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Vivienne and Mirelle Part 4: The Return
A crowded night. Too loud. Too bright. And exactly the place she'd least expect it.
Club Argent was at capacity—music pulsing through the glass floor, dancers grinding between plumes of programmed fog and refracted starlight. Vivienne didn’t frequent it often. Too chaotic. Too visible.
But she came that night.
No reason. No warning. She simply appeared in the private mezzanine, drink in hand, expression unreadable. As always, unreadable.
The Guild presence lingered near the bar. Alcove girls spun in calculated circles. Cydonia Wren nodded from the DJ loft. Vivienne barely registered any of it.
Because she felt her before she saw her.
Not Mirelle. Not exactly.
The name was different now. The posture, too. Gone was the soft step and quiet touch. This one stood taller. Moved like someone who’d survived something she never told the story of. She wasn’t dressed to seduce—she was dressed to command attention. And she had it.
The name she gave was Seraine.
But Vivienne knew the slope of her neck. The way her fingers tapped a silent rhythm against her thigh. The flicker of restraint when someone stood too close. The outline hadn’t changed. Only the mask.
Seraine didn’t approach. She didn’t need to.
She danced slowly, deliberately—untouched by the rhythm around her. Like someone playing a memory for herself.
Vivienne stood watching from above, motionless.
She didn’t finish her drink. Didn’t touch her comm. Just watched.
After seven minutes, she left.
Didn’t look back. Didn’t need to.
Two hours later, the vault booth on the Ravenwood’s second floor had a single pressed card left on the table. No one saw who placed it. No cameras registered the drop.
It read:
Seraine, no longer in waiting.
You always knew where to find me.
Now I know where to find myself.
Vivienne stared at the card for exactly seven seconds.
Then she held it to the candle flame. The wax burned slow and quiet.
Some things aren’t about ending. They’re about refusing to begin again.
Addendum to Part 4:
The dress
Later that night, Vivienne opened the wardrobe in her private suite. She didn’t reach for armor. Not black, not red.
She chose a dress Mirelle never saw. Midnight-blue. High-neck. Cut to move quietly.
She wore it alone, poured one glass of wine, and stood at the window—not watching for anyone. Just... standing.
The lights of Club Argent still blinked below.
She didn’t name what she felt.
She didn’t have to.
Visit the Club Argent at NeoExtropia in Second Life
Mrs. Ada Emma Deane, was active in spirit circles in England from just after World War I through the1930s.
She was described as looking like a "char lady" and she convinced Arthur Conan Doyle that she was genuine because he was not able to accept that such a "simple" person could manage such a ruse.
This photograph shows a group of sixteen people from the 1920s or 30s meeting in an English church hall with a banner on the back wall reading "God Is Love". There is an unreadable signature scratched in the lower right of the image. It is likely the signature of a member attesting that the image was not a fake. We have an example of a photograph that Doyle signed for this purpose.
Bibi Tagug rock-inscriptions
Famine Stela on top of Sehel.
The Famine Stela, which is of Greco-Roman origin, but claims to record events from the time of Djoser and Imhotep.
The Famine Stela was inscribed into a natural granite cliff whose surface was cut into the rectangular shape of a stela. The inscription is written in hieroglyphs and contains 42 columns. The top part of the stela depicts three Egyptian deities: Khnum, Satet and Anuket. In front of them, Djoser faces them, carrying offerings in his outstretched hands. A broad fissure, which already was there at the time of creating the stela, goes through the middle of the rock. Some sections of the stela are damaged making a few passages of the text unreadable.
You find a translation of the Stela here:
web.archive.org/web/20111123033346/https://pantherfile.uw...
this is an old picture selfie of my self that I took while living in Vienna, it is "from the same session" as one I previously posted... it is taken in my studio/room where I used to work, often drunk as a mountain goat, this time I probably wanted to put my warpaint on while creating, which, hmm didn´t turn up all well...
...as a tip to all, drinking can be fun, but don´t mix up make up and painting, it turns out very messy indeed :)
Peace and Peace!
/ MushroomBrain poster boy for the asylum
....................................................
Café Frequenters Episode 145
-------------------------------------------
(part of unknown letter to unknown person)
...Because if you don´t, the nasty, nasty will multiply...
...So shall we level up or just draw and grid them in a grinder...
...what state am I in now? Austria your fool... Yes I know that Darling, but in what mental state am I?
...how could I know since I am in a state of delusion...
...Lines I see them line up, eternal endless lines lining the linear path to eternal line-heaven...
...put you lipstick on, you´ll be a pretty boy darling...
...I can´t paint and I don´t see them in real life any longer, what am I?
...if they only had made a perfect circle at the crime seen the pentagram would have caught the killer of the palm tree,
Palm of the hand, lines not dictating my future...
...keep the lines glowing with some more whiskey....
...try to focus or perhaps don´t focus at all darling! yes I am trying both Darling!
I wonder if my cat is the Schrödinger one? it lives in Austria anyway...
was Schrödingers cat an Austrian? that is and may I say, the very essence of this questing...
Johnny did you feed the cats all of them, they eat up front where their nose is but slightly below...
...phone is ringing, well, who cares it is probably not for me and if it is then I don´t wan´t to take it...
poor more, poor more, you drink to fast Darling!
Why?
...time what a silly thing, who invented it... why am I writing this, why can´t I combine the cheep pizzas with wine and beer, it makes me puke, that is expensive...
...I wan´t to pass out, now, for a while, for a while, while listening to good music...
...I am a failure, when master is away I wan´t to create, I only create mess...
if Chaos is your goal Darling...
you would excel, I do. I do, I do agree...
(scribble for two more pages that is unreadable!)
Big bumpers are a clue. Fuchs wheels may not be a clue. Unreadable model badge on rear deck but it does appear to end in SC.
This has to be close to the turn of the century the post card is dated 1914, at some point most of the Fayette county Pa mines switched to electric Larrys to charge the coke ovens. The steam engine is neat, 0-4-0 intustrial type, link and pin couplers, poor maintenance as the number plate is hanging.
The rest of the story: This post card was sent to my grandmother under her maiden name. (read on it gets better!) She would have been 16 or 17 at the time. It is postmarked at the West Lisenring Post Office and sent to her in Uniontown, Pa. The message side of the card has been obliterated with pencil lead so that the message is unreadable(drat hate it when that happens). The question: as a teenager must have been something on there to not show the parents(remember it arrived in the mail box, delivered by a postman), she was likely home from school and the parents and least great grandfather wasn't at home and since they farmed great grandmother may have been busy also. It was important enough to keep the postcard(almost 100 yrs old now). but secretive enough to scratch out the message. The only legible part is a reference to Miss Uniontown. No one ever mentioned Grandma being in any beauty pagents...LMAO!!! Oh I love a mystery. Since it is sent from West Lisenring and my grandfather was a coal miner (not sure if he or his father may have worked there) would love to know if this is the marriage proposal. Maybe someday, I will get it looked at by a crime labe to see what the rest of the story is.
Another fine memorial in the south aisle, sadly unreadable but likely to be a Biddulph I expect. A distraught angel weeps beside the urn containing the remains of the deceased.
Translation:
Died on the ?? March 185?
at the age of 28 Years 4 Months
"I know that my redeemer lives, and
I will look upon my God in my flesh"
Job XIX.25,26."
A marker for one of obvious German heritage located at the Tollgate Cemetery in Jamaica Plain, a Boston neighborhood. Less than one acre in size, the Tollgate sits wedged between Hyde Park Avenue and the MBTA commuter rail just down from Forest Hills Station.
Opened in the 1850s by the Catholic Church to serve the rising numbers of immigrants from Ireland and Germany, the last burial here was over a century ago. It’s been unattended for quite some time, no organization or municipality claiming responsibility for its upkeep, basically abandoned. Numerous other headstones are damaged or unreadable from vandals or neglect, with more graves likely unmarked.
I find a certain irony that the Tollgate is located less than a mile down the road from the famous Forest Hills Cemetery, a grand rural style cemetery located on some 275 meticulously maintained acres, also in Jamaica Plain.
1989 Jaguar XJ-S 3.6 auto.
Last taxed in May 2021.
Anglia Car Auctions, King's Lynn -
"Chassis number: SAJJNAEC3CA162253. The vendor acquired this Jaguar XJS 3.6 as a project a year ago, but hasn't had time to do anything with it so it has been largely unused since. It was registered in August 1989 and is now showing 74,394 miles on its odometer. The MoT is valid through to November 2024. The vendor describes it as running and driving well. Paperwork accompanying the Jaguar includes the V5C (albeit with no yellow slip and the address unreadable), original book pack with data card, sound system guide, and sales and service directory. There's also the service book stamped up to 64,068 miles in June 2002 plus MoT certificates back to 1995 and a stack of invoices back to 1989."
Estimate: £3000 - £5000. Sold for £3348 including premium.
Carte de visite by an unidentified photographer. This and other ornate graphics graced the first page of photograph albums in the 1860s. These works of art typically revolved around a poem that encouraged viewers to share their portrait. Here's the verse on this image, which is marked with "Copyright W.B.P." and other unreadable words along the bottom:
My Album
As you have looked my album through
Say have I a carte of you?
If not contribute one I pray
And send it me without delay
Indeed I wish and do intend
To ask of each and every friend
To let me have their portrait here
That all may look on friends so dear
Finis
I encourage you to use this image for educational purposes only. However, please ask for permission.
