high-G training for pilots and astronauts.
An apparatus that uses a head-mounted display and a touch that confuses the sense of proprioception (and which can also create the sensation of additional limbs).
Theories of OBEs
Psychological
In the fields of cognitive science and psychology OBEs are considered dissociative experiences arising from different psychological and neurological factors.Scientists consider the OBE to be an experience from a mental state, like a dream or an altered state of consciousness without recourse to the paranormal.
Charles Richet (1887) held that OBEs are created by the subject's memory and imagination processes and are no different from dreams.James H. Hyslop (1912) wrote that OBEs occur when the activity of the subconscious mind dramatizes certain images to give the impression the subject is in a different physical location. Eugéne Osty (1930) considered OBEs to be nothing more than the product of imagination.Other early researchers (such as Schmeing, 1938) supported psychophysiological theories.[46] G. N. M. Tyrrell interpreted OBEs as hallucinatory constructs relating to subconscious levels of personality.
Donovan Rawcliffe (1959) connected the OBE experience with psychosis and hysteria. Other researchers have discussed the phenomena of the OBE in terms of a distortion of the body image (Horowitz, 1970) and depersonalization (Whitlock, 1978). The psychologists Nandor Fodor (1959) and Jan Ehrenwald (1974) proposed that an OBE is a defense mechanism designed to deal with the threat of death.[51][52] According to (Irin and Watt, 2007) Jan Ehrenwald had described the out-of-body experience (OBE) "as an imaginal confirmation of the question for immortality, a delusory attempt to assure ourselves that we possess a soul that exists independently of the physical body. The psychologists Donald Hebb (1960) and Cyril Burt (1968) wrote on the psychological interpretation of the OBE involving body image and visual imagery. Graham Reed (1974) suggested that the OBE is a stress reaction to a painful situation, such as the loss of love.John Palmer (1978) wrote that the OBE is a response to a body image change causing a threat to personal identity.
Carl Sagan (1977) and Barbara Honegger (1983) wrote that the OBE experience may be based on a rebirth fantasy or reliving of the birth process based on reports of tunnel-like passageways and a cord-like connection by some OBErs which they compared to an umbilical cord.Susan Blackmore (1978) came to the conclusion that the OBE is a hallucinatory fantasy as it has the characteristics of imaginary perceptions, perceptual distortions and fantasy-like perceptions of the self (such as having no body).[60][61] Ronald Siegel (1980) also wrote that OBEs are hallucinatory fantasies.
Harvey Irwin (1985) presented a theory of the OBE involving attentional cognitive processes and somatic sensory activity. His theory involved a cognitive personality construct known as psychological absorption and gave instances of the classification of an OBE as examples of autoscopy, depersonalization and mental dissociation.[38] The psychophysiologist Stephen Laberge (1985) has written that the explanation for OBEs can be found in lucid dreaming. David Hufford (1989) linked the OBE experience with a phenomenon he described as a nightmare waking experience, a type of sleep paralysis.[64] Other scientists have also linked OBEs to cases of hypnagogia and sleep paralysis (cataplexy).
In case studies fantasy proneness has been shown to be higher among OBErs than those who have not had an OBE.[67] The data has shown a link between the OBE experience in some cases to fantasy prone personality (FPP).[68] In a case study involving 167 participants the findings revealed that those who claimed to have experienced the OBE were "more fantasy prone, higher in their belief in the paranormal and displayed greater somatoform dissociation."[69] Research from studies has also suggested that OBEs are related to cognitive-perceptual schizotypy.
Terence Hines (2003) has written that spontaneous out-of-body experiences can be generated by artificial stimulation of the brain and this strongly suggests that the OBE experience is caused from "temporary, minor brain malfunctions, not by the person's spirit (or whatever) actually leaving the body."In a study review of neurological and neurocognitive data (Bünning and Blanke, 2005) wrote that OBEs are due to "functional disintegration of lower-level multisensory processing and abnormal higher-level self-processing at the temporoparietal junction. Some scientists suspect that OBEs are the result of a mismatch between visual and tactile signals.
Richard Wiseman (2011) has noted that OBE research has focused on finding a psychological explanation and "out-of-body experiences are not paranormal and do not provide evidence for the soul. Instead, they reveal something far more remarkable about the everyday workings of your brain and body."[75] A study conducted by Jason Braithwaite and colleagues (2011) linked the OBE to "neural instabilities in the brain's temporal lobes and to errors in the body's sense of itself". Braithwaite et al. (2013) reported that the "current and dominant view is that the OBE occurs due to a temporary disruption in multi-sensory integration processes."
Paranormal
Writers within the fields of parapsychology and occultism have written that OBEs are not psychological and that a soul, spirit or subtle body can detach itself out of the body and visit distant locations. Out-of-the-body experiences were known during the Victorian period in spiritualist literature as "travelling clairvoyance". The psychical researcher Frederic Myers referred to the OBE as a "psychical excursion".[79] An early study which described alleged cases of OBEs was the two volume Phantasms of the Living, published in 1886 by the psychical researchers Edmund Gurney, Myers and Frank Podmore. The book was largely criticized by the scientific community as the anecdotal reports lacked evidential substantiation in nearly every case.
A 19th-century illustration of Robert Blair's poem The Grave, depicting the soul leaving the body
The Theosophist Arthur Powell (1927) was an early author to advocate the subtle body theory of OBEs. Sylvan Muldoon (1936) embraced the concept of an etheric body to explain the OBE experience. The psychical researcher Ernesto Bozzano (1938) had also supported a similar view describing the phenomena of the OBE experience in terms of bilocation in which an "etheric body" can release itself from the physical body in rare circumstances. The subtle body theory was also supported by occult writers such as Ralph Shirley (1938), Benjamin Walker (1977) and Douglas Baker (1979).[85] James Baker (1954) wrote that a mental body enters an "intercosmic region" during the OBE.[86] Marilynn Hughes states that the experiences are the projection of the spiritual body from the physical for the purpose of the soul's purification.[87] Robert Crookall in many publications supported the subtle body theory of OBEs.
The paranormal interpretation of OBEs has not been supported by all researchers within the study of parapsychology. Gardner Murphy (1961) wrote that OBEs are "not very far from the known terrain of general psychology, which we are beginning to understand more and more without recourse to the paranormal".
In the 1970s, Karlis Osis conducted many OBE experiments with the psychic Alex Tanous. For a series of these experiments he was asked whilst in an OBE state to try to identify coloured targets that were placed in remote locations. Osis reported that in 197 trials there were 114 hits. However, the controls to the experiments have been criticized and according to Susan Blackmore, the final result was not particularly significant as 108 hits would be expected by chance. Blackmore noted that the results provide "no evidence for accurate perception in the OBE".
In April 1977, a patient from Harborview Medical Center known as Maria claimed to have experienced an out-of-body experience. During her OBE she claimed to have floated outside her body and outside of the hospital. Maria would later tell her social worker Kimberly Clark that during the OBE she had observed a tennis shoe on the third floor window ledge to the north side of the building. Clark would go to the north wing of the building and by looking out of the window could see a tennis shoe on one of the ledges. Clark published the account in 1985. The story has since been used in many paranormal books as evidence a spirit can leave the body.
In 1996, Hayden Ebbern, Sean Mulligan and Barry Beyerstein visited the Medical Center to investigate the story. They placed a tennis shoe on the same ledge and discovered that the shoe was visible from within the building and could have easily been observed by a patient lying in bed. They also discovered the shoe was easily observable from outside the building and suggested that Maria may have overheard a comment about it during her three days in the hospital and incorporated it into her OBE. They concluded "Maria's story merely reveals the naiveté and the power of wishful thinking" from OBE researchers seeking a paranormal explanation.[93] Clark did not publish the description of the case until seven years after it happened, casting doubt on the story. Richard Wiseman has said that although the story is not evidence for anything paranormal it has been "endlessly repeated by writers who either couldn't be bothered to check the facts, or were unwilling to present their readers with the more skeptical side of the story."
Oneness and One
In 2017, Prince Paul Mamakos summarized the three stages of out of body experience.[94] The first stage being achieving an out-of-body experience and experiencing movement within the environment near the physical body. The second stage being going out and exploring outside ones house, going off planet, going into the planet and meeting other beings. In the third stage of OBEs, a person begins to notice the energy within another being as the same as that which is coming out of their own being. The energy essence of another, is the same as your energy. In the culmination of the third stage, a person experiences a sense of connection with all beings. On a linear range of awareness, if we place personality at a proximal point on a line, a point on the distal end of the line will represent an experience of oneness. Personality and oneness representing opposite extremes of awareness. Further dropping oneness results in the 'it' experience. One.
Studies of OBEs
Early collections of OBE cases had been made by Ernesto Bozzano (Italy) and Robert Crookall (UK). Crookall approached the subject from a spiritualistic position, and collected his cases predominantly from spiritualist newspapers such as the Psychic News, which appears to have biased his results in various ways. For example, the majority of his subjects reported seeing a cord connecting the physical body and its observing counterpart; whereas Green found that less than 4% of her subjects noticed anything of this sort, and some 80% reported feeling they were a "disembodied consciousness", with no external body at all.
The first extensive scientific study of OBEs was made by Celia Green (1968).She collected written, first-hand accounts from a total of 400 subjects, recruited by means of appeals in the mainstream media, and followed up by questionnaires. Her purpose was to provide a taxonomy of the different types of OBE, viewed simply as an anomalous perceptual experience or hallucination, while leaving open the question of whether some of the cases might incorporate information derived by extrasensory perception.
International Academy of Consciousness - Global Survey
In 1999, at the 1st International Forum of Consciousness Research in Barcelona, International Academy of Consciousness research-practitioners Wagner Alegretti and Nanci Trivellato presented preliminary findings of an online survey on the out-of-body experience answered by internet users interested in the subject; therefore, not a sample representative of the general population.
1,007 (85%) of the first 1,185 respondents reported having had an OBE. 37% claimed to have had between two and ten OBEs. 5.5% claimed more than 100 such experiences. 45% of those who reported an OBE said they successfully induced at least one OBE by using a specific technique. 62% of participants claiming to have had an OBE also reported having enjoyed nonphysical flight; 40% reported experiencing the phenomenon of self-bilocation (i.e. seeing one's own physical body whilst outside the body); and 38% claimed having experienced self-permeability (passing through physical objects such as walls). The most commonly reported sensations experienced in connection with the OBE were falling, floating, repercussions e.g. myoclonia (the jerking of limbs, jerking awake), sinking, torpidity (numbness), intracranial sounds, tingling, clairvoyance, oscillation and serenity.
Another reported common sensation related to OBE was temporary or projective catalepsy, a more common feature of sleep paralysis. The sleep paralysis and OBE correlation was later corroborated by the Out-of-Body Experience and Arousal study published in Neurology by Kevin Nelson and his colleagues from the University of Kentucky in 2007. The study discovered that people who have out-of-body experiences are more likely to suffer from sleep paralysis.
Also noteworthy, is the Waterloo Unusual Sleep Experiences Questionnaire that further illustrates the correlation.
Miss Z study
In 1968, Charles Tart conducted an OBE experiment with a subject known as Miss Z for four nights in his sleep laboratory. The subject was attached to an EEG machine and a five-digit code was placed on a shelf above her bed. She did not claim to see the number on the first three nights but on fourth gave the number correctly.The psychologist James Alcock criticized the experiment for inadequate controls and questioned why the subject was not visually monitored by a video camera.Martin Gardner has written the experiment was not evidence for an OBE and suggested that whilst Tart was "snoring behind the window, Miss Z simply stood up in bed, without detaching the electrodes, and peeked." Susan Blackmore wrote "If Miss Z had tried to climb up, the brain-wave record would have showed a pattern of interference. And that was exactly what it did show."
Neurology and OBE-like experiences
There are several possible physiological explanations for parts of the OBE. OBE-like experiences have been induced by stimulation of the brain. OBE-like experience has also been induced through stimulation of the posterior part of the right superior temporal gyrus in a patient.[106] Positron-emission tomography was also used in this study to identify brain regions affected by this stimulation. The term OBE-like is used above because the experiences described in these experiments either lacked some of the clarity or details of normal OBEs, or were described by subjects who had never experienced an OBE before. Such subjects were therefore not qualified to make claims about the authenticity of the experimentally-induced OBE.
British psychologist Susan Blackmore and others suggest that an OBE begins when a person loses contact with sensory input from the body while remaining conscious. The person retains the illusion of having a body, but that perception is no longer derived from the senses. The perceived world may resemble the world he or she generally inhabits while awake, but this perception does not come from the senses either. The vivid body and world is made by our brain's ability to create fully convincing realms, even in the absence of sensory information. This process is witnessed by each of us every night in our dreams, though OBEs are claimed to be far more vivid than even a lucid dream.
Irwin pointed out that OBEs appear to occur under conditions of either very high or very low arousal. For example, Green[109] found that three quarters of a group of 176 subjects reporting a single OBE were lying down at the time of the experience, and of these 12% considered they had been asleep when it started. By contrast, a substantial minority of her cases occurred under conditions of maximum arousal, such as a rock-climbing fall, a traffic accident, or childbirth. McCreery has suggested that this paradox may be explained by reference to the fact that sleep can supervene as a reaction to extreme stress or hyper-arousal. He proposes that OBEs under both conditions, relaxation and hyper-arousal, represent a form of "waking dream", or the intrusion of Stage 1 sleep processes into waking consciousness.