A friendly wave from the driver of 6M37 1125 Arcow Quarry - Pendleton heading to Blea Moor to run round his train, 06th December 2023
Good job someone had cleaned the front, number on the side was unreadable
Suddenly, a series of blaster shots pierced the quiet, echoing down the hallway, and the conference room door was forced open as Imperial officers and troopers burst in, weapons raised. The startled partners were hurriedly ushered out, casting worried glances back at Lady Hagathela, who remained steadfast, her expression unreadable.
This stela also had an inscription naming the figure above as AH-K' UHUL (meaning divine lord) followed by an unreadable name. It also carries a date which by modern reckoning equates to 514 AD. (Photo of the complete stela in the comments)
Wien - Holocaust Mahnmal
German inscription, deutsche Inschrift:
"Zum Gedenken an die mehr als 65.000 österreichischen Juden, die in der Zeit von 1938 bis 1945 von den Nationalsozialisten ermordet wurden."
The Judenplatz Holocaust Memorial (German: Mahnmal für die 65.000 ermordeten österreichischen Juden und Jüdinnen der Shoah) also known as the Nameless Library stands in Judenplatz in the first district of Vienna. It is the central memorial for the Austrian victims of the Holocaust and was designed by the British artist Rachel Whiteread.
The memorial began with an initiative of Simon Wiesenthal. Wiesenthal became a spokesman for the public offense taken over the Mahnmal gegen Krieg und Faschismus in Albertinaplatz, created by Alfred Hrdlicka in 1988, which portrayed Jewish victims in an undignified way. As a result of this controversy, Wiesenthal began the commission for a memorial dedicated especially to the Jewish victims of Nazi fascism in Austria. It was built by the city of Vienna under the Mayor Michael Häupl, after Rachel Whiteread's design was chosen unanimously by an international jury under the leadership of the architect Hans Hollein. The members of the jury were Michael Haupl, Ursula Pasterk, Hannes Swoboda, Amnon Barzel, Phyllis Lambert, Sylvie Liska, Harald Szeemann, George Weidenfeld, Simon Wiesenthal, and Robert Storr. Individuals and teams of artists and architects from Austria, Israel, Great Britain and the United States were invited to the competition. They were Valie Export; Karl Prantl and Peter Waldbauer as a team; Zbynek Sekal; Heimo Zobernig, working with Michael Hofstatter and Wolfgang Pauzenberger; Michael Clegg and Martin Guttman as a team; Ilya Kabakov; Rachel Whiteread; and Peter Eisenman. The submissions had to take into account the design constraints of the site at Judenplatz, and texts including a memorial inscription and the listing of all concentration camps in which Austrian Jews were killed.
Originally scheduled to be finished on 9 November 1996, the 58th anniversary of Kristallnacht, the completion was delayed for four years due to various controversies both political and aesthetic, but also setbacks due to concerns over the archaeological excavations beneath the site. The total costs paid by the city of Vienna were 160 million Schillings, including 8 million for the memorial by Rachel Whiteread, 15 million for planning, 23 million for the beginning of construction work, 40 million for structural measures for Misrachi-Haus, and 74 million for the archaeological viewing area. The memorial was unveiled on 25 October 2000, one day before the Austrian national holiday. In attendance was the President of Austria Thomas Klestil, Mayor of Vienna Michael Häupl, President of the Israelitische Kultusgemeinde Wien Ariel Muzicant, Simon Wiesenthal, Rachel Whiteread, and further dignitaries and guests. The memorial was created five years before the erection of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin.
The memorial is a steel and concrete construction with a base measuring 10 x 7 meters and a height of 3.8 meters. The outside surfaces of the volume are cast library shelves turned inside out. The spines of the books are facing inwards and are not visible, therefore the titles of the volumes are unknown and the content of the books remains unrevealed. The shelves of the memorial appear to hold endless copies of the same edition, which stand for the vast number of the victims, as well as the concept of Jews as "People of the Book." The double doors are cast with the panels inside out, and have no doorknobs or handles. They suggest the possibility of coming and going, but do not open.
The memorial represents, in the style of Whiteread's "empty spaces", a library whose books are shown on the outside but are unreadable. The memorial can be understood as an appreciation of Judaism as a religion of the "book"; however, it also speaks of a cultural space of memory and loss created by the genocide of the European Jews. Through the emphasis of void and negative casting rather than positive form and material, it acts as a "counter monument" in this way opposite to the production through history of grandiose and triumphal monumental objects.
As a work of art, the memorial was not intended to be beautiful and as such it contrasts with much of the Baroque art and architecture of Vienna. A member of the design jury had noticed a resemblance to a bunker and the military fortifications of the Atlantic wall were later confirmed by the artist as a source of inspiration for the project. There is an aspect of discomfort in the monument that was meant to provoke thought in the viewer through the memorial's severe presence. It was intended to evoke the tragedy and brutality of the Holocaust and in the words of Simon Wiesenthal at the unveiling, "This monument shouldn't be beautiful, It must hurt."
Although no texts are found on the cast books, two texts are engraved on the base of the memorial. On the concrete floor before the locked double doors is a text in German, Hebrew, and English, that points out the crime of The Holocaust and the estimated number of Austrian victims. In the centre is a Star of David.
(Wikipedia)
Das Mahnmal für die österreichischen jüdischen Opfer der Schoah (auch: Mahnmal für die 65.000 ermordeten österreichischen Juden und Jüdinnen der Schoah) steht am Judenplatz im ersten Bezirk von Wien. Es ist das zentrale Mahnmal für die österreichischen Opfer der Schoah, und wurde von der britischen Künstlerin Rachel Whiteread entworfen.
Das Mahnmal geht auf eine Initiative von Simon Wiesenthal zurück, Bauherr ist die Stadt Wien unter dem Bürgermeister Michael Häupl, der Entwurf Whitereads wurde durch eine internationale Jury unter dem Vorsitz des Architekten Hans Hollein ausgewählt. Neun Künstler und Architekten aus Österreich, Israel, Großbritannien und den Vereinigten Staaten wurden ursprünglich zum Wettbewerb geladen. Die eingereichten Entwürfe hatten eine Reihe fester Vorgaben zu berücksichtigen: den Ort (Judenplatz), eine Gedenkinschrift und die Auflistung aller Konzentrationslager, in denen österreichische Juden zu Tode gekommen waren. Das Mahnmal wurde am 25. Oktober 2000, also einen Tag vor dem österreichen Nationalfeiertag, im Beisein von Bundespräsident Thomas Klestil, dem Präsidenten der Wiener Kultusgemeinde Ariel Muzicant, Simon Wiesenthal, der Architektin, weiteren Würdenträgern und Gästen enthüllt. Das Mahnmal wurde fünf Jahre vor der Errichtung des Denkmals für die ermordeten Juden Europas in Berlin errichtet.
Das Mahnmal ist eine Stahlbetonkonstruktion mit einer Grundfläche von 10 x 7 Metern und einer Höhe von 3,8 Metern. Die Außenflächen des Kubus sind durchmodelliert als nach außen gewendete Bibliothekswände. Die Regale des Mahnmals sind mit scheinbar endlos vielen Ausgaben ein und desselben Buches bestückt, die für die große Zahl der Opfer und ihre Lebensgeschichte stehen. Die Bücher befinden sich an ihrem Bestimmungsort, die Lage der Bücher im Regal ist aber unnatürlich, so wie der Tod bestimmt ist, und so wie den Opfern ein natürliches Ende vorenthalten wurde. Der Inhalt der Bücher bleibt verborgen. Die Flügeltüren, welche die Möglichkeit eines Kommens und Gehens andeuten, sind geschlossen, fehlende Türklinken erklären diesen Zustand als unveränderlich.
Auf Bodenfriesen, die im Sockel des Mahnmals eingelassen sind, sind die Namen jener Orte festgehalten, an denen österreichische Juden während der NS-Herrschaft von NS-Tätern ermordet wurden: Auschwitz, Belzec, Bergen-Belsen, Brčko, Buchenwald, Chelmno, Dachau, Flossenbürg, Groß-Rosen, Gurs, Hartheim, Izbica, Jasenovac, Jungfernhof, Kaiserwald, Kielce, Kowno (Kauen), Lagow, Lodz, Lublin, Majdanek, Maly Trostinec, Mauthausen, Minsk, Mittelbau/Dora, Modliborzyce, Natzweiler, Neuengamme, Nisko, Opatow, Opole, Ravensbrück, Rejowiec, Riga, Šabac, Sachsenhausen, Salaspils, San Sabba, Sobibor, Stutthof, Theresienstadt, Trawniki, Treblinka, Wlodawa, Zamość.
Auf dem Sockel vor den verschlossenen Flügeltüren ist ein Text in deutscher, englischer und hebräischer Sprache zu lesen, der auf das Verbrechen der Schoah und die geschätzte Zahl der österreichischen Opfer hinweist. Das Mahnmal stellt im Stile von Whitereads „Leerräumen“ eine Bibliothek dar, deren Bücher nach außen zeigen. Das Mahnmal kann als Würdigung des Judentums als Religion des „Buchs“ verstanden werden, spricht aber auch die durch den Völkermord an den europäischen Juden entstandene kulturelle Leerstelle an (Erinnerung und Verlust).
(Wikipedia)
The photograph presents a perspective looking through a modern, arched walkway towards the Nusretiye Mosque in Istanbul. The walkway is constructed with a reddish-brown material and features a lush green planter box along the top edge. The walkway leads to a paved area with trees and benches, and in the background, the prominent dome and minarets of the Nusretiye Mosque are visible against a partly cloudy sky. Several people are seated at tables in the foreground, suggesting a cafe or outdoor seating area.
My 360° Istanbul Video on youtube
This link will bring you to my immersive 360° YouTube video.
“Recent advances made in rocketry indicate man may get to the moon sooner than even the well informed imagined.
This very prospect, however, increases the concern about the presence of meteoric dust and particles in space.
These constitute a deadly rain when they fall on a body – like the moon – which possesses no protective atmosphere. Arriving at a speed 100 times as fast as a high-powered rifle bullet, even a small particle is lethal.
The hazard is real, as satellites telemetering information back to earth have shown.
Soviet data acquired from the sputniks indicate meteoric material is falling to the earth at the rate of 10,000,000 tons a day!
This is an incredible figure. Is it possible the sensing instruments were in error or the sputniks moved through meteoric showers having especially large concentrations of particles?
If the figures are correct, it means meteoric debris is falling on the earth at the rate of 100 pounds a square mile each day. In a year this would amount to 18 tons an acre. Surely there would be ample evidence of such rain, if it existed.
In shallow seas, for example, the particles would settle and remain undisturbed for centuries. However, samples taken from the bottom of the seas do not indicate the density of fall.
Thus we are forced to conclude that an unusually large error was contained in sputnik information.
What about studies in this country?
An evaluation of the high-altitude Aerobee rockets fired from the White Sands Proving Grounds indicates the daily meteoric showers range from a high of 25,000 tons to a low of 5,000 tons a day. However…”
…the rest of the article is unfortunately unreadable.
The accompanying caption above per Dr. I. M. Levitt, then Director of the Franklin Institute.
Although the jagged lunar peaks & landing vehicles confirm this to be an early depiction, that spacesuit is pretty high-speed and a far cry from most concepts of the time. To me, it looks a lot like what motocross riders wear today. And no PLSS, at least not visible from this perspective. Note also what appears to be a sort of United Nations/United Federation of Planets(?)-looking helmet emblem...or that of Cadillac.
Artwork by M. Anderson. Disappointingly, absolutely nothing on him/her.
Made for SWFactions. Original Post: www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?/forums/topic/180672-j...
Our trio find themselves in a precarious position, deep in the forgotten jungles of Imynusoph, face-to-face with the dastardly ex-Imperial Colonel Corbett!
Read on to find out how it happened!
Intrepid reporter Kitsa Rigo grumbled and pushed aside another bright green frond. Her shirt was sweat-soaked, she had cuts on her arm from the foliage and she had stepped in something gooey that was seeping through her boot. She should have been in the Core Worlds investigating corporate corruption, not here, in the farthest reaches of the galaxy, looking for a tribe and treasure that may or may not be made up.
Impatiently, she stomped alongside her two companions. "Mr. Clod, it's time to deal with the truth: we're walking in circles," she said. "I'm putting this in my story for the Gazette, you know."
"Shush shush, would you shush? Be quiet," said Clod, rolling his eyes and trying to look unbothered. "And stop writing. You're driving me up the wall. Just wait. I'm sure I know where we are. Sure, things look bad now, but . . . haven't you ever heard that saying? The night is darkest before the dawn?"
"Well--well, actually, Mr. Clod...technically, that isn't quite true," stammered Professor Floon, who, while hurrying forward to speak, tripped in the undergrowth.
The Klatoonian explorer pulled the Neimodian academic roughly to his feet. "What was that, Professor?" he growled.
"Well, about what you just said...Not here, not on Imynusoph. You see, due to its remoteness, there is a dearth of verifiable information about Imynusoph. While regrettable, that is what makes a CFS research station such a desirable outcome!"
"Get to the point...
"W-Well, in spite of this scarcity of knowledge, I've been pouring over what existing tomes we do possess, and I've learned that on this planet it is, in fact, the dusks that are the darkest. A result of a peculiar tilt on the planet's axis. A fascinating quirk, I think!"
"So far, I don't think any of your quirks are all that fascinating, professor."
"Oh my! I say--"
"I wish you wouldn't. You're distracting me from my wayfinding. Ms. Rigo, engage the professor in conversation so I can figure out where we are, would you?"
She put a hand on her hip and glared. "I thought you knew."
"I know...in my bones, alright?" he replied, waving away her accusation. "My instinctive being. My internal map. I just want to make sure my bones, being, and internal map are hitting the mark. Let's take a left up here, into this clearin--Woah there!"
"HEY!"
"Oh my!"
Buffeted by a sudden swinging of broad-leaved plants, the three of them tumbled headfirst into the aforementioned clearing, where they found themselves quickly sinking into some kind of sand. The sand was also sinking, and quickly.
"Oh my, oh my!" Warbled Professor Floon.
"We need a rope or something! A vine!" Kitsa shouted.
Clod looked around for a way out. "You better not put this in your story, Rigo!"
"Is that really important right now?" she snarled. "Ugh--It's no good, there's nothing to grab hold of."
The Professor tried to stay calm. "Mr. Clod! What do we do?"
"Oh, as if this con-artist knows..."
Clod shot her a proud look. "Actually, I do know! I know exactly. How about that?"
The Professor and Reporter turned and stared at the disappearing form of Harnaby Clod. They waited for instruction.
"It's obvious, isn't it? Start shouting for help!"
Kitsa threw up the hand that wasn't being sucked down by sand. "Oh, great plan! Very dramatic."
"Mr. Clod, I feel the need to caution you...such a ruckus may very well draw dangerous wildlife toward our location, which, while fascinating, may--"
Clod scowled at what he could still see of the Professor. "Listen here, Egghead: It's our only hope! Start making a ruckus or you'll never see dangerous wildlife again!"
The three started shouting for help. They were nearly submerged in the sinking sand when they heard something coming, from every direction. For a moment, Clod worried they really had brought out some kind of violent beast that would snatch them from the pit with its teeth, and rip them apart for food.
But it wasn't a beast. It may have been something worse.
It was half-a-dozen people with guns, wearing smashed-up imperial armor, and a speeder bringing up the rear. The pirates surrounded them and brought their weapons to bear. The trio tried to raise their hands in surrender, but, well, the sand.
A man dressed in officer regalia and a fur cloak swept towards them, curling his mustache with a finger. He was followed by a mean-looking Sergeant; his right hand man.
"My, my. Look what we've found, Slyfoot!" said the officer.
"People, sir," said his right hand man.
"Yes, people! Indeed! We weren't looking for people. We were, in fact, on the search for beasts. You three are very much not beasts! Except perhaps the one in the wide-brimmed hat, but the resemblance there seems entirely superficial. Do you understand me?" He frowned at the drowning trio. "At the risk of being rude, I must say you have wasted my time. And what are you doing out here, at the end of hyperlanes? The back of beyond! Looking for the golden treasures of Imynusoph, I suspect. Slyfoot is always telling me that finding the famed treasure of Imynusoph will earn me a commendation from the regional governor, and I am always telling Slyfoot that, alas! The treasure is a myth." He crept closer to the edge, looking at them sharply. "But treasure hunters are no myth. No, no, a persistent thorn in my side. You are treasure hunters, aren't you? Best to answer quickly, before you are consumed by the sand and I am left to wonder about your answer forever."
Clod spat and roared. "Get us out of here, you Imp snake! "
"How eloquent," smiled the officer. "Answer the question!"
"Treasure Hunters?" cried an indignant Floon, who was apparently more offended by the accusation than by the lack of help. "Pardon me, sir-- but that is hardly the case!"
Kitsa and Clod groaned, but the Officer looked intrigued. He smiled to his men as if sharing an inside joke. "Oh, indeed? And what is the case, my man?"
"Dun't--teld--hem--inniedeng!" said Kitsa, flailing as her head started to go under.
Floon did not comprehend the warning. With wounded pride, he launched in, "I am a researcher! An academic! I am here to study the local fauna, the fantastic giant birds of Imynusoph! Surely you've heard of them!"
Leaning closer, a gleam appeared in the officers eye. "You know of these giant birds, do you?"
"I do! Of course I do! It's only natural! I am Professor--blub--Pod Floon, and I politely demand your assistance! My associates and I are moments from a most unpleasant death!"
The officer looked pleased. "A fellow of manners and distinction! Out here, an even rarer find than my prey. I've made up my mind. Hop to it, men! Get them out of the sand!"
Slyfoot raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Colonel? Perhaps we should just leave them. It will save us the trouble..."
"No, Slyfoot! You've only ever believed in the treasure, never the giant birds! Slyfoot, ever the skeptic, except when it pertains to gold! Well, it appears I have finally found someone who shares my interest!"
Slyfoot's expression was unreadable. "Understood, sir. May I have the dog-faced one for interrogation?"
"Hey!" Clod growled. He knew when someone was talking about him.
The Colonel waved a hand. "Oh yes, naturally. Do as you must with that one. Troopers! Bring these three to our camp. I would have further conversation with our guests."
To be continued!
Car: Austin-Morris Mini 1275GT.
Date of first registration: 1st August 1980.
Region of registration: Manchester.
Latest recorded mileage: Unreadable (MOT 17th September 2019).
Date of last V5 issued: 30th March 2016.