Olaf Blanke studies
Research by Olaf Blanke in Switzerland found that it is possible to reliably elicit experiences somewhat similar to the OBE by stimulating regions of the brain called the right temporal-parietal junction (TPJ; a region where the temporal lobe and parietal lobe of the brain come together). Blanke and his collaborators in Switzerland have explored the neural basis of OBEs by showing that they are reliably associated with lesions in the right TPJ region and that they can be reliably elicited with electrical stimulation of this region in a patient with epilepsy.[114] These elicited experiences may include perceptions of transformations of the patient's arms and legs (complex somatosensory responses) and whole-body displacements (vestibular responses).
In neurologically normal subjects, Blanke and colleagues then showed that the conscious experience of the self and body being in the same location depends on multisensory integration in the TPJ. Using event-related potentials, Blanke and colleagues showed the selective activation of the TPJ 330–400 ms after stimulus onset when healthy volunteers imagined themselves in the position and visual perspective that generally are reported by people experiencing spontaneous OBEs. Transcranial magnetic stimulation in the same subjects impaired mental transformation of the participant's own body. No such effects were found with stimulation of another site or for imagined spatial transformations of external objects, suggesting the selective implication of the TPJ in mental imagery of one's own body.
In a follow up study, Arzy et al. showed that the location and timing of brain activation depended on whether mental imagery is performed with mentally embodied or disembodied self location. When subjects performed mental imagery with an embodied location, there was increased activation of a region called the "extrastriate body area" (EBA), but when subjects performed mental imagery with a disembodied location, as reported in OBEs, there was increased activation in the region of the TPJ. This leads Arzy et al. to argue that "these data show that distributed brain activity at the EBA and TPJ as well as their timing are crucial for the coding of the self as embodied and as spatially situated within the human body."
Blanke and colleagues thus propose that the right temporal-parietal junction is important for the sense of spatial location of the self, and that when these normal processes go awry, an OBE arises.
In August 2007 Blanke's lab published research in Science demonstrating that conflicting visual-somatosensory input in virtual reality could disrupt the spatial unity between the self and the body. During multisensory conflict, participants felt as if a virtual body seen in front of them was their own body and mislocalized themselves toward the virtual body, to a position outside their bodily borders. This indicates that spatial unity and bodily self-consciousness can be studied experimentally and is based on multisensory and cognitive processing of bodily information.
Ehrsson study
In August 2007, Henrik Ehrsson, then at the Institute of Neurology at University College of London (now at the Karolinska Institute in Sweden), published research in Science demonstrating the first experimental method that, according to the scientist's claims in the publication, induced an out-of-body experience in healthy participants. The experiment was conducted in the following way:
The study participant sits in a chair wearing a pair of head-mounted video displays. These have two small screens over each eye, which show a live film recorded by two video cameras placed beside each other two metres behind the participant's head. The image from the left video camera is presented on the left-eye display and the image from the right camera on the right-eye display. The participant sees these as one "stereoscopic" (3D) image, so they see their own back displayed from the perspective of someone sitting behind them.
The researcher then stands just beside the participant (in their view) and uses two plastic rods to simultaneously touch the participant's actual chest out-of-view and the chest of the illusory body, moving this second rod towards where the illusory chest would be located, just below the camera's view.
The participants confirmed that they had experienced sitting behind their physical body and looking at it from that location.
Both critics and the experimenter himself note that the study fell short of replicating "full-blown" OBEs. As with previous experiments which induced sensations of floating outside of the body, Ehrsson's work does not explain how a brain malfunction might cause an OBE. Essentially, Ehrsson created an illusion that fits a definition of an OBE in which "a person who is awake sees his or her body from a location outside the physical body."
Awareness during Resuscitation Study
In 2001, Sam Parnia and colleagues investigated out of body claims by placing figures on suspended boards facing the ceiling, not visible from the floor. Parnia wrote "anybody who claimed to have left their body and be near the ceiling during resuscitation attempts would be expected to identify those targets. If, however, such perceptions are psychological, then one would obviously not expect the targets to be identified." The philosopher Keith Augustine, who examined Parnia's study, has written that all target identification experiments have produced negative results. Psychologist Chris French wrote regarding the study "unfortunately, and somewhat atypically, none of the survivors in this sample experienced an OBE."
In the autumn of 2008, 25 UK and US hospitals began participation in a study, coordinated by Sam Parnia and Southampton University known as the AWARE study (AWAreness during REsuscitation). Following on from the work of Pim van Lommel in the Netherlands, the study aims to examine near-death experiences in 1,500 cardiac arrest survivors and so determine whether people without a heartbeat or brain activity can have documentable out-of-body experiences. As part of the study Parnia and colleagues have investigated out of body claims by using hidden targets placed on shelves that could only be seen from above.Parnia has written "if no one sees the pictures, it shows these experiences are illusions or false memories".
In 2014 Parnia issued a statement indicating that the first phase of the project has been completed and the results are undergoing peer review for publication in a medical journal. No subjects saw the images mounted out of sight according to Parnia's early report of the results of the study at an American Heart Association meeting in November 2013. Only two out of the 152 patients reported any visual experiences, and one of them described events that could be verified. The two NDEs occurred in an area were "no visual targets had been placed".
On October 6, 2014, the results of the study were published in the journal Resuscitation. Among those who reported a perception of awareness and completed further interviews, 46 per cent experienced a broad range of mental recollections in relation to death that were not compatible with the commonly used term of NDEs. These included fearful and persecutory experiences. Only 9 per cent had experiences compatible with NDEs and 2 per cent exhibited full awareness compatible with OBEs with explicit recall of 'seeing' and 'hearing' events. One case was validated and timed using auditory stimuli during cardiac arrest. According to Caroline Watt "The one 'verifiable period of conscious awareness' that Parnia was able to report did not relate to this objective test. Rather, it was a patient giving a supposedly accurate report of events during his resuscitation. He didn't identify the pictures, he described the defibrillator machine noise. But that's not very impressive since many people know what goes on in an emergency room setting from seeing recreations on television."
AWARE Study II
As of May 2016, a posting at the UK Clinical Trials Gateway website describes plans for AWARE II, a two-year multicenter observational study of 900-1500 patients experiencing cardiac arrest, with subjects being recruited as August 1, 2014 and a trial end date of May 31, 2017.
Smith & Messier
A recent functional imaging study reported the case of a woman who could experience out of body experience at will. She reported developing the ability as a child and associated it with difficulties in falling sleep. Her OBEs continued into adulthood but became less frequent. She was able to see herself rotating in the air above her body, lying flat, and rolling in the horizontal plane. She reported sometimes watching herself move from above but remained aware of her unmoving "real" body. The participant reported no particular emotions linked to the experience. "[T]he brain functional changes associated with the reported extra-corporeal experience (ECE) were different than those observed in motor imagery. Activations were mainly left-sided and involved the left supplementary motor area and supramarginal and posterior superior temporal gyri, the last two overlapping with the temporal parietal junction that has been associated with out-of-body experiences. The cerebellum also showed activation that is consistent with the participant's report of the impression of movement during the ECE. There was also left middle and superior orbital frontal gyri activity, regions often associated with action monitoring."
OBE training and research facilities[edit]
The International Academy of Consciousness (IAC) is a global organisation, with training centers in California, New York, London, Lisbon, Madrid, Sao Paolo, Rio de Janeiro, several other cities around the world and a research campus in Portugal. The research campus features specialised laboratories, including a spherical lab dedicated exclusively for the practice and research of out-of-body experiences.The IAC offers courses online and in person, including their signature course the Consciousness Development Programme (a comprehensive 40-hour course covering OBE techniques, with practical classes, as well as many other para-psychic themes related to the practice).
The Monroe Institute's Nancy Penn Center is a facility specializing in or out-of-body experience induction. The Center for Higher Studies of the Consciousness in Brazil is another large OBE training facility. Olaf Blanke's Laboratory of Cognitive Neuroscience has become a well-known laboratory for OBE research.
Astral projection
Main article: Astral projection
Astral projection is a paranormal interpretation of out-of-body experiences that assumes the existence of one or more non-physical planes of existence and an associated body beyond the physical. Commonly such planes are called astral, etheric, or spiritual. Astral projection is often experienced as the spirit or astral body leaving the physical body to travel in the spirit world or astral plane.
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Thank you all who voted, I appreciate it a lot.
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London is back again on Tier 2, lockdown's being partially lifted, and yet, everything seems so still,empty and unmoving.
Like mannequin in an empty store.
(Not so) Fun fact: Although the idea stayed the same, this photos were not supposed to be my chosen ones for the week. Unfortunately my camera turned off (possible water damage?) and so I was left with only my initial 3 shots.
It will do for this week.
Nathan Bookard is in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The first thing Nathan noticed was the smell.
Burning.
Never a good thing when you work at a reactor plant that serves an entire city. Especially if it manages to climb over all the other scents produced by the runoff pipes.
Nathan had just handed in his resignation and was finishing out his last day as a Safety Inspector. Tomorrow he’d become a bounty hunter, tracking down the Imperial spy he had met—and fallen in love with—a few weeks prior. A weight sat on his chest, an anxious need to get a move on. He had to imagine Imperial Spies didn't have safe, stable lives; he had to find Mayla before anything happened to her. He hoped he could convince her to defect.
He had been rounding the corner of a substation when he caught the scent. He had smelled electrical fires before, and this wasn’t that. It was more natural, more…roastey, for lack of a better word.
Then he saw the feet, all that was showing of the Ugnaught’s body from the runoff pipe he’d been stuffed into. It was Jep. Jep had helped Nathan fix a vulnerability in this substation just days ago. Nate’s heart raced as he pulled the Ugnaught out of the shadows. His eyes were open, but unmoving. Runoff waste stained his coveralls.
“Jep! Jep, can you hear me? C’mon, buddy, come on!”
Smoke rose from a burn on his chest.
A blast point.
Nathan heard footsteps on the catwalk behind him. He turned and looked up, eyes wide, to see a man standing there. He was wearing simple mechanics clothes. There was a blaster pistol clutched in his hand.
“Too many witnesses,” the man growled.
Connections sparked in Nathan’s brain. “You’re another Imperial spy?” he said.
Maybe if he could get him talking, he could stall. There was a panic-button on Jep’s coveralls, something he’d insisted all the employees have. He inched his hand towards it.
The man hesitated, frowning at what Nathan had said. “…Another?”
“You’re a lot uglier than the last one,” Nathan said, wishing his voice hadn’t shaken so much. His heart was hammering. He was seconds away from the fob, from calling for help.
The Imperial blinked as he processed what the boy had said. Rage flooded his eyes.
“The girl lied! She said she never got in! Useless little—“ He composed himself and remembered the matter at hand. “…No matter. We’ll deal with that loyalty problem later.”
Nathan blanched.
Oh no.
Mayla had covered for him, and he just blew her cover. What had he done?
With lumbering steps, the spy crossed the catwalk towards the prone Nathan, who quickly pressed the panic-fob’s button. An alarm klaxon sounded above them.
“No!” roared the spy. Suddenly frantic, he fired his blaster. The shot struck the grating past Nathan’s ear, and on instinct, he stood and spun, grabbing the man’s arms before he could flee. The blaster, knocked aside in the struggle, fell to the floor. There was shouting in the distance.
“Let go of me!” cried the Imperial.
“No!”
Though the spy was older and stronger, Nate had a strong grip and a firm hold on him. At any moment either of them could go over the edge, even with the guardrails Nathan had installed.
The spy, unable to break free, looked at the Ugnaught’s body, the blaster on the ground, and alarms. Security were on their way. He made a choice.
He bit down hard, crunching something in his teeth. Nathan felt him go limp. He stumbled to the floor.
The young man stared as the Imperial’s body began to shake and writhe in pain, like he was being destroyed from the inside out.
Snarling, the spy looked him in the eye.
“Pyerce….Resilient.”
There was a flash, and then he had been disintegrated. There had been a spy, now there wasn’t. Just a pile of dust. Nathan stumbled back, scrambling on his hands on the grating. He couldn’t even process what had just happened.
The shouts of security were getting closer. Hearing them, Nathan realized what the spy had done: The guards were on their way. They’d see him—and only him—with the blaster and Jep’s body. No one else in sight.
He would take the fall for this.
He could let himself be arrested, he could prove his innocence, maybe Albee would testify for him. But if Mayla had really lied to her Imperial superiors, then she was in danger. He didn’t have time for a trial. He had to leave the planet.
For a brief, confused, joyous moment, Nathan recognized what this meant, that he had been right about Mayla. She lied to the Imperials, took a risk, for him? That meant that she had doubts. That meant he might be able to convince her to leave it all behind.
This moment of delight was replaced by the crashing panic of the situation. He had to get away from here. He would never find her from a prison block.
It also occurred to him that, with two spies now sent, the Imperial threat to Targonn was getting serious. That was a thought for later.
He took a final, sad look at Jep’s body. The Ugnaught was—had been—a friend. He deserved better. He hoped his family would be alright. There had to be insurance or something, some way they’d be taken care of. Nathan decided to send a chunk of his savings their way, as soon as he could.
Time was running out. Security was just around the corner.
Nathan turned and ran.
From in to out, from out to in together in light we swim each limb a solar fin as we flow to the sea to the liberty of sea that catches hold of moving stars in reflection only giving them light and life amongst the waves.