Currently on SORN.
Date taken: 14th September 2014.
Location: Queen Square, Bristol, UK.
Captured in September afternoon sunshine, here we see Sanders former Reading Buses Wright bodied Scania L94UB type number 317 - YN06 NXS at Sustead whilst working the above journey on Cromer Academy school day only service 79.
Having reached this junction from Cromer by way of Roughton, Felbrigg and Aylmerton, from here the normal long way round route to Gresham would see 317 take the road on the right via Thurgarton Church and Bessingham, but I was told a while back by her mother that the only pupil from the latter village using this service would be leaving school in a couple of years and the fact that 317 took the short cut by going straight on here probably means that this has now happened. With this in mind I waited on the road to the left to cover both possibilities. However, my attempt at a shot was ruined by two vehicles which came from the opposite direction conspiring to arrive at exactly the same time as the bus and a lot of shunting then took place. I did manage this hurried side view, but as I always say “there'll be other days!”
The track between the fingerpost and the end of the wall to the left, which marks the boundary of the village churchyard, is part of the Weaver’s Way long distance footpath. The large cream coloured rectangular sign is in fact a map of Sustead Parish, but possibly due to the sun the Perspex cover has become completely opaque making the map unreadable. In the far distance across the fields we can just see part of Great Wood situated on the Felbrigg Estate (NT).
Due to revised school day finishing times it is now possible to capture some of the Aylsham, Cromer and Sheringham High School journeys all on the same afternoon.
Dreams of being a model was her one true wish
First posing this way then that down by the big fish
With her dark sultry looks not in the least bit Irish
Her womanly curves leading to thoughts most devilish
With encouraging words her poses became more peccable
Behind the camera his face hiding , totally unreadable
That`s it , it`s a wrap we can put this show to bed
He has no film in his camera came a voice from a moped
Turning now his face going a deep shade of red
On the moped his wife , the woman he`d wed
What she shouted next i`ll keep till after the watershed
..................... Copyright (c) Rodney Harrison 2014
William Thomas Henry Smith (vs)
Wattsburg Lumber Company, Limited
Warrant of execution
William Thomas Henry Smith
Born: 16 Jul 1871 in London, England
Death: 11 September 1942 at age 71 in Creston, British Columbia
Occupation in 1920: Farmer
Son of William John Smith and Mary Ann Hills
His wife : Ada "Priest" Smith
Born: 20 Feb 1865 in Ruscombe, England
Death: 11 May 1947 at age 82 in Cranbrook, B.C.
Their daughter - Dorothy Ada Smith
Born: c. 1900 in Red Deer, Alberta
Married: Richard Stace Smith on 10 June 1920 in Nelson, B.C
His father: William John Smith
His mother: Mary Ann Hills
Addressed to: S.P. Tuck / Sheriff / Nelson, B.C.
Samuel Parker Tuck
Birth - 24 Apr 1837 in New Brunswick, Canada
Death - 13 Sep 1916 (aged 79) in Nelson, Central Kootenay Regional District, British Columbia, Canada
Husband of Sarah M. Tuck
Sarah M. Tuck (Morse)
Birthdate: circa 1848 in New Brunswick, Canada
The Sheriff of the Kootenays was one Samuel Parker Tuck who was appointed sheriff - 27 March 1899. He not only had the distinction of being the first Sheriff in the new facility, but was the first to call it home. Mr. Rattenbury had designed a caretaker’s apartment in the basement in which Sheriff Tuck resided. Sheriff Tuck died in service, in Kootenay Lake General Hospital, on 13 September 1916 at the age of 80 years. As Sheriff Tuck was not ready to retire it just may be that those footsteps heard so often are his as he makes his daily rounds! LINK to the complete article - whenthewallstalk.blogspot.com/2009/09/court-house-ward-st...
Tuck Narrows is located at the head of Tuck Inlet, about 6 miles (9.7 km) northeast of Prince Rupert, British Columbia. Tuck Inlet is a fjord with a depth of 260 feet (80 m), and an entrance sill depth of 34 feet (10.5 m). The inlet is named after Samuel Parker Tuck who surveyed the shores of the Prince Rupert harbour and this inlet in 1892.
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Lumberton is a ghost town in the East Kootenay part of British Columbia. The town is situated south of Cranbrook. Lumberton was once known as Watts or Wattsburg after A.E. Watts. Watts was in charge of the town after the turn of the century. Watts was the owner and founder of a lumber mill. Later, he sold his mill to B.C. Spruce Mills Ltd., who rebuilt the mill and updated it. Around that time Lumberton was born with a population of 225. Lumberton contained a post office and general store. Three dozen company houses were on the townsite. When the area became barren of timber, the town of Lumberton became deserted. In 1973 the cement walls of the mill could be seen as well as abandoned homes.
(from - Wrigley's 1918 British Columbia directory) - WATTSBURG - a post office and station on the C. P. Railway, Crow's Nest line, 8 miles southwest of Cranbrook, one mile north of Swansea Station, in Cranbrook Provincial Electoral District on Palmers Bar Lake. Has planing mill, few houses, but no stores.
The Wattsburg Post Office was established - 1 November 1903 - it became Lumberton - 1 April 1922 and closed - 30 April 1941.
LINK to a list of all the Postmasters who served at the Wattsburg Post Office - www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/discover/postal-heritage-philately/...;
Sent from - / WATTSBURG / DE 4 / 14 / B.C. / - split ring cancel - this split ring hammer (A-1) was not listed in the Proof Book - it was most likely proofed c. 1903 when the Post Office opened - (RF E / now is a RF D).
- / R / - large "R" in oval - registered marking
transit - RPO - unreadable
arrival - / NELSON / PM / DE 4 / 14 / B.C. / - cds backstamp
Russian Settlement Cemetery holding 2 graves is almost all that remains of a Molokan Russian settlement established in April 1914. The settlement is about 9 miles south of Park Valley, Utah in the Great Basin Desert, on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. The land probably looked about the same as it does in this picture. Desolate and unyielding. By 1919 the settlement was gone, returned to California and other points. These two graves are here protected by a chain link fence. Original markers were replaced by the family in 1966.
the graves are of sisters in law from the Russian Settlement. Mary Mathew Kalpakoff born in 1887 and died in the Russian Settlement in 1915 during childbirth. Next to her lies Anna Kalpakoff, wife of Andrew. She was born in 1877 and died on April 26, 1914 as a result of an accident. Anna was buried in the Park Valley Cemetery and she was moved later to be next to Mary after her death.
The valley lies below the Raft River Mountains in the far north west corner of Utah. Water serving the valley comes from surface water run off and wells fed by the range. Farming and ranching has changed little in the 100 odd years since the Russians came. The valley is incredibly beautiful and incredibly harsh in its extremes.
The graves of these women are not forgotten and they are a reminder of the hardships that people endured trying to make new lives in the West. They are also a reminder of how isolated and lonely this place can be.
I took some shots of the stones but the contrast in the harsh light was enough to make the markings unreadable in the photos. I'll get some better shots. It is also difficult to shoot the pictures without disturbing the monument.
Fuji Instax Wide Monochrome shot on Polaroid 700 Instax Land Camera with Lomograflok back. These were shot at Polaroid Light Value LV 8 - f/35 at 1/100. This was noon at 104 degrees Fahrenheit there really was no where left to go with exposure. I kicked myself for not bringing my f/90 hood/filter that would have livened things up a bit. I tried to use the f/35 and get some depth in the picture, except the Cacktuse which I shot at LV 6 f/17.5 at 1/100 and it was almost completely blown out...
This woman was standing alone, in a shady corner of Omonoia Square.
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When we hear the phrase “first impression,” we tend to think of a person. Was the politician I recently voted for as inspiring when I heard his first speech as he was years later? (More so, sadly.) Was the girl that I married as beautiful at 13 as she was years later, in her twenties and thirties? (Yes, and yes.) Did Bob Dylan’s Blowin’ in the Wind send more of a shiver down my spine in 1963 than it did when I heard it drifting from a car radio 45 years later? (No. It stops me dead in my tracks every time I hear it.)
It’s not just people that make first impressions on me. Cities do, too, perhaps because I encountered so many of them while my family moved every year throughout my childhood. Or perhaps it’s because, after seeing so many cities that I thought were different in the United States, I was so completely unprepared for the wild variety of sights and sounds and smells that I encountered as a grown man, when I traveled to Europe and South America, to Africa and Asia and Australia. And even today, there are cities that I’m visiting for the first time, and which continue to take me by surprise.
Athens is one of those cities. I don’t know what I was expecting… Something old, of course, something downright ancient, filled with smashed statues and marble columns like Rome, engraved with unreadable inscriptions in a language I never learned — but probably not as ancient as Cairo. Something hot and noisy and polluted and smelly, perhaps like Calcutta or the slums of Mumbai. Something gridlocked with noisy, honking traffic congestion, perhaps like Moscow.
What I didn’t expect was the wide, nearly-empty highways leading from the airport into the city. I didn’t expect the cleanliness of the tree-lined streets that ran in every direction. I did expect the white-washed buildings and houses that climbed the hills that surround the city — but the local people told me that buildings in Athens were positively gray compared to what I would have seen if I had stayed longer and ventured out to the Greek islands.
I also didn’t expect the graffiti that covered nearly every wall, on every building, up and down every street. They were mostly slogans and phrases in Greek (and therefore completely unintelligible to me), but with occasional crude references in English to IMF bankers, undercover policemen, a politician or two, and the CIA. There were a couple slogans from the Russian revolution of 1917, from the Castro uprising in Cuba, and even from the American revolution (“united we stand, divided we fall.”)
Naturally, I thought all of this had come about in just the past few months, as Greece has wrestled with its overwhelming financial crisis. But I was told by local citizens that much of the graffiti has been around for quite a bit longer than that – just as it has been in cities like New York and London. Some of it was wild and colorful, with cartoon figures and crazy faces … though I don’t think it quite rises to the level of “street art” that one sees in parts of SoHo, Tribeca, and the East Village in New York. What impressed me most about the graffiti in Athens was its vibrant energy; I felt like the artists were ready to punch a hole through the walls with their spray-cans.
These are merely my own first impressions; they won’t be the same as yours. Beyond that, there are a lot of facts, figures, and details if one wants to fully describe a city like Athens. Its recorded history spans some 3,400 years, and it includes the exploits of kings and generals, gods and philosophers, athletes and artists. There are statues and columns and ruins everywhere; and towering above it all is the breath-taking Acropolis. It’s far too rich and complex for me to describe here in any reasonable way; if you want to know more, find some books or scan the excellent Wikipedia summary.
It’s also hard to figure out what one should photograph on a first visit to a city like Athens. It’s impossible not to photograph the Acropolis, especially since it’s lit at night and visible from almost every corner of the city. I was interested in the possibility of photographing the complex in the special light before dawn or after sunset, but it’s closed to visitors except during “civilized” daytime hours. It’s also undergoing extensive renovations and repair, so much of it is covered in scaffolding, derricks, and cranes. In the end, I took a few panorama shots and telephoto shots, and explored the details by visiting the new Acropolis Museum, with the camera turned off.
Aside from that, the photos you’ll see here concentrate on two things: my unexpected “first impression” of the local graffiti, and my favorite of all subjects: people. In a couple cases, the subjects are unmistakably Greek – Greek orthodox priests, for example – and in a couple cases, you might think you were looking at a street scene in São Paulo or Mexico City. But in most of the shots, you’ll see examples of stylish, fashionable, interesting people that don’t look all that much different from the people I’ve photographed in New York, London, Rome, or Paris. Maybe we can attribute that to the homogenization of fashion and style in today’s interconnected global environment. Or maybe we can just chalk it up to the fact that people are, well … interesting … wherever you go.
In any case, enjoy. And if you get to Athens yourself, send me some photos of your own first impressions.
Erich von Stroheim - Paprika
Uni Giant Editions 2, n.d.; circa 1952
Cover Artist: Robert Stanley
Famed director/actor Erich von Stroheim faced financial disaster in the mid-1930s. After directing such visual powerhouses as “Foolish Wives,” “Greed,” “The Merry Widow,” “The Wedding March,” and “Queen Kelly” in the 1920s, as well as others, and sometimes stealing films in which he co-starred, the Austrian auteur couldn’t land a job. Twentieth Century-Fox had savagely re-cut and remade his 1932 film “Walking Down Broadway” and changed the title to “Hello, Sister!” Directing opportunities vanished. Von Stroheim picked up acting roles in low-budget/poverty row films, but found himself frozen out of big budget studio films. Financial disaster loomed. The great filmmaker took whatever opportunities came his way.
In 1934, producer David O. Selznick attempted to help provide for the Von Stroheim family that year at Christmas, sending a letter around the MGM studios asking people to donate to a fund for the family.
During the long fall, Von Stroheim hit on an idea both to make him some cash as well as hopefully land another directing opportunity, writing a novel called “Paprika.” Thomas Quinn Curtiss in his book “Von Stroheim” states that the book was based on memories of gypsy life that Von Stroheim observed during a military campaign. As typical for the fanciful director, the story features a passionate, tempestuous romance, along with licentious and irresponsible characters indulging in every manner of sensuous action.
The March 17, 1935, Los Angeles Times details the hot-blooded aspects of the book in its review. “Hungarian gypsies, gay, irresponsible, thieving, dancing, sensuous, and sadistic, move from camp to camp under the brutal leadership of Gabor Zoltan. But hanging over this giant’s head is an ancient threat. And against him is the real queen of the tribe and her half-white daughter, the passionate Paprika. …One tragedy follows swift on the heels of another. Every moment is dramatic, and the temperature and tempo are such that the readers will require ice packs and other consoling and cooling agents before the grand climax sweeps them through unsanguined fields to the ultimate.”
In a short column in the February 17, 1935, Los Angeles Times, Philip Scheuer noted that the book featured a parade of “typically Von Stroheim figures.” As usual, the work was decadent and over the top, what Curtiss calls basically a script in novel form, in that scenes were incredibly detailed, ready to be filmed. This overabundance of facts weighed down the story and sometimes made it unreadable. As biographer Arthur Lennig reveals in his book “Stroheim,” the MGM reader assigned to read the submitted work called it, “A trashy story, written for sensationalism only. Long and dull.”
While producer Samuel Goldwyn displayed lukewarm interest in making a film of the novel, no directing jobs came Von Stroheim’s way. He continued to wander pillar to post over the next several decades, trying to get films made, while appearing in roles both on stage and screen.
Los Angeles Times writer Harry Carr in December 31, 1922, captures the strange dichotomy of a man wonderfully talented but often his own greatest enemy. “The genius of Von Stroheim is absolutely unique. There is no one else like him on the stage or screen. He is a tree who grew alone.”
(adapted from: ladailymirror.com/2012/10/08/mary-mallory-hollywood-heigh...)
I had planned another works bus to follow, however I suddenly remembered I had this and if I had remembered at the time I would have known the location of the previous as this is obviously the same day and location. Most definitely Newton Heath where Old Church Street/Dean Lane crosses Oldham Road, or it does in the background, ten points for Les although I gave him a clue, the large old co-op type building that is most definitely still standing confirms the location. Not only that the slide is dated to March 1973 so another mystery solved, sadly the identity of the former Rochdale Regent V is unknown and unreadable as obviously is the Oldham PD behind. Location identified does that make the poles former tram poles?
Kim put together this diptych showing two unexpected birds that visited the garden feeders a couple of days ago.
Goldfinch are pretty much ever-present in the nearby trees. However, it is the first we have seen on a feeder during the winter of 23-24, presumably because we don't have their preferred seeds out.
The female Reed Bunting (left) was much more unexpected and a first we have seen visiting any of our feeders since moving here 11 years ago. Reed Buntings do migrate, with ringing recoveries from the near continent. Indeed, this bird is ringed, the number sadly unreadable in the photo taken through a window. i suspect the bird may have been a grounded migrant due to thick fog that lasted from dawn to dusk.
A discarded aluminum beverage can is lying on the ground, partially obscured by grass and other vegetation. The can appears to be a light blue color and has a barcode and other printed information on its surface, though the text is largely unreadable. The scene suggests littering and neglect within a natural environment.
Obviously, The Moreton Bay Regional Council neglects its responsibility and duty to provide proper information for its residents.
Photograph in Deception Bay, Queensland.
We walked right past without knowing this place is a bit of a San Francisco institution... Sam Wo, Washington Street, Chinatown. May 22, 2011.
The conference room at the apex of Rothana Heavy Engineering’s headquarters was a chamber of stark contrast—opulent, timeless, and ominous all at once. Two massive windows flanked the far end of the room, revealing the breathtaking expanse of Rothana’s arctic tundra. Icy winds whispered against the thick transparisteel, but inside, warmth clung to the chamber like the scent of old stone and wealth.
In the corner, between the windows, stood an ancient tree in a black, gold-accented pot. Its twisted trunk rose defiantly before bowing under its own age, branches arching over the room like crooked arms. Sparse crimson leaves clung to it stubbornly, catching the filtered light and casting red shadows across the floor. Around the room, tall cylindrical glass cases and pedestals displayed curated echoes of the past—eroded Sith armor, ceremonial weapons, and long-forgotten artifacts from the darker corners of galactic history.
At the center stood a large round table, its surface smooth except for the embedded holoprojector at its core. A projection of the Agressor-Class Destroyer, ARCSS Exavis hovered above it—an angular, predatory silhouette—casting shifting blue light onto the faces standing around it.
To the left stood Moff Cerato, his aging face stone-set, one hand gripping his black cane. The ex-Imperial admiral, now a voice in the murky politics of the Remnant, remained a symbol of discipline and ruthless pragmatism.
Beside him stood Elli Vakeer, the elderly Umbaran matriarch of Rothana Heavy Engineering. Her pale, unreadable features betrayed nothing, her silver-flecked eyes scanning the projection as if glimpsing something the others could not.
Next, Prex Yusai of ARGO Industries stood with his palms resting lightly on the table’s edge, his tailored coat perfectly aligned, posture calm but commanding. The image of a corporate visionary cloaked in iron strategy.
To his right stood Dr. Verek Darn, once an Imperial science officer, now Chief Scientist of RHE. His hands rested in front of him, fingers laced, his thoughts buried beneath a polished façade. The Exavis was partly his brainchild, and his silence was the sound of calculation.
Next to him stood Kalen Thurn, Sr. Intelligence Officer of ArgoSec and Yusai’s personal advisor. An implant pulsed faintly at the back of his head, its soft red light a quiet testament to the processing core woven into his brain and spine. Thurn’s cybernetics allowed him to monitor data feeds and predictive models in real-time—calculating, measuring, forecasting every twitch and turn of the meeting. He said little, but his eyes, constantly adjusting and analyzing, missed nothing.