There is one way in and in reverse the same way takes you out. Upon the morning of the Twenty First the Sun comes in to clear the old year out and at the setting Sun the last rays take our dead upon their many, many ways to host us around our campfires and welcome us along the routes they took over this place our earthly space and other dead seek out the campfires above that by night have joined us in lighting our fires into the great darkness. Each of us lights beacons each to the others, campfire to campfires showing that warmth and life is only a way away, only the light of one day away and always within reach. We have made our ways with their aid bringing new light in sight by Winter and Summer both, all of us working around the axle light of us all the central star campfire the only unmoving always constant light. Though Sun and Moon, Planet Wandering Lights and Stars Campfire each fixed in distance one from the other and all together, all move across the skies, only the centre star stays central the one true eye within the sky. The rising new stars, the setting old stars sing songs of new seasons approaching of new phases to be begun and of the harvest of just passed and old star months now no longer to be relied upon. The herds move to the way of the stars and they move away even as the stars come and go in circling motions making paths in spiral in our sky as we upon this ground all will make spirals with those stars wherever our spirit is to be found. You come in the warmth of the womb in the earth at birth and you revisit as you age and take new roles in your life. You are a part of the bones in their home of earth and the stones, you are a part of the life of blood til you return to the stars that sent you here and in bone not the flesh your star core rests and in the flesh not the bone your life on earth is given birth and breath for the span of your days ways here til death and star rebirth opens up all of the ways of both nights and days within the Many Mists and the Cosmic Haze.
PHH Sykes 2023
phhsykes@gmail.com
Unstan Chambered Cairn
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/unstan-...
A dark ominous presence who is intrigued by other creatures, The Cho Hoo is always found following someone. The Cho Hoo will often follow someone around until intrigued by someone else. The Cho Hoo has been known to follow creatures for days, never sleeping, never speaking, only making a sort of chuckling sound every once in awhile, with an unmoving mouth, behind his big teeth.
To go along with the issue, here is the track for issue 11. If you care to, listen to it before, during or after the issue, I feel it elevates the experience :)
-^-
"They…. Are…. Here…." Hand mumbles, staring at his ring, twitching to the beat of his heart. "It doesn't matter though. They're too late. Nekron has all but risen… and all light will soon die."
Spectre watches the acolyte as he talks to himself, kneeling before the black battery of death. The protective seal on the metal begins to fade into darkness, black light pouring from the cracks. His gaze then moves to Starr, rocking back and forth cradling his hourglass. Spectre attempts to move, but his body has become too weak. He is losing his grasp on the world.
"You are running out of time, Commander," Corrigan says, his voice lower than whisper. "You can still stop this madness, you don't have to be a bystander."
Starr's head turns slowly. A sense of dread washes over Spectre's ghostly form as he feels the manic grin that spreads across Starr's helmeted face.
"Bargaining? Really, spirit?" the man asks, a hysterical chuckle spilling from his throat. "You… you're fading away, aren't you?"
"You have a choice, John," Spectre mumbles as he loses control of his arms.
"I wonder if this is how your victims felt…" Starr ponders, ignoring Spectre's words as he lifts himself to a stand. "Knowing their life was being ripped away… slowly losing their grip on reality itself… I almost pity you, spirit."
"Even gods can not escape the Spectre's judgement…" Corrigan mumbles out once more before his body loses its form entirely, falling onto the asteroid's surface as a green mist. "Be warned, Commander…"
"No one is afraid of the boogie man," Starr says, looking down at the green mist, "not anymore."
Starr walks through the green mist, dispersing the particles in every direction. Spectre silently groans as his body tears apart. He watches the man leave, his hold on the mortal plane fleeting by the second.
"Names Jim. Me and my wife just moved into the building a few days ago. I saw you climbing the fire escape and wanted to make sure you weren't… well, you know."
"Oh, nothing like that. I just… I enjoy the view up here."
"It is a nice view, isn't it? So, friend, got a name?"
"John. John Starr."
"Goodbye, Jim," Starr says, looking over his shoulder, his helmet covering his frown.
As his spirit fades, Corrigan catches a small glimpse of light in the array of the stars. Just as he vanishes, as the green smoke is forever lost to space… he sees it. He sees that shining light.
"The universe relies on you… my successor."
-^-
Hal's feet are planted firmly against the rocky terrain of the asteroid. His violet ring glows brightly as the bubble construct holding Kyle lands beside him. An object crashes into the ground next to him, causing Hal to raise his ring. Stepping out of the small crater is John, orange energy seeping off him, as if it were overflowing.
"John…" Hal calls, earning no response from the man.
"He'll be fine," another voice, Alan, says, landing beside John. "The ring… it didn't come easy."
"Power always comes at a cost," Thaal adds, not touching the asteroid's surface. "Only those willing to pay that cost deserve it."
Hal nods at his former partner, who gives a small nod of approval in return. His gaze then shifts to Simon, closely followed by Jessica.
"Of course Guy is the last to arrive," Simon mumbles as the red haired lantern joins the group, Aya hovering just behind him. "Took you long enough."
"Took you long enough," Guy mocks with a roll of his eyes.
"Hal Jordan," Aya begins, placing a hand onto his bubble holding Kyle, "allow me to shield Kyle Rayner until the time comes."
Hal nods, not missing Thaal's eyes stare at the android as she forms a green field around Kyle. Hal then turns, eyeing each of the paragons. Will, Fear, Rage, Hope, Compassion, Avarice, and himself, Love. They accomplished their goal, every entity was on their side. Now, all they need to do is…
"Hey, so what's our plan?" Guy asks, tapping his foot against the ground. "I see the giant black ball of darkness, but what do we do? I thought we needed the kid."
"Before the boy can summon The One," Thaal says, pointing out to two figures drawing near, "Death's Hand must be severed."
The first figure takes slow, but unorthodox steps, his black cloak folding over his shoulders. His armor is silver, matching the helmet atop his head. The patterns along his suit are similar to that of a New Genesian, as is the shaping of the hourglass in his hand.
The second is Death's Hand himself, Black Hand. He wears a deep navy uniform, silver and black highlighting the suit. A long black cape flows down his back, dragging along the asteroid as he walks. His right arm, the hand that bears the black ring, is in a constant state of fluctuation. His veins bubble and pop, blisters inflating and deflating along his forearm as black blood flows through his body… like the monster of a horror movie.
"Great, more zombies," Simon sighs, a burst of blue energy seeping from his ring.
"Alright, the lantern is Death's Hand," Alan says before pointing to the man with the hourglass, "but who's father time?"
"That would be the Time Commander" Thaal answers, his face paling slightly as he forms an axe construct. "We'll need to split their forces apart, even with all the entities we won't stand a chance against both of them at once."
"Jess and I will take the time keeper then," Simon suggests, earning a nod from Jessica.
"Alan goes with you," John finally says, his eyes locked onto Black Hand, unmoving. "Your ring'll boost his, it's best you two stay together."
"Heard," Alan agrees with a nod. "So all you guys need to do is sever his hand?"
Hal watches as John's eyes shift to him, only for just a moment. Hal nods to Alan. "This is our one and only shot… let's make it count."
-^-
Hand stops his march, watching as Ion swings his arm upwards. A trail of green light follows his motion, splitting the asteroid they stand on in two. His head turns to see Starr on the other half, the rocks drifting apart from the attack. As he tries to bridge the two, an enormous yellow barrier rises between them.
"Parallax…" he snarls, staring at the entity's host hovering above the asteroid.
Hand leaps forward toward the host, his arm reeling back and forming a spiked gauntlet around his fist. Before he can make contact, an orange snake pierces his abdomen. The construct exits through his back and latches its teeth into his shoulder, black blood gushing from the wound. Hand reaches for its head with the gauntlet, but its tail wraps around his wrist. His head turns to see Ophidian's host scowling, an orange aura surrounding him.
In an instant his body hurls through the void of space, crashing hard into a neighboring asteroid. He's only given seconds to move before The Butcher's fist slams down where his head had formerly been. He dodges a second strike aimed for his head, but is caught off guard by the violet blade that pierces his spine, leaving him open. The Butcher's host sends a rocket powered right hook directly at his jaw, shattering it and the violet blade. Falling to the ground once more, Hand finds himself at the feet of The Predator, who holds an axe construct.
"The Blackest Night ends here," he says, swinging the weapon down.
Hand's eyes grow wide as his ring begins to glow bright. The construct held by The Predator's host shatters and the man is sent flying across the asteroid. Light around Hand fades, his smile widening.
"Nekron's Curse," he cackles as his body is lifted into the air, jaw snapping back into place. "The Black Hand!"
-^-
"I didn't think he'd have one of those," Hal mumbles, rubbing his shoulder. His eyes are fixated on hand, now smiling gleefully. "We need to be careful, attack t-"
"He's mine," John whispers, orange energy amping up around him as he shoots off towards Hand.
"John, no!"
Weaved Purgatory!" Hand shouts out.
Suddenly, an abundance of thin, wire-like beams of energy shoot out from Hand's ring. Hand laughs maniacally, sending the webs towards John. The orange lantern raises his ring and forms a shield in front of him.
Hal feels a chill run down his spine as he watches the attack strike John's shield, shattering it instantly. The webs skewer John all across his body, blood spraying from his back like a sprinkler. Hand smirks, yanking the webs back towards him, John still attached.
"John!" Guy shouts out, slinging a rocket construct at Hand then flying towards him.
Hal watches as John is dragged through the air, his body lifeless and unmoving. His eyes fixate on the blood leaking from his torso, as well as his arms and legs. His eyes widen as he sees John's hand, as he sees the bright orange glow that only grows brighter with each inch travelled.
"Jordan!" Thaal shouts, charging forward after Guy.
Hal raises his fist and sends out two rope constructs, the first grabbing Thaal by the waist while the other catches Guy's foot. Hal pulls back, dragging both lanterns towards him.
"What are you doing!?" Guy screams, attempting to break the construct. "He'll die!"
Hal ignores Guy's shouting. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth. In front of the trio forms a large, dome-like shield.
-^-
John felt numb, cold. The web-like strands had shattered his shield as if it were glass and pierced every part of his body. They felt disgusting inside him, the strands constantly fluctuating in shape and they were so damn cold. He should be dead, but he isn't. It's a miracle, really, that the strand that shot towards his head missed, only clipping him. He couldn't see out of his left eye, he assumed it was gone, taken out by the grazing.
It doesn't matter though. He's being pulled directly towards Hand. He was going to end this, here and now.
The energy that had been around him like an aura shifts, the power redirecting to his ring. He can hear Guy shouting out for him, Thaal shouting to Hal to attack. John smirks through the pain at the sound of Guy and Thaal being pulled back.
As John comes in contact with Hand, the villain grabs hold of John's throat, the webs still holding him in place. John grits his teeth, face to face with Hand. The zombie smiles, red eyes staring back at John.
"You are a fool for choosing this man, Ophidian," Hand chuckles, pulsing more black energy into the webs.
John's eyes bulge as the webs inside him begin to expand, branching through his body. He barely registers the way the black blood begins leaking from the corners of his mouth along with his own red. His body begins to tremble, his eyes staring into Hand's own. A flash of Katma pulses in his mind. An orange dagger forms and slashes through the webs holding John's right arm in place. He lifts his arm through the throbbing pain, placing his ring against Hand's forehead.
"You took her from me," he whispers, the light of his ring blinding himself, "all over again…"
The star system glows an orange rivaling earth's sun. The power of the blast tears John free from the webs, sending him soaring into space. John doesn't relent, adding more fire power to his strike with each second that passes. A crater begins to form where Hand previously stood, cracks forming along the asteroid's base.
"John… I'm already dead, you can't save me. I love you… so, so much."
A single tear falls down John's face. The blast from John's quadruples in size, the orange aura from before returning tenth fold. The cracks in the asteroid grow larger with John's blast, running from the top all the way through. His left hand grips his right wrist, holding his arm in place as he screams out.
The blast bursts through the asteroid's underside, orange light piercing straight through before exploding the rock entirely.
As the blast fades, John's right arm falls limp, his shoulder dislocated. His ring sizzles like butter on a hot pan and his body radiates and orange smoke. John stares at the debris from the asteroid, watching the destruction he wrought.
"John!"
His head turns slightly, spotting his companions flying towards him. Guy wears a large smirk, Thaal's own smaller, but still noticeable. Hal, however, frowns at him.
"I didn't know you were packing that kind of power!" Guy exclaims, slapping John on the back, causing him to wince. "You just… holy shit, your eye!"
"I too was not expecting you of all people to fester so much greed," Thaal adds with a nod.
John doesn't answer. His eye locks onto a black energy swirling among the debris field. His fist clenches, orange flaring in his eye. He attempts to fly forward, but groans at the way his body resists.
"John, relax," Hal orders, causing John to grunt. "Guy, Sinestro…"
The other two turn, looking out at what John was staring at. John grimaces as the black energy begins creating a body from a floating arm. Both Guy and Sinestro quickly form constructs that float behind them.
"I thought John just vaporized him!" Guy called out.
"He said something as I fired," John mumbles as he snaps his dislocated shoulder back into place. "I think it was one of the curses."
"Spectrum Split," Hal says, looking over to John. "He split his arm off before you could attack."
Hand's body lands on one of the larger debris chunks, dropping to its knees. "YoU… tHinK yoUr SPecIaL?" Hand screeches, his voice like nails on a chalkboard, distorted and mangled from his still forming vocal cords. "ThaT YoU'rE dIffErENt frOm ThE reST? yOu ThInK yOuR pOwEr MeAnS sOmEtHiNg tO mE? yOu ThInK yOuR eMoTiOnS wIlL sAvE yOu? a PoWeR fRoM dYiNg BeInGs? It DoEsN'T mAtTeR! yOu'Re sTiLl FLeSh. YoU sTilL blEEd. YoU sTiLl RoT! I hAve kIlled mILlionS of LifE fOrMs. ThErE is No DiFfERenCe beTweeN SpecIEs… beTweEN ColOr… BEtWeEn sEx… YoU ARe aLl the sAme! You all… still… die!"