“The Exavis is ready,” said Yusai, voice low and certain. “Fully retrofitted. Operational. Awaiting deployment.”
Dr. Darn gave a small nod. “It retains its core weapons matrix under civilian registry. The mining designation is... a formality.”
Kalen Thurn spoke with precision. “Stealth protocols have passed final calibration. The Exavis will not merely defend our lanes—it will anchor the next phase of our security doctrine.”
The holoprojector shifted to display the crest of ARGO Industries rotating beside the sigil of Rothana Heavy Engineering, the two icons slowly blending into a single emblem.
“The merger,” Yusai said, eyes still on the hologram, “begins now. Let the Exavis be our first move.”
Elli Vakeer tilted her head ever so slightly. “Then let it be done.”
Moff Cerato allowed a rare smile. “The galaxy is watching. Let it remember who still knows how to build.”
Overhead, the ancient tree creaked as a red leaf drifted down, landing soundlessly on the cold floor beneath their feet.
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I had fun with this build. For a long time I wanted to do something similar to my golden casino - something elegant inspired by Dryden Vos' Yacht First Light, and the bridge of the Eye of Sion. Thanks for watching/reading ';)
Car: Ford 3 Window Coupe Hot Rod..
Year of manufacture: 1949
Date of first registration in the UK: 9th March 1979.
Region of registration: West Sussex.
Latest recorded mileage: Unreadable (MOT 5th May 2012).
Date of last V5 issued: 17th July 2012.
Date taken: 12th October 2014.
Location: Queen Square, Bristol, UK.
Year unreadable because of missing stamp, but probably 1905 like the former one - it is sent by and to the same person and in the same month.
I think this scene is very weird. But I am glad the pig is laughing.
This postcard was sent from Minnesota, USA in December of 1907. The town on the postmark is unreadable...
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- from 1908 "Lovell's Gazetteer of the Dominion of Canada" - SANDON, a post settlement in Kootenay District, B.C., and a station on the C.P.R. (Kaslo & Sandon branch).
(from - Wrigley's 1918 British Columbia directory) - SANDON - a post office and incorporated town at terminus of Nakusp-Sandon Branch of C.P. Railway, 41 miles southeast of Nakusp, in Slocan Provincial Electoral District. It is on the south fork of Carpenter Creek, and is an important mining and lumbering centre. Several rich silver-lead and zinc mines are in operation. Has Methodist, Presbyterian and Roman Catholic churches. The population in 1918 was 300.
Sandon was named after John Sandon, who discovered silver there in 1891 with Eli Carpenter, John Seaton, Bruce White and others. The Sandon Post Office was opened - 1 August 1895 and closed - 20 August 1962.
- transit - / SANDON / JAN 1 / 08 / B.C. / - cds transit - (RF C).
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- from 1908 "Lovell's Gazetteer of the Dominion of Canada" - WHITEWATER, a post and mining settlement in Yale-Cariboo District, B.C., and a station on the Kaslo & Slocan Railway, 18 miles from Kaslo, and 12 miles from Sandon, the latter also on the C.P.R. (Nakusp and Slocan section). Besides the Whiteside Mines, there are in the vicinity the Whitewater Deep Mines, the Jackson Mine, the Wellington and other ore mines. It has general store, 1 hotel and 1 ore concentration mill and telegraph offices. The population in 1908 varied from 100 to 300, as the mines are or are not working.
In the meantime, the Kaslo and Slocan Railway completed its line and its first timetable, issued in September 1895, called the siding “Whitewater Creek or The Bells.” The creek was named after a mine located by J.C. Eaton in 1892. On Aug. 4, 1896, J. Warren Bell wrote to MP Hewitt Bostock, asking that a post office be opened at Whitewater, and suggesting an alternative reason why his father didn’t get the postmaster job: “About 12 months ago a requisition was sent to the department requesting my father James Bell be appointed postmaster at … ‘Bell’s Camp’ … Being unable to give it the necessary attention that the position requires he declined, and in consequence there has not been anyone appointed.” Having previously worked in the Nanaimo post office, Warren successfully applied for the position of postmaster himself. The Whitewater post office opened May 1, 1897. Thirteen days later The Kootenaian reported: “The townsite of Whitewater owned by Bell Bros. is being surveyed.” John Hamilton Gray did the work; his plan was dated June 10, 1898. Jim Bell met a tragic end when he burned to death in his cabin in 1903. His sons appear to have left the area by 1905. The post office closed in 1908. Meanwhile, Major John Ley Retallack (1863-1924) and his associates leased the Whitewater mine. After fire destroyed the camp in 1910, they purchased the property. The fire also burned bridges and show sheds on the Kaslo and Slocan Railway, putting it out of business. Retallack was secretary of a Kaslo syndicate that revived the line and leased it to the Canadian Pacific Railway. In recognition of his efforts, the siding at Whitewater was renamed in his honour. It was on the timetable by Sept. 27, 1914. According to Don Blake’s Valley of the Ghosts, Retallack “was such a prominent man for so many years and most of the freight coming up to Whitewater was for him and was addressed simply to Retallack.” Retallack was in the North West Mounted Police during the Riel Rebellion and came to the Kootenay in 1889, where he was prominent in mining, banking, and townsite promotion. He served on Kaslo city council and twice ran unsuccessfully for MLA. After returning from World War I, he was named BC’s first public utilities commissioner. The Retallack post office opened on May 16, 1928 — four years after its namesake’s death — although the name Whitewater continued to be used as well. A late example of the latter is in The Kootenaian of Jan. 13, 1927: “W.R. Winstead, of Whitewater, spent Tuesday in the city …” The post office closed in 1955 and the Whitewater mine ceased operations the following year. Today a couple of bunkhouses from the 1940s survive, probably the most noteworthy landmarks along Highway 31A. Only a few people live there, but the name is perpetuated in Retallack Lodge, a cat ski and mountain biking destination, whose lodge is on the original Whitewater townsite. Whitewater, of course, is better known today as a ski resort between Nelson and Ymir, named after another Whitewater Creek, which first appeared on George M. Dawson’s 1890 Reconnaissance Map of a Portion of the West Kootanie District. This article was written by - Greg Nesteroff for the Nelson Star newspaper.
The Whitewater post office opened - 1 May 1897 and closed - 15 January 1908.
Arrived at - / WHITEWATER / JAN 2 / 08 / B.C. / - split ring cancel - this split ring hammer was not listed in the Proof Book - it was most likely proofed c. 1897 when the Post Office first opened - (RF E / now is RF D) - late strike. The postcard was then redirected to McGuigan.
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- from 1908 "Lovell's Gazetteer of the Dominion of Canada" - McGUIGAN, a post office in Kootenay District, B.C., and a station on the Kaslo & Slocan Railway, 23 miles from Kaslo.
McGUIGAN - This stop on the Kaslo and Slocan Railway, also known as McGuigan Station and McGuigan Siding, was named for John George (Jack) McGuigan (1858-1901), one of the group who staked the Noble Five and other claims on Payne Mountain at the start of the Silvery Slocan rush. According to Don Blake in Valley of the Ghosts, “When the K&S put their line through to Sandon in 1895, they put a siding in at McGuigan Creek and called it McGuigan’s Siding, later dropping the S.” McGuigan appeared on the first K&S timetable, dated Nov. 25, 1895, and was also mentioned in the Victoria Daily Colonist of March 19, 1896: “On Wednesday a gang of snow shovelers on the K&S railway got up on the snow bank at McGuigan siding to allow the Sandon express to pass.” The name is no longer widely used, although McGuigan Creek — which appears on Perry’s Mining Map of 1893, remains on the books. The map also shows McGuigan Lake, first mentioned in the Ainsworth Hot Springs News of July 27, 1892: “A.S. Farwell is now surveying a townsite at McGuigan lake, close to the Washington.” (This obscure townsite was named for another member of the Noble Five. We’ll get to it later in this series.) McGuigan Lake isn’t an official name, however. Jack McGuigan hailed from Edwardsburg, Grenville County, Ont. Several of his siblings came west, including elder brother Thomas, who was also involved in early mining in the Slocan. Jack met a bitter end: in 1901 he fell from the fourth storey of the Imperial Hotel in Portland and fractured his skull. Although initially expected to recover, he died in hospital a week later. He’d gone to Oregon about a year and a half earlier to develop a gold property. His mother dedicated a window in his honour at St. Joseph’s church in Spokane. This article was written by - Greg Nesteroff for the Nelson Star newspaper.
An application for a post office at McGuigan was filed on Oct. 6, 1896. It opened May 1, 1897, closed in 1904, reopened in 1906, and closed again in 1910.
- redirected to - / McGUIGAN / JAN 4 / 08 / B.C. / - split ring arrival - this split ring hammer was not listed in the Proof Book - it was most likely proofed c. 1897 when the Post Office first opened - (RF E / now RF D).
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Postcard was sent by:
Roland Inselman
Birth - 16 August 1897 • Forest City, Meeker, Minnesota, USA
Death 17 June 1930 • Hennepin County, Minnesota, USA
Roland Inselman signed the back of this postcard twice - these signatures match the signature on his 1918 US World War I Draft Registration card.
Roland writes on the back of the postcard - A Happy New Year - from Roland Inselman
and also he writes: If not received in 5 days returned to: Roland Inselman / RR#2 Watkins, Minnesota.
WATKINS, a city in section 2 in Forest Prairie Township, was named by officers of the Minneapolis and Pacific Railroad for an official of the railroad. It was incorporated as a village on May 2, 1893, and separated from the township on March 23, 1917; the post office began in 1887. The population was 962 at the 2010 census.
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The postcard was addressed to: Dan McIntosh / Whitewater / B.C. Canada and then redirected to McGuigan, B.C. Canada - I have seen another postcard addressed to DAN R. McINTOSH in Whitewater, B.C. (30 October 1907) from a family in Nova Scotia.
Daniel Roy McIntosh
Birthdate: March 21, 1881 in Nine Mile River, Hants County, Nova Scotia
Death: April 23, 1950 (age 69) in Chiiiwack, B.C. - his occupation in 1911 was a farmer. He arrived in British Columbia around 1905.
His wife: Annie May (nee Johnston) McIntosh
(b. 4 January 1891 in Killarney-Turtle Mountain, Manitoba, Canada - d. 7 January 1968 at age 77 in Chilliwack, British Columbia) - they were married - 4 October 1911 in East Chilliwack, B.C.)
Son of William McIntosh and Christy (nee McDonald) McIntosh
His daughter - Ethel Doreen (nee McIntosh) Bennett
Birthdate: June 11, 1914 in Chilliwack, BC, Canada
Death: August 23, 2005 (91) in Surrey, BC, Canada
His son - Kenneth Allen McIntosh
(b. February 9, 1924 – d. August 8, 2019) - Son of Annie May Johnston and Daniel Roy McIntosh. Never a truer Gentleman existed. Born in a farmhouse on the outskirts of Chilliwack, to an Irish mother and a Scottish father - LINK to his obituary - www.theprogress.com/obituaries/kenneth-allen-mcintosh/
One of the nicest stretches of Waikiki Beach has always been its west side at the Hilton Hawaiian Village and neighboring Fort DeRussy. Ektachrome transparency with unreadable date stamp from a group of 1965 slides.
Photo details
- Ocean Tower at the Hilton Hawaiian Village (obscured by palm trees), far left
- “Kaiser pink” outrigger canoe, center
- Fort DeRussy, right
For eleven days and eleven nights Salamackia had not moved from his desk. His servants were used to his marathon stints of study, but this one had been difficult. Not least because Salamackia’s mood had worsened the longer it continued. The handwriting on the ‘request’ slips that he passed to his servants for the books and charts he needed had deteriorated steadily. Most of his servants, too fearful to ask and terrified of getting it wrong, could now not decipher the scrawl of ornate runic lettering. Only Earlic could fathom his master’s wants and as such he had been on duty for the last three days without respite. He was beginning to dream on his feet.
The reason Earlic could decipher his Master’s wants was because he had been trying to follow his Master’s work. Even since he had been brought into service, Earlic had been a bit different to the other servants, in that he always saw opportunity in all that befell him. On entering the tower’s great library Earlic had seen a chance for an education. Servants were of course forbidden any personal use of the library, but in carrying out his duties for his Master, Earlic was able to get a significant amount of reading done in his twelve years of service. This had helped him get on enormously and although not an official position - Salamackia could not have recognised one servant from another - amongst his peers he was the head librarian.
Salamackia had started his studies by reading the memoirs of Duke Wirklich Nervig, a Lenfald Noble. Further requests then centred on various histories and maps of Lenfald. This was when Salamackia’s mood had started to darken for the first time. But then a few of the well worn tombs from Mary Makatoosh’s Complete History of Roawia’ , one of Earlic’s personal favourites, seemed to have put him right. Suddenly the mood had lightened and Earlic had been handed a message to send. ‘GLARCE, THE WINDOW’. The writing had improved, but Earlic still rewrote it clearly. It was a message destined for Garheim in the far reaches of the North and his master’s mood would be insufferable if it came all that way back as unreadable.
From there, his master had moved swiftly through various Garheim History texts to modern times. Then he returned to Lenfald, again moving swiftly up to date. That had brought them to yesterday morning, when his master had sat up and stretched. Earlic too had relaxed thinking he’d soon be in his bed, but then one more note had come, Loreos Histories Last 100 years. Vast weights of text were exchanged from the shelves to the desk, while his master took a glass of wine. Progress through them was again swift, until this morning. It seemed there was something in recent history that was troubling his master and barely legible notes were coming thick and fast for further cross references. Although not a word had been said in the library for all eleven days and nights, Earlic could feel his master’s mood building.
From across the room Adis, one of the other servants made a gesture to Earlic - a message for their master. It was handed to Earlic. It was a reply from Garheim. He presented it to his master with the most discreet of coughs to announce its presence. It was snatched from his hand and torn open, before Earlic could even offer the letter knife. It was read fleetingly, no more than a glance and then dropped to the floor.
Salamackia rose. ‘My horse’ may have been his first words for over a week, but his voice was strong and certain. He strode from the room, just as Earlic made the necessary gestures to ensure the message got to the groom, before Salamackia had descended the tower. Earlic was going to let the other servants restore order to the library, as he was ready to collapse with fatigue. But first he had to see. He picked the letter from the floor and looked at its single word. GONE. .
I'm assuming this related to the 1976 competition due to the dated autograph on the front A quick search reveals that the contest still goes on and is part of the "National Miss" contest in the UK. The copyright notice on the reverse is unreadable though it starts "Grimsby" and I'm assuming it's from a local newspaper.
Seen in Eastbourne, East Sussex. Complete with fake wood above the grille!
G423 XEU
✓ Taxed - Tax due: 1 April 2021
✓ MOT Expires: 8 January 2021
Vehicle make IVECO-FORD
Date of first registration 1 June 1990
Year of manufacture 1990
Cylinder capacity Not available
Fuel typeDIESEL
Export markerNo
Vehicle status Taxed
Vehicle colour WHITE
Number of previous owners: 11
Current owner since Aug 2018
Mileage at last MOT: Unreadable
Odometer previously stuck on 168,291 since at least 2006.
This image evokes a deep sense of solitude and unspoken emotions. The young man sits slumped on the doorstep, lost in thought, while the girl lingers in the doorway, her expression unreadable. The muted colors and soft lighting add to the melancholic atmosphere, suggesting themes of longing, distance, or perhaps a farewell.
c1910 postcard view of Main Street in Elkhart, Indiana. This view was looking north from the Lexington Avenue intersection. There are no automobiles in this scene. The only vehicles are horse-drawn wagons, including an ice wagon. There were also several bicycles as well as a few pedestrians.
The most distant buildings in this scene were the three-story buildings on the northeast corner at Jackson Street. The Hotel Bucklen was on the southeast corner of that intersection and clearly dominated this scene. Another postcard shows the barber’s pole near the hotel portico more clearly. It was probably advertising a barbershop located in the hotel basement. The 1910 Sanborn™ fire insurance map set for Elkhart shows two saloons and a harness business facing Main Street in the four-story hotel building. According to the map set, the businesses in the two-story building south of the hotel included a pianos business and a bank. However, a 1912 city directory¹ listed First National Bank at the pianos business location (110 South Main Street and listed St. Vincent’s Roman Catholic School next door (112 South Main Street) where the map set shows the bank. It is possible the bank expanded and the school was located upstairs.
The LYRIC sign and the two American flags identified the location of a theatre (114 South Main Street). The map set shows a 10c vaudeville theatre at that location, but the directory listed the Philip Rittel meats business at that address. The next building south stood next to the alley. The map set shows a grocery and meat market at that location while the directory listed Charles Dotson’s saloon at that address (116 South Main Street).
Across the alley to the south, the 1910 map set shows a soft drinks business. A sign hanging on the front of that store (118 South Main Street) displayed a bottle. The directory listed Adolph Meas’ saloon at that address. There are two small signs on the next building south (120 South Main Street), but they are unreadable. The map set shows a saloon at that location and the directory listed Silas Joseph’s Crescent Pocket Billiards Parlor at that address. However, the map set shows a pool hall next door at 122 South Main Street and the directory listed Joseph Eash with a cigars, billiards and pool business at this address. The sign at 122 South Main Street advertised CRESCENT BILLIARDS and POOL. The name CRESCENT was also painted on the window. Several bicycles were parked at the curb in front of this business or the business next door.
The pediment on the next building south (124 South Main Street) included the name DODGE and LAW OFFICE. The 1912 directory didn’t list this street address or any businesses at this address. (It included listings for the Dodge Building at 224 South Main Street.) The ICE wagon parked at the curb is blocking the view of the entrance to that building. The map set shows a barbershop at 124 South Main Street. Next door (126 South Main Street), the map set shows a gunsmith and repair business while the city directory listed Earl Smith’s saloon at that address. The sign painted on the window advertised THE SPOT. A beer sign was hanging beside the entrance.
The name on the next building south was BIERMAN and the 1910 map set shows a saloon in the Bierman Block at that location (128 South Main Street). The directory listed Anthony Manning as the proprietor of a saloon and “The Old Inn Buffet” at that address. The signs on the windows advertised “THE OLD INN” BUFFET and HOOSIER CREAM. The placard in the window advertised BASE BALL. The directory also listed Fannie Bierman as a resident at that address and listed her late husband Amil as deceased (February 4, 1911).