"Everyone, hit him now!" Hal yells out.
John watches as Guy and Thaal charge forward on opposite sides, Hal flying straight down the middle. His teeth grit together once again as he tries to push forward, but his body is frozen. The ring is healing his wounds, but it can only work so fast. The veins on his forehead bulge out as he lifts his arm into the air.
"I can't move yet, but I…" he groans, before yelling out, "I won't standby and fill another coffin!"
-^-
Guy's fist slams hard into a black barrier. He floats backwards, creating a large minigun construct, and begins laying into the barrier. On the opposite side, Thaal's velociraptor claws at the shield. Hand smiles, placing his fist against the barrier. He cackles as he lets out a burst of energy, shattering the barrier as well as the red and yellow constructs. The blast sends Guy and Thaal careening through space in opposite directions.
Hal rockets forward, propulsed by a jet construct on his back. As he gets in close to Hand, the black lantern raises his ring. Hal mimics the motion, ready to fire back, but pales as Hand opens his mouth.
"Cursed Constellation!" he shouts out, causing bright white stars to form around Hal.
Hal feels time slow as the white stars turn black, dark energy pulsing from each. He tries to put up a barrier around himself, but Hand charges forward, grabbing onto his left wrist.
Hal cries out as Hand crushes the bone, smirking at him devilishly. "Die!" he cackles, before firing the stars.
Hal closes his eyes, attempting to force all his energy to the ring. He thinks of his life. He thinks of the constant mistakes. He thinks of the people he's hurt. Those he's let down. The people. He thinks of Carol, how he hurt her. He thinks of Thaal, how he couldn't save him. He thinks of Tommy, how he disgraced him.
He won't live, but he can still stop Hand. He can do one thing right.
As he opens his eyes, they go wide. Hand's eyes are the same, like red stop lights. Giant, orange hands wrap around him, cradling him like he was a child and blocking the white star blasts. His eyes trail up the wrists, following them to the orange body. It's her, a construct of Katma. Looking past the construct, he sees John, tears streaming down his face as he screams out.
Hal smirks, staring at the orange lantern. His smirk falls as he turns back to hand, eyes lighting up a brighter violet than before. "You made my friend cry," he says, catching Hand's previously occupied attention.
Hal blasts Hand point blank. The blast doesn't match John's in power, but Hand is still sent careening through space. Guy, zooming back from the left, catches Hand with a two-handed downwards slam. Hand stops his momentum by blasting energy behind himself. Before he can attack, yellow chains wrap around his waist and legs. Thaal pulls hard, dragging Hand into the nearest debris chunk. The rock shatters further as Thaal continues to pull, slamming Hand into another.
"Blackhole!" he shouts out, aiming his ring at the chains. A beast-like construct spawns, devouring the restraints before leaping at Thaal.
The construct of Katma moves her hand, grabbing onto the beast and crushing it like an egg. Hand shifts his scowling gaze to John, bursting forwards at insane speed. Katma moves to block the attack, but Hand flies straight through her chest, shattering the construct.
"Agh!" John cries out, the explosion sending him backwards.
Before Hand can reach John, Guy digs a sickle construct into Hand's ankle. He pulls hard, tearing the construct and Hand's foot from his body. Hand attempts to flee, but Guy grabs hold of his cape, flinging him back towards Thaal. The yellow lantern juts out his hand, a yellow mist spewing from his ring. Yellow light begins radiating from Hand's body.
"What is…" Hand starts, but is cut off by his own scream as a demonic face forms and lightning begins to strike within the mist.
Hal watches sorrowfully as Thaal smiles, eyes burning of amber.
"The others are paragons, lightbearers…" Thaal says as the yellow energy coming from Hand drains into his ring, the mist burning his skin. "I am different however. I don't use the power of fear… I am fear! I am not the host of Parallax, I am its master!"
As the lightning strikes quicker, Hand's cries of agony become louder. Hal's eyes grow wide as Hand raises his arm, his ring glowing bright once more.
"Sinestro!"
"Sky of the Damned!" Hand screams.
Thaal gasps as the cloud is absorbed into Hand's ring. Hal pulls him out of Hand's reach, stopping the follow-up attack from slashing through Thaal.
"All of that effort…" Hand boasts with his arms stretched out in front of him, his body fully healed, "for nothing!"
"That was… my ace," Thaal pants, looking at Hal. "Any bright I-"
"Aghhhhh!"
Hal's head whips back towards Hand. He's on his knees, hands squeezing his own head with all his might. The bubbling in Hand's right arm became more wild than before, now spreading throughout his whole body. His breathing is rapid and unorthodox, black blood leaking from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. His body contracts, arms and legs snapping as the bubbles travel from his digits up to his throat. He screams out as a mass of darkness exits his mouth, flying into the air and towards the black battery. His body twitches, red eyes turning a milky white.
Hal's gaze follows the black mass as it flies towards the battery. Hal reaches out, as if he could grab it, as if he could stop all of this. He can't though, it's inevitable. The mass plunges into the battery, causing it to roar to life. Black light bursts from the center, a long, skeletal hand reaching out from inside.
"No…" Hal mumbles.
Guy charges forward, slashing a red axe through Hand's fingers. A force akin to a sonic boom sounds out in the void as the severed fingers float away from the hand.
Hal lands onto the asteroid, watching the ring intently. He can feel his heart beat faster than normal. His body is cold, even with the life support field around him. His face falls and a tear runs down his cheek as the fingers turn to dust, but the ring stays.
Guy snags the black ring from the air, looking back at Kyle, still in Aya's protective bubble. "It's go-time kid," he shouts, giving the boy a thumbs up.
Hal couldn't look up from the ground, teeth gritting tight.
"N-nothing is happening… I still feel the same!" Kyle shouts back, patting his chest and stomach frantically. "Wh… what's wrong?"
Thaal lands next to Hal, eyeing the man.
"I thought the prophecy said we needed to get the black ring!" Guy says, looking over to Hal "What gives? Did we fuck up?"
"Sinestro…" Hal calls, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need you to hold Nekron in place… for as long as you can…"
Thaal's eyes bore into Hal. "Jordan…" he replies, the tone disapproving. "If you're-"
"Thaal… please…"
Thaal stands silent for a moment, his eyes shutting briefly. Hal stares at the pink man with a frown. He opens his mouth, but stops as the black gloved hand extends out in front of him. Hal stares at the hand, before looking Thaal in the eye. His eyes widen slightly as a single tear rolls down Thaal's cheek.
"This is goodbye, Jo-" he starts before cutting himself off, inhaling through his nose, "Hal. Goodbye, Hal."
Hal nods slightly, a tear of his own leaving his eye as he reaches forward, taking the man's hand in his own and pulling him into a hug. "Thank you…" he mumbles, smiling softly, "for everything."
Thaal is frozen for a moment before reciprocating the gesture. "And I am sorry… for everything," Thaal says, pulling away from Hal. He gives a final nod before flying off toward the battery.
"What the hell was that about?" Guy asks, staring at Hal. "What's with the farewell!? What are you sending him to his death for!?"
"Guy," Hal booms, his voice commanding and strong, "give me the ring."
"Why!?" Guy demands. "What the hell is going on with the prophecy! Why isn't he turning into the White Lantern!? We got the rings and beat Death's Hand!"
Hal clenches his fist, gritting his teeth as he sharply inhales. "Guy…"
"Tell me!"
Crack!!!
Hal's fist connects with Guy's face, the blow knocking the redhead out cold. Guy's body collapses onto the asteroid, the ring flying out of his hand mid fall. Hal exhales as he stares at Guy's unconscious form, clenching his fist. He wishes it was as simple as that. He wishes all it took were the entities. His head then turns widening at the sight. He watches the object roll along the rock until it stops… just in front of John. The man, wounds healed, stares down at the ring.
"John," Hal starts, "give me the ring… it's time I end this."
John doesn't move. He keeps his gaze locked onto the ring laying on the ground in front of him. "The ring… it doesn't just reanimate, does it?" he asks, kneeling down and plucking the metal off the rock. "The one who wears it… when they remove it…"
John turns his head, now staring at the body of Hand, its decay beginning slowly.
"John…"
John looks up, his eyes meeting Hal's. His mouth quirks up into a smile as fake as a happy ending. "I guess it makes sense for me," he chuckles, holding the black ring up to his finger. "The ring of death fits perfectly for someone who lets everyone around them die."
A blast of violet energy sends John soaring, the ring floating off into the distance. John is able to steady himself midair, his eyes locking onto Hal's once more.
"John… please… please don't do this," Hal pleads, raising his arm up, aiming his ring at John. "I won't let you do this."
John follows suit, his ring burning a bright orange. "And I won't let another person die because of me…"
The Lanterns float across from each other, both orange and violet light illuminating the galaxy.
"Then I guess…" Hal mumbles, his eyes narrowing at the man across from him. "I guess I have one last fight left in me."
This was an odd sight, I had a recollection of seeing it in the same spot around 3 years beforehand, and wondered if the same garage would have anything else interesting instead, so I was rather surprised to see this still in the same place, I assumed it would be long gone. Unfortunately, untaxed since 2008, I reckon it was dug out of a garage a short while afterwards as it doesn't look dirty enough to have been here for all that time. This garage has a lot of unmoving relics, but isn't the most approachable.
Sitting on a rock minding his own business, the Lizard, unmoving, unflinching, directs his cold reptilian stare straight down the lens. Is it just good old fashioned bravado or is it a reptilian demonstation of territorial behaviour?
My theory is, the way he just sat there staring blankly for ages, was that he had just been smokin the hooch. Either that or he'd just seen a picture of John Howard in drag.....ewwwwww....sorry....
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British postcard in the Colourgraph series, London, no. C219. Photo: George Mannell. Collection: Marlene Pilaete.
After 15 years of largely nondescript film roles, English actress and producer Ann Todd (1909 - 1993) had her breakthrough in the romantic psychodrama The Seventh Veil (1945). She played a vulnerable pianist opposite tormenter James Mason. Today, the pretty actress is probably best known for her role in Alfred Hitchcock's court drama The Paradine Case (1947). She was married to director David Lean and later she produced a series of travel films.
Ann Todd was born Dorothy Anne Todd in Hartford, England, in 1909 to a middle-class Aberdeen family. Her brother was Harold Brooke (real name Todd), who would write plays and several screenplays with his wife Kay Bannerman. Ann was educated at St. Winifrid's School, Eastbourne. The family moved to London and after school, she trained as a drama teacher at Central School. In 1928, this lead to West End walk-ons and from 1931 on to bits in films. During the 1930s, she appeared in The Ghost Train (1931, Walter Forde) opposite Jack Hulbert, the mystery The Return of Bulldog Drummond (1934, Walter Summers) with Ralph Richardson, and the early sci-fi masterwork by Herbert George Wells, Things to Come (1936, William Cameron Menzies). Her best role of this period was as Ralph Richardson's neurotic wife in South Riding (1938, Victor Saville). After years of largely mediocre stage roles, she scored in 1943 a big hit as a murderess in Enid Bagnold's play Lottie Dundas. She became a popular film actress with a showy bit part as Robert Donat's wartime flirtation in Perfect Strangers/Vacation from Marriage (1945, Alexander Korda) and suddenly she became an international star with The Seventh Veil (1945, Compton Bennett). David Absalom comments on his site British Pictures: “By any standards, The Seventh Veil is trashy. It's the story of a concert pianist and her masochistic relationship with her guardian James Mason. A psychosomatic illness prevents her from playing (brought on by Mason smashing his stick on her hands as she plays). When psychiatrist Herbert Lom gets involved matters come to a head but she is reunited with Mason. Trash or not, it's hugely enjoyable and the fashionable combination of a sadistic James Mason and Freudian analysis made this a huge hit on both sides of the Atlantic.” Ann Todd had finally acquired the stardom that 15 years of largely nondescript film roles had failed to deliver. Brian McFarlane adds in the Encyclopedia of British Cinema: “The film was a heady mixture of psychiatry, (popular) classical music and charismatic leading performances and it was just what audiences wanted at the end of World War II. Unfortunately, Todd never again had such a box-office hit.”
Ann Todd went to Hollywood. To international audiences, she is now perhaps best known for her role as Gregory Peck's long-suffering wife in Alfred Hitchcock's disappointing courtroom drama The Paradine Case (1947). Back in England, she appeared in the melodrama, So Evil My Love (1948, Lewis Allen). Brian MacFarlane comments: “she gave what may be her finest performance (...) as the missionary's widow who returns to England and lets down her hair, literally and figuratively, to her very great cost. Her chiselled blonde beauty, with its conflicting suggestions of propriety and sensuality, brilliantly caught by Max Greene's lustrous camera, was never more skilfully used, and she rose to poignant heights at its conclusion.” At that time Todd was a big star but she was in her late thirties, an age when the career of a film beauty begins to falter. A series of poor films slowed the momentum slightly, but it was her relationship with David Lean that finished her. They met when he directed her in The Passionate Friends (1949), an upmarket, unmoving re-telling of a Brief Encounter-style triangle. They left their respective families and married. He also directed her next two films, Madeleine (1950), the story of the notorious Madeleine Smith, a role which Todd had already tackled on the stage in the play The Rest Is Silence (1944) by Harold Purcell; and The Sound Barrier (1952). According to David Absolom, it was clear Lean was obsessed with her: “The films are just excuses for Todd to look beautiful but expressionless and are the best work of neither of them. Only in the third of these, The Sound Barrier, when Todd was just one of an all-star cast and the relationship was cooling is there much evidence that David Lean could direct.” Unlike Madeleine, the film was a great success and won three BAFTAs. Todd was nominated for a BAFTA award as Best Actress.
In 1954, Ann Todd broke away from Lean to make the courtroom drama The Green Scarf. In 1954- 1955 she did a season at the Old Vic theatre company which included playing Lady Macbeth and The Shrew. She excelled in a leading role as a desperate mother in Joseph Losey's suspenseful Time Without Pity (1957) with Michael Redgrave, and that same year she made her Broadway debut in Four Winds. Eventually film and theatre lost their appeal to her and in the mid-1960’s, she began a second career as a maker of documentaries, which she wrote, produced, and sometimes directed. She filmed these short travelogues, with titles such as Thunder in Heaven (1964, Geoffrey Gurrin), in places as far apart as Iona and Nepal. She continued to act on stage occasionally, as in The Vortex (1965). Before the war. she had been in the first British TV serial, Ann and Harold (1938) and in later years she made TV appearances in both the US and the UK. In 1961 she played her first supporting feature film role in 15 years in the horror film Taste of Fear (1961, Seth Holt). Later she played supporting roles in such features as The Fiend (1971, Robert Hartford-Davis) and The Human Factor (1979, Otto Preminger) based on the Graham Greene novel. She played her last feature film role in The McGuffin (1985, Colin Bucksey) with Charles Dance. Ann Todd was married three times. Her first husband, Victor Malcolm, was a brother of famed TV presenter Mary Malcolm, and a grandson of Lillie Langtry. They had a son, David. Her second and third husbands (Nigel Tangye and David Lean) were first cousins. With Tangye, who acted as a technical adviser on Things to Come (1936, William Cameron Menzies) and Conquest of the Air (1940, Zoltan Korda), she had a daughter, Ann Francesca. Francesca was Ann's character’s name in The Seventh Veil. Ann Todd died from a stroke in 1993 in London, aged 84. In 1980 she had published her autobiography, The Eighth Veil, an allusion to the film which had made her a star in Britain. David Absalom concludes his bio on British Pictures: “At the height of her career, she was a curiously unsympathetic figure - sombre, almost sullen, her face a mask. Only occasionally, when she was caught smiling, was there a suggestion that beneath the mask there was someone worth getting to know.”
Sources: David Absalom (British Pictures), Brian McFarlane (Encyclopedia of British Cinema), Wikipedia, Turner Classic Movies, Philippe Pelletier (Ciné Artistes) (French), AllMovie, and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
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.
House Vaelorian — The Line That Refuses to Die
The Origin of a Line That Was Never Born
House Vaelorian is not a lineage that began. It is a lineage that awakened. Its earliest traces predate monarchies, nations, and even the languages used to try and describe it. Every portrait hanging in their ancestral halls carries a strange vitality, as if the paint itself remembers centuries of whispered vows.
Their domain is not a castle, but a ritual edifice fossilized in time—a place where walls murmur names, chandeliers dim or flare in response to unseen forces, and every corridor behaves like a memory with its own etiquette.
This is not a home. It is a living concord.
The Vaelorian Doctrine
The Vaelorian belief is simple and absolute:
Power is not inherited. Power is preserved.
Their bloodline operates through selection rather than birth. A new Vaelorian is not "born" into the family; they are chosen, their old identity quietly erased, their new one engraved into the concord of the lineage.
No one knows the criteria.
No one asks.
The bloodline itself decides.
The Crimson Concord
Once every century, the heads of House Vaelorian appear in the Concordium Hall. Not to feast, but to renew their pact.
The long banquet table is an altar.
The wine-filled goblets are vessels of memory.
The countless candles act as silent witnesses.
This ceremony is not about affection.
It is a contract—an agreement with their immortal selves:
"We do not yield to time.
We do not bend to oblivion.
We remain."
Purple embers drift through the air as if the hall itself exhales ancient magic.
Vaelorian Arcturus — The Lord Eternal
Silent. Unmoving. Calculated.
Arcturus carries centuries with the ease of a man lifting a glove. His attire is embroidered with gold, red, and shadow—filigree patterns that only reveal their runic meaning under candlelight.
His presence is not domineering, but absolute. A force that requires no display.
Vaelorian Seraphyne — The Lady of the Midnight Court
Seraphyne smiles with the confidence of someone who knows more than she speaks. She is the voice, the lure, the diplomat, and the executioner of House Vaelorian.
Legends claim she has outlived empires and remembers the forgotten sins of gods. Her amethyst eyes do not see the world—they appraise it.
The Purpose of Their Immortality
House Vaelorian does not seek conquest.
They seek continuity.
To them, immortality is not a blessing or a curse—it is a duty:
To maintain the pact.
To preserve the ritual.
To ensure their lineage outlasts the erosion of history.
They do not fear death.
They fear irrelevance.
The Concordium Hall
The grand hall where they renew their vow is a sentient chamber:
Cracked walls behave like aging skin.
Portraits shift ever so slightly when no one looks.
The chandelier pulses with faint, rhythmic energy.
The purple embers drifting through the air are the echoes of Vaelorian magic.
This hall is not merely a place.
It is a witness—older than the pact itself.
House Vaelorian endures.
As long as the pact is spoken,
they remain."
Amon the Purple — Where Fire, Shadow, and Vision Become Reality
That is Colonnade of the Vorontsov Palace
overlooking the harbor and providing
a nice view of the Odessa bay.
I am a flyer
dying over a waterfall
a sea of satin calling below
He is the weaver
many visions, many threads
jaws snapped shut
I am the jumper
waiting to be caught
He is the open arms
before I understand undertow
I am the balancer
on a ledge of bone
dancer straddling an invisible fence
mother of embryo dreams grasping
for stars
He is marble
more than its sharp edge
more than cardboard
fluidity hardened to flexibility
glorified by breath and blood
glory-bound unmoving stone
We are beautiful apparitions
whispering our rhymes like prayers
upon these waves of silk . . .
www.flickr.com/groups/2598300@N22/discuss/72157641791541995/
There is one way in and in reverse the same way takes you out. Upon the morning of the Twenty First the Sun comes in to clear the old year out and at the setting Sun the last rays take our dead upon their many, many ways to host us around our campfires and welcome us along the routes they took over this place our earthly space and other dead seek out the campfires above that by night have joined us in lighting our fires into the great darkness. Each of us lights beacons each to the others, campfire to campfires showing that warmth and life is only a way away, only the light of one day away and always within reach. We have made our ways with their aid bringing new light in sight by Winter and Summer both, all of us working around the axle light of us all the central star campfire the only unmoving always constant light. Though Sun and Moon, Planet Wandering Lights and Stars Campfire each fixed in distance one from the other and all together, all move across the skies, only the centre star stays central the one true eye within the sky. The rising new stars, the setting old stars sing songs of new seasons approaching of new phases to be begun and of the harvest of just passed and old star months now no longer to be relied upon. The herds move to the way of the stars and they move away even as the stars come and go in circling motions making paths in spiral in our sky as we upon this ground all will make spirals with those stars wherever our spirit is to be found. You come in the warmth of the womb in the earth at birth and you revisit as you age and take new roles in your life. You are a part of the bones in their home of earth and the stones, you are a part of the life of blood til you return to the stars that sent you here and in bone not the flesh your star core rests and in the flesh not the bone your life on earth is given birth and breath for the span of your days ways here til death and star rebirth opens up all of the ways of both nights and days within the Many Mists and the Cosmic Haze.
PHH Sykes 2023
phhsykes@gmail.com
Unstan Chambered Cairn
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/unstan-...
Ricardo sits with his head in his hands, watching from the back porch as Cliff fumbles about from within the structure of poles and sheets. After a few more moments, and a particularly alarming snapping sound, a shiny gold head pokes out of a fold in the sheets and looks over at Ricardo.
Cliff: And… we are all set to go.
Cliff emerges from the tangle of wires and bedsheets and stands next to Ricardo as he rises from the steps, gazing at his handiwork like a proud father.
Ricardo: Awesome.
They stand and stare at the machine for a moment in silence. Ricardo grins excitedly and looks over at Cliff.
Ricardo: So… all I gotta do is sit in there and I get superpowers?
Cliff: Uh…
Ricardo: You said I’d get superpowers. I do get superpowers, right?
Cliff: …Probably?
Ricardo: Cause it sure doesn’t look like I will, R-Man. And believe me, I could really do with superpowers to help my mother out around the store, y’know?
Cliff: It’ll work! Just trust me. Build it and they will come!
Ricardo: So I will get superpowers?
Cliff: Just stop sayin’ ‘superpowers’, alright?
Ricardo goes quiet and looks to the floor.
Cliff: Look, you might get somethin’, but I can’t promise…
Cliff reaches into the machine and pulls out a makeshift helmet covered in wires.
Cliff: Come here.
Ricardo wanders over and frowns.
Ricardo: What is that?
Cliff: You’ve gotta wear it… to, uh…. connect you to the… machine.
Ricardo eyes the helmet suspiciously and goes quiet. After a moment of observation, he grins and nods.
Ricardo: Ride on, R-Man.
Cliff: Uh, sure.
Ricardo presents his head and Cliff carefully lays the helmet on it as if it were it a priceless crown.
Ricardo: Mega.
Cliff: Did you just say: ‘mega’?
Ricardo: Huh?
Cliff: Nothin’.
Ricardo stands carefully as he balances the helmet on his head and grins excitedly.
Ricardo: Okay… now this is more like it. Yeah, real science-y and shit! How does it work man? It just looks like a strainer covered in bits of wire!
Cliff: That’s cause it is.
Ricardo: Oh.
Ricardo’s excitement begins to fade as Cliff enters the machine and turns on the battery. As it hums quietly into life Cliff pokes his head out and looks at Ricardo.
Cliff: How’d you feel?
Ricardo: Great!
Cliff: You can’t taste metal?
Ricardo: Nope.
Cliff: Or feel a buzzin’?
Ricardo: No. Should I?
Cliff: Great. Hang in there a sec.
He goes back into his machine and turns up a dial on the battery. The machine’s fragile frame creaks slightly and begins to vibrate. Ricardo, still proudly donning his helmet, watches Cliff with anticipation.
Cliff: Okay, come sit here.
Cliff beckons Ricardo over to a small fold out chair positioned in the middle of the contraption. Ricardo sits down gently, careful not to knock his helmet off.
Ricardo: I’m excited, R-Man! Are you excited?
Cliff ignores him and exits the machine. He pulls back the white sheet covering the contraptions entrance and clips it shut with a clothes peg. He goes outside and picks up a small box connected to one of the wires running from the house and into the battery inside the machine.
Cliff: Now, when this happened before, Morden was inside for at least a few minutes before anythin’ started to happen. So you might not feel anythin’ straight away, okay?
A voice pipes up from within the now quietly humming machine.
Ricardo: Okay!
Cliff: And you’ve gotta try stayin’ real still.
Ricardo: Gottcha!
Cliff: And if you feel anythin’ strange, or smell anythin’ you don’t think you should be smellin’, just shout, okay?
Ricardo: Okay!
Cliff: Now… you ready?
Ricardo: Yeah!
Cliff: I said are you ready?
Ricardo: Yeah!
Cliff: I can’t hear you!
Ricardo: YEAH!
Cliff: HELL YEAH!
Ricardo: HELL YEAH!
Cliff: Now let’s do some science motherfucker!
Cliff turns the dial on the box and the machine’s frame jolts awake. The battery inside hums louder now, growing in intensity as the poles holding the machine together begin to vibrate and shake violently. Cliff turns up the dial a little more, crosses his fingers, and presses a button.
Sparks fly from the box in Cliff’s hand, and from within the machine there comes a loud bang. It gives one final triumphant jolt of movement before smoke starts to fill the air and Ricardo comes running out, still clutching the strainer to his head.
Ricardo: Shit shit shit shit shit! Fire! It’s on fire!
He drops to the ground next to Cliff as the sheets covering the failed contraption burst into flames.
Cliff: Fuck! Fuck! No no no no!
Cliff runs over the burning wreck and gingerly tries to salvage the battery from inside. He reaches in, fumbles around for a moment, and gives up when his jacket sleeve catches alight.
Cliff: FUCK!
Cliff shakes his arm about wildly to extinguish the flames as Ricardo takes a seat on the back porch and watches him. He sighs and removes the strainer from his slightly singed head.
Cliff: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! MOTHERFUCKER! Stupid… fuckin’… FUCK!
Cliff extinguishes the flames dancing on his sleeve and kicks the air frustratedly. He angrily thrashes about for a few more minutes, kicking a shrub and stomping on the grass, before calling it a day and slumping over next to Ricardo on the back porch.
Cliff: Fuck.
The two of them share a moment in silence, watching the remnants of Cliff’s machine as they smoulder on the grass. Footsteps fill the air as Larry comes running through the kitchen and to the back door in a panic.
Larry: Cliff? The lawn’s on fire.
Cliff: Yeah.
Larry: You gonna do anything?
Cliff: No.
Larry: Fine. Whatever.