The map set shows another saloon in the building at the south end of the block (130 South Main Street), but the sign on the building in this view advertised the ELKHART WATER CO. The city directory confirmed the water company’s location at this address. This suggests the postcard was based on a photograph taken after the 1910 map set was completed. That set is dated August, 1910.
All of the buildings north of the alley in this scene are gone. Most of the buildings south of the alley were still standing as of 2007.
1. Polk’s Elkhart City Directory 1912, Volume II (Detroit, Michigan: R. L. Polk & Co., 1912). Available online at archive.org/details/elkhartindianaci00unse_0.
From a private collection.
Selected close-up sections of this postcard can be seen here, from left to right in the image.
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Copyright 2012-2016 by Hoosier Recollections. All rights reserved. This image is part of a creative package that includes the associated text, geodata and/or other information. Neither this package in its entirety nor any of the individual components may be downloaded, transmitted or reproduced without the prior written permission of Hoosier Recollections.
Unnecessary complexity, chaos, financial woe and a gradual erosion are all symptoms of a sick NHS in the UK. However, most of us who reside in the UK already know this, so I opted for a more subtle conceptual approach that can be compared to a mechanism of infinite complexity, that cannot do the job that it was originally created to do.
I also attempted to address abitrariness and the intrinsic nature of the NHS to British culture/society, both conceptually and actually. I won't expand on these ideas any further in written form, because the perception of the viewer is intrinsic to the arts, particularly to abstract art.
The idea of inserting text into the already complex visual forms, was to attempt to render the text partially unreadable and to partially cohere text with the visual forms. Some words retain an identity seperate from the visual forms and "shout out" phrases, some that appear to be abitrary and others, such as "Whistleblow" "Car Crash" "Corporate" and "illegal" that have a direct relevence to the overriding concept of the work.
Simon
Made for SWFactions. Original Post: www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?/forums/topic/180672-j...
Our trio find themselves in a precarious position, deep in the forgotten jungles of Imynusoph, face-to-face with the dastardly ex-Imperial Colonel Corbett!
Read on to find out how it happened!
Intrepid reporter Kitsa Rigo grumbled and pushed aside another bright green frond. Her shirt was sweat-soaked, she had cuts on her arm from the foliage and she had stepped in something gooey that was seeping through her boot. She should have been in the Core Worlds investigating corporate corruption, not here, in the farthest reaches of the galaxy, looking for a tribe and treasure that may or may not be made up.
Impatiently, she stomped alongside her two companions. "Mr. Clod, it's time to deal with the truth: we're walking in circles," she said. "I'm putting this in my story for the Gazette, you know."
"Shush shush, would you shush? Be quiet," said Clod, rolling his eyes and trying to look unbothered. "And stop writing. You're driving me up the wall. Just wait. I'm sure I know where we are. Sure, things look bad now, but . . . haven't you ever heard that saying? The night is darkest before the dawn?"
"Well--well, actually, Mr. Clod...technically, that isn't quite true," stammered Professor Floon, who, while hurrying forward to speak, tripped in the undergrowth.
The Klatoonian explorer pulled the Neimodian academic roughly to his feet. "What was that, Professor?" he growled.
"Well, about what you just said...Not here, not on Imynusoph. You see, due to its remoteness, there is a dearth of verifiable information about Imynusoph. While regrettable, that is what makes a CFS research station such a desirable outcome!"
"Get to the point...
"W-Well, in spite of this scarcity of knowledge, I've been pouring over what existing tomes we do possess, and I've learned that on this planet it is, in fact, the dusks that are the darkest. A result of a peculiar tilt on the planet's axis. A fascinating quirk, I think!"
"So far, I don't think any of your quirks are all that fascinating, professor."
"Oh my! I say--"
"I wish you wouldn't. You're distracting me from my wayfinding. Ms. Rigo, engage the professor in conversation so I can figure out where we are, would you?"
She put a hand on her hip and glared. "I thought you knew."
"I know...in my bones, alright?" he replied, waving away her accusation. "My instinctive being. My internal map. I just want to make sure my bones, being, and internal map are hitting the mark. Let's take a left up here, into this clearin--Woah there!"
"HEY!"
"Oh my!"
Buffeted by a sudden swinging of broad-leaved plants, the three of them tumbled headfirst into the aforementioned clearing, where they found themselves quickly sinking into some kind of sand. The sand was also sinking, and quickly.
"Oh my, oh my!" Warbled Professor Floon.
"We need a rope or something! A vine!" Kitsa shouted.
Clod looked around for a way out. "You better not put this in your story, Rigo!"
"Is that really important right now?" she snarled. "Ugh--It's no good, there's nothing to grab hold of."
The Professor tried to stay calm. "Mr. Clod! What do we do?"
"Oh, as if this con-artist knows..."
Clod shot her a proud look. "Actually, I do know! I know exactly. How about that?"
The Professor and Reporter turned and stared at the disappearing form of Harnaby Clod. They waited for instruction.
"It's obvious, isn't it? Start shouting for help!"
Kitsa threw up the hand that wasn't being sucked down by sand. "Oh, great plan! Very dramatic."
"Mr. Clod, I feel the need to caution you...such a ruckus may very well draw dangerous wildlife toward our location, which, while fascinating, may--"
Clod scowled at what he could still see of the Professor. "Listen here, Egghead: It's our only hope! Start making a ruckus or you'll never see dangerous wildlife again!"
The three started shouting for help. They were nearly submerged in the sinking sand when they heard something coming, from every direction. For a moment, Clod worried they really had brought out some kind of violent beast that would snatch them from the pit with its teeth, and rip them apart for food.
But it wasn't a beast. It may have been something worse.
It was half-a-dozen people with guns, wearing smashed-up imperial armor, and a speeder bringing up the rear. The pirates surrounded them and brought their weapons to bear. The trio tried to raise their hands in surrender, but, well, the sand.
A man dressed in officer regalia and a fur cloak swept towards them, curling his mustache with a finger. He was followed by a mean-looking Sergeant; his right hand man.
"My, my. Look what we've found, Slyfoot!" said the officer.
"People, sir," said his right hand man.
"Yes, people! Indeed! We weren't looking for people. We were, in fact, on the search for beasts. You three are very much not beasts! Except perhaps the one in the wide-brimmed hat, but the resemblance there seems entirely superficial. Do you understand me?" He frowned at the drowning trio. "At the risk of being rude, I must say you have wasted my time. And what are you doing out here, at the end of hyperlanes? The back of beyond! Looking for the golden treasures of Imynusoph, I suspect. Slyfoot is always telling me that finding the famed treasure of Imynusoph will earn me a commendation from the regional governor, and I am always telling Slyfoot that, alas! The treasure is a myth." He crept closer to the edge, looking at them sharply. "But treasure hunters are no myth. No, no, a persistent thorn in my side. You are treasure hunters, aren't you? Best to answer quickly, before you are consumed by the sand and I am left to wonder about your answer forever."
Clod spat and roared. "Get us out of here, you Imp snake! "
"How eloquent," smiled the officer. "Answer the question!"
"Treasure Hunters?" cried an indignant Floon, who was apparently more offended by the accusation than by the lack of help. "Pardon me, sir-- but that is hardly the case!"
Kitsa and Clod groaned, but the Officer looked intrigued. He smiled to his men as if sharing an inside joke. "Oh, indeed? And what is the case, my man?"
"Dun't--teld--hem--inniedeng!" said Kitsa, flailing as her head started to go under.
Floon did not comprehend the warning. With wounded pride, he launched in, "I am a researcher! An academic! I am here to study the local fauna, the fantastic giant birds of Imynusoph! Surely you've heard of them!"
Leaning closer, a gleam appeared in the officers eye. "You know of these giant birds, do you?"
"I do! Of course I do! It's only natural! I am Professor--blub--Pod Floon, and I politely demand your assistance! My associates and I are moments from a most unpleasant death!"
The officer looked pleased. "A fellow of manners and distinction! Out here, an even rarer find than my prey. I've made up my mind. Hop to it, men! Get them out of the sand!"
Slyfoot raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Colonel? Perhaps we should just leave them. It will save us the trouble..."
"No, Slyfoot! You've only ever believed in the treasure, never the giant birds! Slyfoot, ever the skeptic, except when it pertains to gold! Well, it appears I have finally found someone who shares my interest!"
Slyfoot's expression was unreadable. "Understood, sir. May I have the dog-faced one for interrogation?"
"Hey!" Clod growled. He knew when someone was talking about him.
The Colonel waved a hand. "Oh yes, naturally. Do as you must with that one. Troopers! Bring these three to our camp. I would have further conversation with our guests."
To be continued!
The can color appears to match the unreadable graffiti letters on the wall there... Hmm... well, looks like we caught our can. Our job here is done.
I couldn't decide which shot I like better. There so much I like and yet flaws in each one. I've been interested in trying this with the black background and 2 different size shots so here ya go. Michigan Central Depot was built in 1913 and closed in 1988.
I do want to point out that I did not do this graffiti. If other people want to do graffiti that's up to them, I choose not to. Last time I was in there a bunch of drunk moronic kids were running around painting ALIS all over the place and screaming and waving at cars out of the windows, so I left. I hate stupidity but it's rampant in the world today. I've been asked in the past if I would still shoot this as often as I do if it wasn't in the condition it's in. The answer is yes. I'm one of those weird guys that loves buildings.