Larry turns to go back inside, but stops himself and looks back at the pair of them sat on the porch.
Larry: Sorry, who are you?
Ricardo: Ricardo.
Larry says nothing.
Ricardo: Oh, right. I deliver the groceries.
Larry shrugs and goes back inside.
Ricardo: Huh. D’you see that? Dude looked like a mummy. Rad.
Cliff: Your hair’s smokin’ man.
Ricardo: Oh.
Ricardo raises a hand to his scalp and pats out a smouldering patch of hair. Cliff continues to stare at the wreck of the machine, unmoving and defeated, and Ricardo sighs. He leans over the edge of the porch steps and reaches into his delivery box of groceries, the contents of which now starting to slowly go off in the humid late afternoon air. He feels around for a moment then produces two bottles of beer, which he promptly opens using his teeth. He places one next to Cliff and brings the other up to his mouth. Cliff looks down at the offering and says nothing. Ricardo, realising what he’s done, goes to grab the bottle and get it out of Cliff’s sight, but before he can Cliff grabs his wrist and, with his other hand, points to his mouth. Ricardo takes a second to understand, then lifts the bottle to Cliff’s mouth and pours a little in. Cliff turns away and begins once more to stare at the remains of his White Room, now gently smoking on the lawn.
Cliff: I tried.
Ricardo silently lays a hand on Cliff’s shoulder and takes another swig of beer. They both watch as the sun begins to set on the manor, the last wisps of smoke disappearing as they twist and curl into the air.
====================
Another book goes flying through the air of Niles’ study and crashing into a cabinet as Rita angrily tosses it to one side and exhales exasperatedly. She’d been up there for hours now, trying, in vain, to look for anything that may give them some kind of hint as to how to get Niles back. She hasn’t found anything of use, however, during her time she has found:
-A stale waffle.
-An old notebook labelled ‘W.K’, completely blank save for a drawing of a horse on the back cover that erases itself once seen.
-A copy of Heathers on VHS.
-A whisk.
-Five copies of ‘Science Today’ from 1992, each curiously missing pages 4, 11 and 27 respectively.
-A compass that always points south-east.
-And a set of tea-stained tarot cards.
Rita slumps against a bookcase and drops to the floor with a sigh. She casts her eyes around the cluttered mess Niles calls an office and considers for a moment if there is anywhere else she hasn’t looked. She’d been in the filing cabinets, through the bookcases and rattled the handles of the two locked drawers in Niles’ desk for far too long before realising she wasn’t going to get into them and calling it a day. Resting her head back against the shelf, she stares up at the ceiling and lets her mind go blank. She thinks about the night Niles was lost – the Brain, the White Room, Morden – and suddenly remembers something that causes her to sit upright and to attention. With everything that had happened since, she’d completely forgotten what she’d been able to do. She casts her mind back to their imprisonment in Brain’s lair; to the dingy cell they’d been thrown so rudely into by that great stinking ape of a –
Rita: Get a grip.
She stands and begins to hum to herself in some kind of warm up routine, blowing air out through her lips and shaking out her limbs. She takes a deep breath in, forgetting about everything else, and focuses her mind on her arm, and how she would very much like to reach over and pick up a book situated on a shelf opposite. She pictures herself in melted, fleshy form and starts to feel her arm lose its integrity and droop slightly. She closes her eyes and continues to picture herself as that awful, horrible pool of flesh. Her arm drops to the ground with a wet squelch. She takes another breath and concentrates on reaching for the book.
Rita: Come on now. Focus.
She tries to replicate the feeling of desperate panic she remembered feeling from before, locked in that cell and listening to the sounds of the White Room, but finds the feeling hard to retrieve. She slaps herself with her good hand and squeezes her eyes shut tighter. She whispers aggressively to herself:
Rita: Stanislavski, Rita. What would Stanislavski do. Think now.
But no matter how hard she tries, her drooping puddle of an arm doesn’t budge. She opens her eyes angrily and kicks Niles’ desk a couple of times in frustration. She bends down and gathers her melted arm up as it starts to gradually re-form itself to its regular shape.
Rita: Give up, sweetheart. This isn’t happening.
She shakes out her arm and turns to leave, but stops when she notices something sticking out of the desk before her. It’s one of the drawers that had been previously locked. She frowns and realises her aggressive kicking must have loosened it. She goes over and pulls it open fully, gazing inside at pieces of paper scrawled with calculations and numbers and strange, unrecognisable symbols. She rifles round inside, pushing more pieces of scrap paper out the way and wondering what inside the drawer is so important that Niles feels the need to lock it. After a few more minutes of searching she finds nothing of worth, but as she goes to close it something catches her eye. She reaches in and pulls out an old, yellowed envelope with the seal folded neatly over on itself. She hesitates for a moment, and then carefully opens it and pulls out a single, black and white photograph. Staring back at her is the smiling face of a pretty young woman, with what Rita can only assume to be black curly hair and dark eyes. She gazes into the woman’s face for a moment, then turns the photograph over to find, written neatly in pen, the date:
1986
And beneath that:
Calcutta.
Rita frowns, but her attention is suddenly drawn away from the photograph and towards a thick cloud of smoke blowing up from the garden and past the study window.
Rita: Oh for god’s sake…
She slides the drawer shut and turns out the study light, closing the door behind her as she makes her way down to the garden. She doesn’t know why, but she keeps hold of the photograph.
She stood stiff and unmoving as people and traffic passed her by. I could swear I saw her during the Winter Olympics of 2010 on the Vancouver Streets! At least someone with a similar costume.
} This is a follow-up to my previous post of the Karlo Anthology, for those interested in reading through its entirety. {
No more than three weeks came and went, between my sentence to Arkham and my escape, though not in the manner in which I had begun devising the moment I stepped foot inside that corrupt madhouse. It was my initial belief my freedom would be regained with the assistance of a handful of inmates; as a team, concoct a silent, inconspicuous getaway, as was always my preferred method of elusion. I would choose my accomplices to be entirely expendable, were difficulties to arise. None of this strategizing would come to pass, however. My salvation came in the form of rabid, unrelenting violence, an evil without cause or motive, of my very own making.
It was dusk. I had only occasional passersby to busy my sleepless attention with, in the now hushed, looming halls of Arkham. The employees were all sluggish in their tasks. Had I, by this time, formulated a plan with Lynns or any of the others, this would have been the opportune time to evade detection. Instead I sat pondering. Why these people stayed here in this phony establishment. Why the law turned a blind eye to its deception. Why I seemed the only one around with the will to change their fortune.
Penetrating the stilled air, the blunt sound of a body smacking the tiled office floor to the left of my containment. Then, a fit of giggles, like squabbling children telling ghost stories, echoing from the illuminated room that now had my full attention. A nurse, or perhaps a saboteur in the guise of one, skipped from the doorframe, twirling in one hand a bat smeared with a dark liquid that I could guess the nature of, and in the other, what I knew to be keycard for accessing cells on the lower floors, housing the building's less savory occupants. Most notably, upon her head was a makeshift masquerade mask and a crimson and black jester hat with bells on the tips, all this somewhat clouding a face smeared with deathly white paint.
"I'm off to see the joker,
The wonderful joker I met
Because, because, because, because, becau-"
Her trilling, eerie and utterly-distinct, faded off with the steps she took downwards into the basement. I nestled back into my corner. I need not anticipate or wonder. I knew very well what would come to pass, soon enough.
Two minutes hence, and the punctuating clamor of disengaging electronic locks and an infuriated mob began bubbling from the stairwell like an acrid vapor. Arkham security flooded from the halls in vain, as the horde of inmates erupted into my view. Zsasz, as always, was in the lead to the fight, shard of glass in hand, clearing a morbid path to the lobby. Croc collected a few guards in his claws, as recompense for what were likely the measly rations he received in captivity.
Ah, here was my opening...
A lone guard had retreated from the main area, nearer to my capsule. Only I had ceased to be Clayface in that instance.
"Hey, hey man!" I shrieked, a helpless orderly with shredded attire. "Some of 'em threw me in here and locked it! Let me out before they come back!"
The guard nodded, wide-eyed, and blundered his way to the nearby desk, swatting the lever to disable his new ally's prison. Then I stepped out. The true me, that is.
"Bless you, sir," I thanked him over my shoulder, as I lumbered to the exit. He promptly blacked-out.
I knifed through the chaos, intent upon having been long gone before police arrived on the scene. Lynns, Norbet and few others suggested I assist them in retrieving their confiscated equipment on another level, but I brushed past.
The din died down as I navigated the rooms leading to the outside, as only a small quantity of the escapees seemed aware of the urgency to flee, the majority preferring to inflict wrath upon Arkham's staff. I crossed paths with Crane, who gave me a hissing snicker as he took a route he no doubt thought a quicker path to freedom. I, however, cleverly decided to proceed towards another laugh emanating from a different hallway. The unmistakable laugh I had heard the "nurse" make. If any soul knew the way out, it was the orchestrator of the breakout herself.
I found her menacing a real nurse with the bat she had equipped. One of the two nurses who had escorted The Weeper away from my cell weeks ago. Her companion was stretched over a desk chair, unmoving. She was in a panic, trying desperately to get through to someone on the other end of the phone clutched in her hand, gripped tight with fear. The harlequin looming before the nurse promptly beaned her with the bat, laying her out on the steps next to the receptionist desk. The steps leading to the front door.
I was about to edge out from the shadows when another figure entered my view. He marched by the harlequin's handiwork, hands clasped on his lower back, muttering something.
"J, baby!" the harlequin squealed in a warbling voice, "You made it! I took care of these schlubs for you, just like you wanted me to! Now are we gunna get while the gettin's good?"
Even with my view of only the back of his head, I could see his cheeks distort into a smile. "RIGHT-o, puddin'! One more order of business Mister J. has to attend to, however-"
His arms lunge out, grab his accomplice's jaw and twist. She crumples, bat clattering down the steps. He follows the act up with a chortle, more unnerving, more removed from sanity than even hers. Like a man choking to death and at the same time reveling in it. If disease were a noise.
He spins on a heel comically, straight in my direction, startling even one as numb as I. Face deathly white, but not from paint. It's Morty Conrad. The Weeper, weeping no longer. Skin that was once stretched from nonstop misery and fatigue, now stretched in an entirely different fashion; that of a gummy, jagged smile. "Hello Karl; how's tricks?" More shook than I cared to recognize, I spoke.
"Conrad. You too... are a master of disguise..."
"Oooh, it's 'CONRAD' now, hmm? 'Weeper' was all I heard come outta your pie-hole the other day, if memory SERVES..." he trailed off, a look of mock perplexity on his now pursed lips, eyeballs scanning his shoes. Immediately he breaks into his grin again, though I wished otherwise.
"Actually, Clayfeces, I was hoping to catch you between periods. Congratulate you on the little pep-pill you gave me the other day, so to speak! Did wonders for me!"
I questioned hesitantly, "Your meta-trait of crying constantly, it wasn't 'that' at all. Just a role?" I found myself less talkative in his presence. Less in control.
He edged around me, dreamily swaying with each step. "That's the ticket! Good thing they rented me a room here; I must've been more bonkers than I realized. All that whining and fussing, and just think, it was only a phase! I suppose Mommy and Daddy were right..."
More maniacal laughter. I can hardly bare it. The situation, the atmosphere of the room, heavy with recent demise. It's getting to me.
"This change in you... It... it could not have been ALONE due to that advice I gave you, about playing a character... There must be more."
He puts his arm around my neck, waving his free hand before him. I shudder at the contact, a sensation I have not felt, only given, since becoming Clayface. "Oh but it was, Karl old boy! I took that little smidgen of knowledge, and applied it to my own situation. The more I thought about, I couldn't for the life of me remember WHY I was crying. Must've been some silly kiddy trauma, y'know? So I said to myself, 'Well, if everything can be sad for no reason, why shouldn't I just be deliriously HAPPY about everything for no reason?' For example..."
He extends his leg, nudging the carcass of his former companion with a shoe. "... Charming and diluting the mind of a poor, young intern, until she carried out my every WHIM, only to give her the sack in the end. Pretty WILD, right?" He guffaws, then slowly looks back up to me. "And you know what?.."
He released me, stepping back as if to admire himself. "... It's a heckuva lot easier! Should've done it AGES ago! Why, I'd say you're a more qualified head-doctor than that quack Crane! Speaking of which..."
He nods upwards. A dash of darkness from the ceiling catches my eye, accompanied by the sound of fluttering leather. I instinctively shift into an Arkham guard, my "gun" pointed at not-Conrad, as Batman, holding Scarecrow by the neck, lights upon the tile, tossing his captive into a table nearby. Crane groans and curls into a ball in the wreckage. Batman rises, before... "The Joker", and myself. Did he see me change?
Evidently not. He cocks his head to the commotion now encroaching on the lobby. The inmates are nearing. He glares at me. "Keep this one in sight," he says, gesturing to Joker. "I'll keep the rest at bay. GCPD is right behind me."
He rushes back into Arkham's shadows, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I look back at Joker, halfway through the front door, his smile a taunting invitation. "Whaddaya say, Mudman? Care to help me give Gotham a performance worthy of a standing ovation?"
I have no choice but to leave with him, though I soon part from his company. Only now, in present day, do I see what I have created; villainy that knows no boundaries. This is my ultimate failure. A greater evil than myself.
In God I Dwell In A quiet habitation
"Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation."
[Psalm 91:9]
The Israelites in the wilderness were continually exposed to change. Whenever the pillar stayed its motion, the tents were pitched; but tomorrow, early in the morning before the sunrise, the trumpet sounded, the ark was in motion, and the fiery, cloudy pillar was leading the way through the narrow defiles of the mountain, up the hill side, or along the arid waste of the wilderness. They had scarcely time to rest a little before they heard the sound of “Away! this is not your rest; you must still be onward journeying towards Canaan!” They were never long in one place. Even wells and palm trees could not detain them. Yet, they had an abiding home in their God, his cloudy pillar was their roof-tree, and its flame by night their household fire. They must go onward from place to place, continually changing, never having time to settle, and to say, “Now we are secure; in this place we shall dwell.” “Yet,” says Moses, “though we are always changing, Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place throughout all generations.” [Psa.90:1] The Christian knows no change with regard to God. He may be rich today and poor tomorrow; he may be sickly today and well tomorrow; he may be in happiness today, tomorrow he may be distressed, but there is no change with regard to his relationship to God. If he loved me yesterday, he loves me today. My unmoving mansion of rest is my blessed Lord. Let prospects be blighted; let hopes be blasted; let joy be withered; let mildews destroy everything; I have lost nothing of what I have in God. He is “my strong habitation whereunto I can continually resort.” [Psa.71:3] I am a pilgrim in the world, but at home in my God. In the earth I wander, but in God I dwell in a quiet habitation. Amen, hallelujah God bless
God's decree: Man must slog while the Gods watch unmoved.
Only when the Parama Pada opens Man shall reach Vaikunta. Here again, I used slow shutter speed to enhance the idea of impermanence and change as against the unmoving Truth.
Mind appears to flow everywhere, but it is the unmoving, the never-having-moved. It appears as everything. Eventually it sees that nowhere is where it is.
---Byron Katie
We spent the holiday weekend up at the lake. My kids were in the water from sunrise to sunset. I took my camera out into thigh deep water for this one.
Pierce Martin waiting feeding some seagulls on the beach in South Padre Island, TX. Don't worry PETA members, we weren't actually feeding the bird cheez-its. We put orgranic hemp fair-trade first-origin birdseed cheese squares in a Cheez-It box.
I think I need to make an albulm called "Waiting For Wind". Since starting to get into wind sports (windsurfing and kiteboarding) I've realized that I spend the most time sitting somewhere in stagnant, unmoving air, stewing in my own anticipation. Doing so leads to antics such as shown above, along with a dozen other stupid things we try to occupy our time with.
Sorry I've been a terrible contact, school sucks.
damn i'm sleepy.
k this is for messyowl 'cuz she tagged me & told me i had to write something:
i got in my car & drove it over the hill, down the straight long roads lined with endless vacuous fields, towards the battered body of a house we'd promised ourselves we'd never return to, barely standing on a half-paved road in a ghost of a town.
the sky & the hills & the grass & the asphalt were all saturated with the colors of the setting sun. golden streaks of light like honey dripping over everytihng, & shadows so deep you could dive into them & drown trying to reach the bottom. the warm wind through the unrolled windows was as loud as armageddon, the trees on the roadside rained leaves like confetti. magpies were spinning & diving in the air in razor thin lines, flying frantically away from my oncomming car. i was traveling fast enough to move through time, backwards to a spent summer i've been tryng to forget. those days you reflect on for the rest of your life, the memories that allow you to say "i've been worse off before."
i settled in to a dirty white-walled room, on a mattress in the middle of the floor, bare besides an ill-fitting sleeping bag that was rank of dust & depression & cat piss. greyed with filth, the sheer curtains nailed over the window let all the empty blackness of the night outside spill in.
i sit in this room with my possessions: a beat up suitcase filled with tattered flower-print sun dresses. my car keys. a small fan blowing stale air, circulting the sad little room. some old books & frayed sheets of paper. everything, that's everything i've got. everything else is haplessly packed floor-to-ceiling in various storage units across california. my patience & sanity & self esteem are in an old trunk, burried under a mountain of priceless, beloved junk. the sad little white-walled room is like a personal insane asylum, housing me at one of my lowest lows, echoing the pathetic sobs of my desperate situation.
gotta leave the light on to keep out the cockroaches. smash fast black spiders with my tightly balled fists, throw a tantrum against myself.
throw a tantrum against the house.
the pipes have rusted through, the water doesn't run. we pull the garden hose around the house & through a bedroom window, through a hole in the wall to the yellowed shower stall on the other side. we screw a shower head to the end of it, take cold showers in the town's toxic, undrinkable water.
we run the hose through the kitchen window to wash the dishes.
we wash our clothes with jugs of water in the clogged sink, hang them off the unsturdy balcony to dry.
jagged holes are like harsh little paintings hung awkwardly on the walls, portraits of the dirt & dried grass outside, framed in degraded drywall. the familiar splinters of the wood floor slice into our feet through our dirty socks with every dragging step we take across the houses' gutted rooms. cracks in the walls, water stains on the ceiling, everything creaky & crooked & warped. a skinny stray cat creeps in through a hole in the floor of a bedroom closet, searching for something to eat. i follow him to the kitchen, look up at the exposed wires hanging out of the shredded ceiling. look down at the potholed tile floor. close my eyes & quit looking at anything.
i fall asleep late listening to creaking & banging, wake up early wondering where the fuck i am.
i get up & wander towards the front door, stand outside in the ripping wind under the sunrise. i wanna run 'til i disappear into the horizon, i wanna vanish with what's left of the night. i wanna vanish with what's left of myself, never to be seen or heard or thought of again. i want the wind to tear down the house with the force of all my rage, rage built up with equal fury against everything & everyone on earth. hate that ate away any hope i use to have. this loathing which has replaced my bright future with something dumb & injured, crippled & unwilling to move foreward another inch. something selfish & unmoving that begs for oblivion. my body like an old house neglected, left to rot, abandoned. i want to demolish it, leave no trace of its existence, restore it to flattened dirt.
is that a little mellodramatic maybe? haha XD
This is a dry-country kingfisher of scrub and woodland, solitary or in pairs, often found near water, but unlike most kingfishers is not aquatic. Perches on branch, unmoving for long periods while watching the ground for signs of insects or small lizards, bobbing head before diving on prey. (source: wikipedia.org)
Don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © 2011 Johannes Mayer, All rights reserved.
Water dragon...... This little feller had not long woken from his winter hibernation, he still had stick and dirt stuck all over him and was virtually still & unmoving while sunning himself for the 40min or so that I was near him.
Generated by me, Tool used AI Stable Diffusion
As the sun set over the city, the silhouette of a woman could be seen standing on the rooftop of a tall building. She stood there, unmoving, as the bustling metropolis bustled around her.
The woman had come to the city to escape her troubled past. She had left behind a life of pain and regret, hoping to start anew in the anonymity of the city. But as she watched the lights and sounds of the city below, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.....
I've spent this summer thinking not between the breeze of green leaves but between the dull unmoving walls of white. The Escitalopram didn't run out. I just stopped taking it. I'm waiting. I'm not sure what for. Every summer I always list out the things I want to do and the faces I want to see until it's over. Fall on the cusp. Maybe next year I'll spend summer with you all.
www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?/forums/topic/182445-f...
After skirmishing with the Empire on OSSUS, Nathan and Ozz begin their search for the artifact called BALAAM'S HEART. On the mysterious world of DAGOBAH they find both knowledge and danger, and for Nathan, a grueling test of his spirit and will.
Nathan recoiled, slumping in his seat in the Lucky Star. He felt a sudden pang of anguish, a ripping in his soul, as spirits were separated from their bodies back on Ossus. He sensed it only faintly, but whatever caused the sensation was so powerful that it hit him with the force of a wave.
“Kid? Kid! What’s wrong!”
He felt Ozz shaking his shoulder as he drifted into unconsciousness, the strain too much to bear. When he finally woke, it was to Ozz’s worried, ugly face. Nathan stared, as though his eyes were trained on something hundreds of parsecs away.
“The Searchers are dead, Ozz. At least, I think so,” he coughed. “They killed them. Abay…all of them.”
Ozz asked how he knew this, but Nathan couldn’t explain. Finally, Ozz nodded and sighed. He believed him. He’d seen enough strange stuff by now that he wasn’t going to question this one.
They flew in silence for the next few hours.
After a brief stop for fuel (“That’s gonna be our last fill unless we start makin’ some money soon,” Ozz had complained) and the purchase of a few cheap blaster pistols, Nathan and Ozz were set to continue their search.
“I’ll need some coordinates if I’m gonna fly somewhere, Nate.”
Nathan had spent nearly all of the time since Ossus huddled in the bunk with Luke’s journal and the inscribed slates they’d found in the deep archives. He was a quick learner and a voracious student, and with the help of a few runes already translated in the journal, he was able to compile a mostly accurate key for unlocking the old tongue Balaam had used for his writings. He had no idea what it was, but it wasn’t pleasant.
The writings of Balaam were primarily daily accounts and impossible to understand musings, but they also mentioned 'home made among vines and home made among flame, whilst tethered mine soul to the dark lord wert'. Of all the planets Nathan could recall from Mayla's manifest, Dagobah was the one most likely to feature vines. At least, according to their gazette. It might just be a wild bantha chase, but it was worth a short.
The planet Dagobah came into view. It looked musty and small and remote. Sensors revealed it was entirely free of settlers, based on a lack of technology readings. But it was packed to the brim with life.
Nathan leaned over the dashboard controls with interest. "Take us in, Ozz."
"I know, I know..." said the Iakaru, rolling his eyes.
They dipped beneath a dense sea of cloud and Ozz pulled back hard on the throttle, easing them down into what was revealing itself to be a tangled, dark mass of trees.
Nathan felt the planet, just as he had felt Ossus. There, it had been the power, the war, and the secrets, but on Dagobah, he felt life. Wildness and strangeness, the circle of things. Not good, but not evil. Just very alive.
"This place gives me the willies," said Ozz, peering out the viewscreen. There wasn't much to see. It was mostly fog and the shapes of trees.
"I can see a weirdo like Balaam living here..." Nathan mused. "You don’t think he put the Heart here, do you?"
“Nah, that’d be giving me a break. Luck hasn’t done that in years.” He glanced around at the damp, dismal surroundings, his face scrunched with dread. “It ain’t gonna start on this planet.”
Ozz set the Lucky Star down on some alarmingly mushy ground, and powered down the craft. He turned to his companion and shrugged.
"Let's go find out, nerd. And hey, let's stick it to those Imps, ey? What happened on Ossus..."
Nathan understood. He clapped a hand on Ozz's shoulder. “I know.”
They gathered their equipment and trekked out into the woods. The sounds of a million living things filled the air. The smell of mildew and bog water floated up into their noses from underfoot. Tendrils of vine hung down around them from the twisting branches overhead.
"Yeah, this has got to be the place...now, Balaam's writings mention landmarks; the shores of the swamp, a grove of mushrooms, and a magic tree."
Ozz scanned the canopy with the barrel of his blaster. Something flew overhead. He jumped, but held his fire. "Yeesh! How do we know they're not on the other side of the planet?"
That was a possibility, one that tempted Nathan to despair. But he kept his hope.
"Honestly, I don't know," he admitted. "But...I don't think they are. I'm not sure why, but I've got a feeling."
The sounds of creatures and the dense foliage became obstacles they were unwilling to brave. Much to their disgust, this forced them to their only remaining option: the water. Nathan cajoled Ozz into joining him, which says something about the noises in the void of the woods and how they affected them both, that they were willing to wade chest-deep into opaque, smoky water.
"What's that smell?" Ozz groaned, the swamp water inches from his nose.
Nathan, who was miserable, gave him an incredulous look. They were soaked in oily, gunky swampwater, dragging at their clothes and limbs. Something in Nathan's mind considered what else could he dragging at his hands and legs, and images of tentacles and eels had to be forcibly pushed from his brain.
Then they saw the strangest thing.
The flicker of firelight.
They pointed it out to each other and squinted against the tepid mist. It was real.
Just as real, they discovered, were the two men sitting at the campfire, their leaning tents pitched feet away. Tall trees reaching down towards them with roots like cages.
A shore, Nathan thought. Then he remembered this planet had been on Mayla's list. These strangers could be Imperial spies.
Just as he was about to warn Ozz, one of the men called out.
"Hoy, there! I don't believe it -- people?"
"Wet, stinky people," Ozz replied. "You fellas mind if we come on up?"
The man and his companion smiled. "Please do!"
They were rescued from the swamp waters and joined the strangers around the fire. Wings beat the air above them. Something groaned in the water they'd just left. But the fire was safefy.
"We're pilgrims," explained one of the strangers, with an odd grin. "What about you?"
Nathan and Ozz looked at each other. Even Nathan wasn't willing to extend trust this time, not in a situation like this.
Ozz cleared his throat. "Err, real estate," he lied. "Nice planet like this, with no colonies? I don't get it!"
The 'pilgrims' looked at each other, then broke into laughter. "You're a funny guy. Thanks for cheering up the mood."
Nathan felt paralyzed. Fear danced at the corners of his brain, fear of what might happen if they dropped their guard. He thought about the blaster at his side, and if it would work after being submerged. If he should just shoot them both now. They had to be spies, right?
But no. That would be murder. He couldn’t do something like that. You can't just shoot someone for a suspicion. Reacting to a nebulous fear was never the right opening move, and it was wrong, he decided, to try to prevent the possibility of evil by doing something evil first. Besides, the Searchers were pilgrims, maybe these were similar types.
A glow nearby caught Nathan's attention.
Small blue spots of light scattered across the mossy ground, hidden in and among the roots of the trees.
A grove of mushrooms.
Balaam's second landmark.
He felt something pull at him, a force or energy that wanted him to come searching. It was irresistible, and clouded his mind in such a way that he forgot his fears of Imperials and treachery.
He stared long enough that one of the pilgrims caught him looking.
“What are you, uh, looking at there?” the man asked, watching him keenly.
"Oh, nothing,” Nathan said, emerging from his thoughts. “I thought I saw a...an animal, out there. It was nothing. I, uh, better just go check, though."
Ozz half-rose from his spot. "Want a second?"
And expose their backs? No. "No," he said, and he smiled reassuringly. "You keep resting. I'll be right back."
"Sure thing!" Said one of the pilgrims, and the other nodded silently.
Nathan caught Ozz's eye, and flicked his own towards the Iakaru's blaster. Ozz understood.
"I'll be right back," said the young man, who then walked deeper into the woods.
The sound of cracking fire faded into the distance as it was replaced by the hum of forest life. The mushrooms were just the start, they led him like a trail, becoming larger and wilder as he went. Finally, after chasing their path for several minutes, Nathan looked up to see the tree.
It was old. Its bark was like wrinkles, crevices in a face with no features. Its roots splayed out like enormous fingers that raked the ground. It seemed to heave with breath, to pulse, to live. Now in silence, Nathan found he was utterly alone with this ancient thing. The woods shrank back from it, as if from deference or fear. Nothing ventured close.
It beckoned him.
He felt it in his inward being. The draw.
A dark opening in its roots, like a doorway, stood open to him.
Nathan took hesitating steps. His spirit ached with restlessness, a need to see what was inside that burned and fried the edges of his nerves.
He entered the depths of the Magic Tree.
The hollow was dark.
He was alone in a den of soil. Fibrous sinew traced many-forked veins in the earth.
He felt a presence.
"Who's there?" He whispered.
"It's me, Nathan."
Mayla stepped out from behind a gnarl of root. She looked as he remembered. Sharper, even. Her bangs fell over her face, her dark eyes shone in the bare light. She walked with grace, poise, as if compensating for her stature.
"Why are you here?" She asked.
He wanted to reach out, to touch her cheek. "To...to stop the Empire. To save lives and find…something powerful."
He saw the disappointment in her face. The vulnerability, the openness that had drawn him to her in the first place.
"...I thought you were here for me?"
"I am!" He said quickly. "But...Mayla...I don't know how to find you."
She stepped closer and smiled. "I forgot, you think my name is 'Mayla'...that's okay. You've done everything so well, exactly as I wanted."
"Well, that manifest you left us has been our guide. That’s all thanks to you."
"Yes, it is. Just what was needed, right? I was always told I was resourceful."
Nathan stood a hesitant step back. His mind was swirling. Everything felt completely real, the question of how it could be happening seemed distant and foggy and not worth considering. His skepticism seemed to leave him, soaked into the walls of soil. But his reason wasn’t gone entirely, and her words started to raise flags, even in his currently-dim mind. "...What?"
"You've done just what we needed. You'll find what you seek, and the Empire will win."
Nathan started to speak, but she stepped closer, close enough to smell. She held up a finger to his lips, quieting him.
"I know you don't like that, but if you need a consolation prize...we can be together. It's the only way it'll work. Things will happen fast, Nathan."
The way she said his name made his heart flip.
"They'll happen so fast. That's how things happen, when change is coming. Your pilot will die, Syfot, some others...but you and me? We'll be alive, together, forever. And so many others, too. We'll give them safety," she said, and she winked. He could feel her breath as it mingled with the fog.
"I...want...you," she whispered, and his stomach fell. He stared at her eyes as they closed.
No.
"No," he murmured.
She leant forward, her lips parted.
"No," he repeated, and he stepped back. "You're not her," he said. "I don't want this."
Mayla's eyes flicked open, staring up into his. "You do. You want me, most of all," she smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "Remember what you gave up? Everything else -- everyone else --- was just a way of getting to me."
"No!" He stuttered, and he fell back, tripping on a root. "No, no, no!"
Her eyebrow curved. She frowned. "Nathan..."
"Not anymore!" He said. "No, I...I want to find you so bad, Mayla, but...this isn't just about you and me, not anymore. Things have changed. I'm not just in this for you anymore, I've got to…” He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. “…I’ve got to do what's right. I've got to stand up to these people. It's about the Searchers who died on Ossus, and Abay, and Jep, and...and...Ozz."
Nathan blinked, thinking of his friend. He had left his friend, his best friend, with the enemy.
"Ozz," he repeated.
"That monkey? You've got to be tired of being cooped up with that smelly, stupid thing. Trust me," she whispered, her fingers running up his arm. "I’m much better company than he is."
Nathan, eyes wide, said nothing. With all his strength of will, he pulled away, turned, and fled.
Nathan rushed through the woods. He heard screams. His name.
First from behind, in the voice of the girl he loved.
Then from the shore, echoing, hoarse, in the voice of Ozz Sabaran.
"NATE! NAAATE!" Followed by grunts and shrieks of pain.
Ozz.
The firelight flickered in the mist. A dark shape stepped into his path, weapon raised. The blood-red light of blaster fire struck a tree by his head, sparks and smoke burst from the impact.
Nathan was not afraid. He was not angry. He had to help his friend.
Desperate, he raised his hands.
His fingers curled with the warm mist.
Reached with the roots.
Stretched with the beating wings.
Stood with the soil.
He heard one of the pilgrims cry. The thrash of water and wet cloth and arms. Dragged from the shore, he disappeared beneath the surface.
The wildness of life beat like a drum in his ears.
The other pilgrim—Imperial spy—stumbled and entangled himself in the strong vines. Something seized him and pulled into the air, while he flailed his arms to try and break free of the tightening plants. The flying things took notice, their squawking growing agitated and hungry.
His cries ended abruptly, and the flailing stopped.
Nathan rushed to his friend's side. Ozz's leg was bent wrong, blood trickled from his mouth.
"Too...fast...for me," he choked.
Nathan hurried to tear a piece of tent, his hands shaking.
Ozz wiped his mouth. "What...was...?"
"I don't know," Nathan said shakily. "How about we never speak of it again? Kinda freaked out. Are you okay? I can't believe I left you here!” he cursed himself. “What’d they do?"
"Wanted...to know...what we knew. Turns out, they were spies. Can you believe it?" he said weakly, with a hint of irony.
"Your leg is broken," Nathan said gravely. "Rest here, I'm so sorry, Ozz."
"it's okay, kid, I'm alright. We Iakaru are tough sons of -- ouch!"
Nathan let the leg go, the bone now set.
"What was that?" Ozz winced.
"Oh, a trick from the orphanage. I didn't come up with it."
"Geez, rough orphanage.” Ozz shook his head, impressed and relieved. “See? Long as I got you around, I'll be right as rain. Thanks for the save, kid."
"I’ll try to be quicker next time,” Nathan said with a wry look. “Things got weird. Ozz, we have to get out of here."
"You're telling me. Did you uh, get the Heart thing?"
"I didn't get anything, but I found what we need. But I need your help. Will you…” He swallowed his pride, asking his friend openly, “please come with me? I'm...honestly, I’m afraid to go back alone."
Ozz grinned to himself, chuckling at the irony. "You need Ozzie? Even one-legged Ozzie?"
Nathan made a face. "What else is new?"
"Wanna hand me my blaster? I'm really raring for a hike. Gotta get this leg working, that’s the best thing for a hurtin’ leg.”
Nathan stood before the magic tree again, now with Ozz by his side, supported by an old branch.
Nathan had explained what he'd seen to Ozz, but despite Ozz's vigilant eye, nothing appeared from the shadows of the roots.
There was writing on the trunk of the tree. Nathan got as close as he dared. Ozz covered him with the blaster.
"Whatcha got? Anything useful?"
Nathan was scratching down notes in his notebook, thankful for the material Luke had chosen that had endured the bog.
"Coordinates in the Bark, half."
“Coordinates? Like, readable, usable coordinates?”
“Yeah, I guess it’s that simple. Maybe Balaam wasn’t so bad after all. Thanks, pal,” he said quietly to the carving.
"Simple! Ha! You telling me--"
Nathan grimaced. "—He hid the other half on a flame world? Yeah, guess it would be weird for things to get any easier."
Ozz sighed. "Yeesh, another planet with no payout. Can't wait to eat more grayweave..." He shrugged, and gave a lopsided grin to his scribbling companion.
Well, at least we won't get wet again...right, kid?"
Nathan grinned back at him, feeling very glad he was there to joke and lighten the terrible mood. There was no one he could think of he’d rather have by his side.
"Yeah. Right!"
The tree, unmoving, unknown, watched as they left, Nathan supporting Ozz as while he limped along. Soon, the Lucky Star left the atmosphere, and the ancient planet was unchanged for their visit. The roots still dug, the fog still swirled, and the creatures flew between the trees. And despite its appearance, everything was vibrant and alive.
NIRVANA
1. Supreme Bliss cannot be experienced through contact of the senses with their objects. The supreme state is that in which the mind is annihilated through one-pointed enquiry.
2. The bliss arising from the contact of the senses with their objects is inferior. Contact with the sense-objects is bondage ; freedom from it is liberation.
3. Attain the pure state between existence and non-existence and hold on to it ; do not accept or reject the inner or the outer world.
4. Depend always on that true reality between the sentient and the inert which is the infinite space-like heart.
5. The belief in a knower and the known is called bondage. The knower is bound by the known ; he is liberated when there is nothing to knew.
6. Abandoning the ideas of seer, seen and sight along with latent desires (vasanas) of the past we meditate on that Self which is the primal light that is the basis of sight.
7. We meditate on the eternal Self, the light of lights which lies between the two ideas of existence and non-existence.
8. We meditate on that Self of consciousness, the bestower of the fruits of all our thoughts, the illuminator of all radiant objects and the farthest limit of all accepted objects.
9. We meditate on that immutable Self, our reality, the bliss of which arises in the mind on account of the close contact between the seer and the seen.
10. If one meditates on that state which comes at the end of the waking state and the beginning of sleep he will directly experience undecaying bliss.
11. The rock-like state in which all thoughts are still and which is different from the waking and dream states, is one's supreme state.
12. Like mud in a mud pot the Supreme Lord who is existence and space- like consciousness and bliss exists everywhere non-separate (from things).
13. The Self shines by itself as the one boundless ocean of consciousness agitated by waves of thought.
14. Just as the ocean is nothing but water the entire world of things is nothing but consciousness filling all the quarters like the infinite space.
15. Brahman and space are alike as to their invisibility, all pervasiveness and indestructibility, but Brahman is also consciousness.
16. There is only the one waveless and profound ocean of pure nectar, sweet through and through (i.e. blissful) everywhere.
17. All this is truly Brahman ; all this is Atman. Do not cut up Brahman into ' I am one thing 'and' this is another. '
18. As soon as it is realised that Brahman is all-pervasive and indivisible this vast samsara is found to be the Supreme Lord.
19. One who realises that everything is Brahman truly becomes Brahman ; who would not become immortal if he were to drink nectar ?
20. If you are wise you would become this (Brahman) by such conviction ; if not even if you are repeatedly told it would be (useless like offerings) thrown on ashes.
21. Even if you have known the real truth you have to practice always. Water will not become clear by merely uttering the word kataka fruit.
22. If one has the firm conviction ' I am the Supreme Self called the undecaying Vasudeva ' he is liberated ; otherwise he remains bound.
23. After eliminating everything as ` not this ', ' not this', the Supreme Being ( lit. state) which cannot be eliminated remains. Think' I am That ' and be happy.
24. Know always that the Self is Brahman, one and whole. How can that which is indivisible be divided into ' I am the meditator ' and ' the other is the object of meditation ' ?
25. When one thinks' I am pure consciousness ' it is called meditation and when even the idea of meditation is forgotten it is samadhi.
26. The constant flow of mental concepts relating to Brahman without the sense of ' I ' achieved through intense practice of Self Enquiry (jnana) is what is called samprajnata samadhi
(meditation with concepts).
27. Let violent winds which characterise the end of aeons (kalpas) blow ; let all the oceans unite, let the twelve suns burn (simultaneously), still no harm befalls one whose mind is extinct.
28. That consciousness which is the witness of the rise and fall of all beings, know that to be the immortal state of supreme bliss.
29. Every moving or unmoving thing whatsoever is only an object visualised by the mind. When the mind is annihilated duality (i.e. multiplicity) is not perceived.
30. That which is immutable, auspicious and tranquil, that in which this world exists, that which manifests itself as the mutable and immutable objects-that is the sole consciousness.
31. Before discarding the slough the snake regards it as itself, but when once it has discarded it in its hole it does not look upon it as itself any longer.
32. He who has transcended both good and evil does not, like a child, refrain from prohibited acts from a sense of sin, nor does he do what is prescribed from a sense of merit.
33. Just as a statue is contained in a pillar (i.e. block) even if it is not actually carved out, so also the world exists in Brahman. Therefore the Supreme State is not a void.
34. Just as a pillar is said to be devoid of the statue when it has not actually been carved out, so also Brahman is said to be void when it is devoid of the impression of the world.
35. Just as still water may be said to contain or not contain ripples, so also Brahman may be said to contain or not contain the world. It is neither void nor existence.
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Yoga Vasishta Sara - SELECTED VERSES - Nirvana